When visitors and admissions tours come by our room, I make a point of sharing this spiel with each and every group. “I hope that as your eyes take in the learning artifacts and evidence of student expertise in different science topics, you’ll also take note of the fact that there isn’t a single textbook here.”
You see that clever little speech? I crafted that back when I worked in Texas, the textbook capital of the world, where textbooks and worksheets ran rampant through some classrooms. I think the fact that we needed to take an annual, hour-long training on all the functions of our workroom copy machine was prime evidence of how many trees had to give up their last breath for the sake of keep-'em-busy worksheets.
Don’t get me wrong. We use paper in here too. But not for worksheets.
Our PreFirsters have launched their study of eggs. They don’t know it yet, but I’m planning on getting some fertilized chicken eggs from a nearby farm and incubating them in our classroom. I’m keeping fingers tightly crossed that the handoff will be seamless, that the incubators will function perfectly, there will be no lightning strikes or power outages, and twenty one days later, we’ll have little chirping chickadees in the classroom.
This is one of my favorite times of the year. I watch as my wiggliest, most impatient, intolerant-of-setback students become as still as a rock the moment a tiny newborn chick is dropped into their hands. I still remember the year of Linder*, one of my past students who was a constant presence in James’ office (yes, James and I worked together for four beautiful years, when he was the Lower School Assistant Head and my classroom was fifty feet from his office).
Back to Linder. Linder would threaten his peers daily, pushing other kids around and sometimes even his teachers in anger. Once, he even dropped his pants at recess to water some very lucky patches of school landscaping.
Yes, lucky. Because what glade of grass that ever grows on school property would ever dream that they’d be watered such by a student struggling in such...unique ways? It’s a one in a million opportunity. That patch of grass truly has a story to tell.
Linder was unpredictable, and there was often no telling what would trigger a sudden fit of anger and rage. I was secretly worried about him holding one of our newborn chicks, though I'd certainly never show that I was. In fact, I carefully deposited that very chick pictured above into Linder's hands, wondering if something would suddenly snap inside him and make him squeeze. And *ploop* we'd have a a fistful of feathers and popcorn chicken.
But Linder took ahold of Hawk (that's what our kindergarteners wanted to name it) with nervous and cupped hands, and I saw an entirely different side of him emerge. He whispered and cooed at Hawk, murmuring "Ish okay liddle buddy. No one's gonna hurt you while I'm around." He stayed that way for the whole sixty seconds and I swear to you, that little chirping chick quieted and closed its eyes as Linder pressed his cheek to the top of its head. He then passed it to his elbow parter with such seriousness and solemnized care that I wanted to cry.
This year, I’m just loving the way these newly minted oologists have taken to their shiny new expertise.
“We’re oologists!” a kindergartener announced proudly to their teacher who came to pick them up at the end of our class. When the teacher gave him a puzzled look (because let’s be serious, who expects a kindergartener to use the word ‘oologist’ let alone know what it means?), he clucked his tongue exasperatedly and dropped a hand to his hip. “Y’know, an O-O-logist? A scientist who studies eggs and how baby animals grow inside of them?”
“Ohh,” his teacher whispered interestedly, and mouthed a furtive ‘Thank you so much!’ as she walked the class down the hallway. I could still hear the Doppler-effected sounds of my new oologist proudly explaining his role as they headed away to lunch.
“It’s got two ‘o’s at the beginning when you spell it with a pencil, but you pronounce it ‘OH-AH-logist’. You see how it kinda sounds like ‘koala’? Miss Choi taught us that. But don’t think it’s got anything to do with koalas. Because those are mammals and mammals make babies inside their bodies. Oologists study the animals that make babies that come out in shells. Those animals are called…wait…what’s that word again?"
And here I smilingly braced myself as he came running back up the stairs, huffing and puffing from his expedient movements. “What was (huff) that word again (heave). That word you told us not to use because only high schoolers know it? (Cough) That word for animals that have their babies in eggs?”
“Oviparous,” I replied, my teacher bucket quietly brimming and then overflowing with pride for these beautifully-brained scientists of mine.
He gasped. “That’s it. I’ve GOT to write these things down!” And he jetted off.
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