My Mother the Teacher

My mom was an elementary school teacher. Growing up, I never imagined myself following in her footsteps. So, my senior year of college, when I realized that I did in fact want to become a teacher, it was too late to follow a traditional route. I applied for Teach For America and found myself a few short months away from being thrown into a classroom on my own. I decided that I needed to do some research, so I visited my mom's class.

It was a kindergarten class. (Anyone who has spent any time trying to manage a kindergarten class of twenty children knows that this is a tremendous challenge, and only a person full of skill and energy will survive.) I could already see that this was a productive classroom by looking around the room, which was covered in student work: paintings, three-dimensional portraits, egg carton caterpillars, first attempts at writing using invented spelling.

As the children arrived, they began to follow a highly structured routine. They all knew where to put their belongings, what to do while they were waiting for the other children to arrive, and exactly where to sit when the morning meeting began. The routine was fast-paced; brief activities changed often. Children sat down, stood up, sang songs, practiced the letter sound of the day, and moved to their tables to work in groups.

There were four groups and each group was completing a different task. One was working with my mother on a new skill while another was working with manipulatives, monitored by the educational assistant. A third group was working independently. A fourth group was finished with the other work and working on an enrichment activity. As she worked with her group, my mom scanned the room to make sure things were running smoothly.

I sat down with one of the groups working independently, and soon learned the challenge these cute harmless-looking little people can present. They were walking all over me. How could I be mean to these five-year old children? My mother on the other hand was firm, but not mean, and she did not succumb to their pleas and pouts. They listened to her.

One little boy was having a difficult time getting to work and was simultaneously disrupting other students. My mom soon looked over and told him that it was time for him to work in his "office." Later, mom told me that she had worked with Kevin's parents to create a special arrangement. Kevin was easily distracted when working with a group, so he had a seat in the group, but he also had his "office." When he got too excited and disruptive, he went to work in his "office." (Sometimes, he even chose to work there on his own.) He was able to work there with fewer distractions and no negative connotation was attached. His father even bought him post-it notes and other supplies for his "office." This was a creative and positive solution to a persistent behavior problem.

Another student in the class was autistic. He had an assistant assigned to work with him all day, and he sat with the other children and participated in all of their activities. Sometimes he had outbursts, which my mom handled in stride. She did not make a big fuss, so the children did not make one either.

There is no doubt in my mind that my mother is both a natural and a professional teacher. She created a warm, yet structured classroom environment in which students were able to express themselves creatively. Her firm leadership and direction gave the children a sense of security, and in this safe environment, children were constantly engaged in diverse learning activities. She had positive interaction with colleagues and parents and her efforts were noticed. I believe that the expertise she displayed in the kindergarten classroom can be extended to teaching in general. Even though she does not speak a word of French, mom was my greatest resource as a foreign language teacher, suggesting a wealth of strategies and learning activities. Now, as an elementary school teacher, I aspire to create a highly productive and loving classroom like hers.

-- Alethea Blimling