When I was in kindergarten, I was the oldest of four kids with a stay-at-home mom. Picture it: a five-year-old, four-year-old, two-year-old, and a newborn. (And my brothers were, shall we say it, a handful, but that is a story for a different blog.) My dad worked long hours, and so taking care of us was my mom’s domain. It was a lot–overwhelming in fact. My mom would never say it because she was of the Irish, stoic stock that didn’t talk about such things; she just got it done. In hindsight, I cannot imagine how hard this was for her.
In those days, kindergarten was half day, and it was optional. I went to school for half the year in the afternoon, and then mid-year, my class was switched to the morning session. When I attended in the afternoon, my mom walked me to school after lunch with a stroller and my preschool siblings, then took them home for afternoon naps. After the switch, my mom had to get me to school by 8:00 in the morning, with my three younger siblings in tow. She decided it was more than she could manage, so I became a kindergarten drop out. My mother didn’t know it at the time, but she put our family’s mental health, our social and emotional well-being, first. I finished the year at home and moved on to first grade next year.
A kindergarten drop out. Can you even imagine it? In this time of mandatory, full-day kindergarten, it seems unfathomable that a child would not attend kindergarten. How would I be ready for first grade? Granted, the academic standards in those days were not as rigorous; kindergarten was mainly a social experience to prepare children for how to behave in school. Yet, I am happy to report that I suffered no long-term effects from the sudden end to my school year. I was ready for first grade and by all measures, this experience did not keep me from being a successful student, making friends, going to college, or future success.
I have shared this story recently because the closure of schools brought this memory to mind. Our children have missed a portion of their current school year. It was not a full half of the year, but it was a significant chunk of the year. Students are mourning the lost time with their classmates and with beloved teachers. Parents are worried about the lost instructional time and the exaggerated summer slide that students may experience. To be honest, we all are worried and anxious about what the future may bring. Unlike my story in which I stayed home but kindergarten went on, the abrupt departure from school is a collective experience for our children. Also unlike my story, our children are continuing their school year, though in a unique and unprecedented way. They are seeing their classmates and teachers via Google Meet or Zoom, and are continuing learning online. While the online learning environment is no substitute, it is still providing connections and experiences.
I guess that the reason I have shared my story is to reinforce for anxious parents that it is going to be OK. This too shall pass, and our children will be alright. Just as I emerged from the supposedly significant gap of missing half a year of kindergarten, our children will emerge from this collective crisis and be fine. I learned from my mother, through unspoken message, that not going back to kindergarten was fine, and I was going to be fine. And I was.
When we return to campus-based learning, teachers will embrace our children, meet them where they are, teach them, and grow them. We as educators will take stock, figure out what children need to learn next, and move them along in their learning paths. While our children may need a bit of help reinforcing academic skills, they will emerge from this experience with lessons that we could never provide in school: patience, selflessness, empathy, resilience, persistence. This experience is a part of the stories of our children’s lives, part of the fabric of experiences that will shape them into the people they will become. Let’s make those stories ones that we want to share for generations to come.