“We need your help, Mrs. Wangen!”, I heard as two kindergarteners pulled on each of my arms, dragging me across the snowy field just beyond the Sweeney Elementary blacktop. I approached a huddle of eight or nine stocking-capped heads hunched over a spot in the snow. “We found something!”, one of them smiled up at me, as they scraped their mittened hands against the ground to reveal a large man-hole cover beneath the snow.
“What does it say?!” another inquired, as the letters S-E-W-E-R appeared beneath their furious digging. “It says sewer”, I stated, bracing for the let down. “What’s that?!”, another asked, her bright eyes wide as she traced the concentric circles in white paint on the metal cover. A little boy grimaced, “I think it means death slide.” He whispered the last two words as his eyes slid ominously over to the adjacent cemetery.
“Well, it’s where all the water goes when you wash your hands or when there’s extra rain.” My explanation was muffled by other five-year-old theories until the original arm puller bellowed, “Let’s find another mystery!”, and they all took off around the field, hopeful to find another ‘death slide’ buried under mounds of melting white.
There’s truly never a dull moment helping with Kindergarten recess, and I chuckled over this scene the rest of the day.
These past weeks, months, have been hard. Hard for Minnesotans- weary of snow and dull grey, and hard for educators. School systems are in awkward limbo between contending with the residuals of pandemic disruption and the vestiges of “what always used to work in schools”. I’ve never heard so many rumblings of unrest, survival, and exhaustion within our schools.
Being on that snowy field yesterday and watching the wonder of that curious group of Kindergarteners reminded me of why we show up. Because we want them to remember elementary school with fondness. Of discovering mysteries and wondering what it could be. Of feeling the joy of discovery in the way an ordinary sewer cover looks after being hidden for months under snow.
I’ve struggled to write anything the past few months, obviously in part due to general exhaustion eclipsing any wisps of creativity. But it’s also an unexpected weariness from trying to constantly carve a new path.
A few weeks ago we had two snow days in a row; our already snow-covered yards taking on a generous top layer. Auggie and I stood at the top of the back yard hill with sleds, ready to put our snow day to use. The first ride down was slow, his sled getting repeatedly hung up on uneven mounds of drift and ice. The second run was quicker, and by his third pass down he was zooming down the chute. I couldn’t help smiling as a drew parallels to being in a new position this year. When I started my student support position I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to have to constantly fight for social emotional importance in an education system that doesn’t always value mental health. To be challenged and grow, and continue to work to not be misunderstood.
I am continuously thankful for my coworkers. While I know forging a new path is hard and exhausting, I am beyond blessed to be enveloped in the camaraderie of amazing humans at my school.
Eventually, winter in Minnesota will end. We’ll feel a bit of this discontent melt away with the snow, giving way to hope and spring sunshine. For now, I will hike up my snow pants and trudge out to that field. Letting myself be pulled into the wonder of learning, knowing the best we can do is show up for kids and rally for what we think is right- one sewer cover at a time.
Teaching the Good Stuff 