A Talk to the Parents of the Fifth through Eighth Grades - by Dorothy Harrer
Some time ago one of our students, who had gone abroad for a year, wrote me that she was with her class and their teacher on a 3-week sojourn in the mountains to learn what it means to live as a community. Her question to me was, "Why can't we do something like that in the Steiner School?" I would not tell tales out of school except to point up the fact that community spirit is hard to come by, for when later we did undertake a 3-day class trip, she was on hand and contributed several yards of paper toweling to wrap around and muffle the rising bell, and it was easy for her to misread the importance of promptness to meals and of not hiking off into the woods without a word to anyone.
Attainment of social consciousness can be a soul-shaking experience for a fourth-grader. The day came when the fourth-graders were to start using fountain pens. It was a great day for them. "These are not toys," said the teacher, explaining their care and use. Each pen became a personal treasure. Each fourth grader felt exalted by the sensation of writing in ink. Then came another day when at least half of the class admitted that they couldn't find their pens. Now a sense of trouble bore down on everyone. What could have happened? What could be done? The heavy concern burdened the day, from one lesson into the next, far more important than the instruction in arithmetic or English or French - whatever the subject might be. Toward the end of the day the pens were found under a pile of school bags in a dark corner of the closet. Astonishment! Who put them there? Why? No one seemed to know. The class teacher made a flat statement. "Someone in the class did it, and that person is not going to feel happy until he or she has told what he knows, at least to me." The teacher found a boy waiting for her in the classroom before the class arrived the next morning. His eyes were wide with compunction but he said nothing. "Did you hide the fountain pens?" she asked. He nodded. "Did you do it to upset everyone?" He guessed so. The teacher felt relief. "I will tell the class only that the person who hid the pens told me about it. I know that will make everyone feel better." The boy took a breath and said that he wanted to tell them himself. So he did, and after he had spoken to them, there was a great outpouring of good will. "Good for him!" they said, recognizing the courage in his confession.
Some time ago one of our students, who had gone abroad for a year, wrote me that she was with her class and their teacher on a 3-week sojourn in the mountains to learn what it means to live as a community. Her question to me was, "Why can't we do something like that in the Steiner School?" I would not tell tales out of school except to point up the fact that community spirit is hard to come by, for when later we did undertake a 3-day class trip, she was on hand and contributed several yards of paper toweling to wrap around and muffle the rising bell, and it was easy for her to misread the importance of promptness to meals and of not hiking off into the woods without a word to anyone.
Attainment of social consciousness can be a soul-shaking experience for a fourth-grader. The day came when the fourth-graders were to start using fountain pens. It was a great day for them. "These are not toys," said the teacher, explaining their care and use. Each pen became a personal treasure. Each fourth grader felt exalted by the sensation of writing in ink. Then came another day when at least half of the class admitted that they couldn't find their pens. Now a sense of trouble bore down on everyone. What could have happened? What could be done? The heavy concern burdened the day, from one lesson into the next, far more important than the instruction in arithmetic or English or French - whatever the subject might be. Toward the end of the day the pens were found under a pile of school bags in a dark corner of the closet. Astonishment! Who put them there? Why? No one seemed to know. The class teacher made a flat statement. "Someone in the class did it, and that person is not going to feel happy until he or she has told what he knows, at least to me." The teacher found a boy waiting for her in the classroom before the class arrived the next morning. His eyes were wide with compunction but he said nothing. "Did you hide the fountain pens?" she asked. He nodded. "Did you do it to upset everyone?" He guessed so. The teacher felt relief. "I will tell the class only that the person who hid the pens told me about it. I know that will make everyone feel better." The boy took a breath and said that he wanted to tell them himself. So he did, and after he had spoken to them, there was a great outpouring of good will. "Good for him!" they said, recognizing the courage in his confession.