I spent a few hours in my classroom today, my first visit back to school since we dismissed for the summer back in June. Since it's Saturday, it was exceptionally quiet, and I quickly fell back into a peaceful rhythm. Furniture slid around the floor. Rugs were unrolled. A few pieces even made their way into the "give away" pile. Uncovering each item in the room was like reuniting with an old friend. "Oh, that's right!" "Aw, I forgot about that!" "Remember when the children used that to..." It was a great morning, leaving me feeling both sentimental and enthusiastic.
The first school where I taught was actually a converted farmhouse. It was one of the most magical environments I've had the pleasure to encounter. The learning spaces were small and cozy, and materials were shared between all five classrooms. The basement served as a large storeroom, where teachers could access and return a wide variety of items for their classrooms. You took what you needed and returned it when you were done. Very rarely, I would spend some of my own money to get something for my classroom that I just couldn't pass up. But I always felt like I had what I needed; in the three years of working there, I'd never seen an educational supply catalogue.
That changed quickly when I began working at my current school. I had a huge closet that I could fill with things just for my room! I had an actual classroom budget! And I could buy (within reason) what I wanted for my room! It felt like a dream come true. I positively pored over all the glossy catalogues that magically appeared in my school mailbox, circling items in Sharpie and budgeting down to the cent. I honestly hadn't known that most of these things even existed, and so much immediately seemed like an essential. "Science Exploration Kit?" Yes. "Deluxe Junior Kitchen?" Well, yeah. "Classroom Literacy Workstation?" Obviously. I blew through those budgets buying so much stuff in my first few years at my school. And you know what?
They didn't make me a better teacher.
That's how these companies try to hook you (and hey, it worked on me) - Buy this stuff, and there will be all the learning. Lots of catalogues have even started including standards next to their products, just to prove it to you. Heck, you barely even have to interact with the children as they use them. Just set them up with these self-explanatory, self-correcting educational toys and they will practically teach themselves, freeing up your teacher time to maintain records and give assessments. It's a win-win!
I can't say for sure when the shift started happening within me. The Quaker culture of our school, which so strongly values simplicity, was definitely a factor. I just couldn't look at the cluttered shelves and packed closet and feel that I was modeling the importance of simplicity to my students. And three years ago, when our program committed to integrating the Reggio Emilia approach, all of my years of accumulated stuff just looked like...well, like junk. I had tons of first-hand observations that told me these fancy products didn't guarantee critical thinking or creativity or emotional intelligence for my students. They didn't mean my practice was richer or more meaningful. All those hours of careful shopping felt so silly in retrospect.
These days, you will find some deliberately empty shelves in my classrooms. I want there to be space for the children to add things that they find or make. You'll find flexible spaces that can serve many purposes. You'll see a wide assortment of open-ended materials that I hope will travel all around the room. I may not be able to measure the difference, but I can feel it. I'm more present and engaged. The children demonstrate more imagination in their play. Their interactions are more nuanced. All for a fraction of what it used to cost.
And, moreover, I know this: I never felt like I was meeting an old friend when I was opening packaged, plastic "educational" materials.
The first school where I taught was actually a converted farmhouse. It was one of the most magical environments I've had the pleasure to encounter. The learning spaces were small and cozy, and materials were shared between all five classrooms. The basement served as a large storeroom, where teachers could access and return a wide variety of items for their classrooms. You took what you needed and returned it when you were done. Very rarely, I would spend some of my own money to get something for my classroom that I just couldn't pass up. But I always felt like I had what I needed; in the three years of working there, I'd never seen an educational supply catalogue.
That changed quickly when I began working at my current school. I had a huge closet that I could fill with things just for my room! I had an actual classroom budget! And I could buy (within reason) what I wanted for my room! It felt like a dream come true. I positively pored over all the glossy catalogues that magically appeared in my school mailbox, circling items in Sharpie and budgeting down to the cent. I honestly hadn't known that most of these things even existed, and so much immediately seemed like an essential. "Science Exploration Kit?" Yes. "Deluxe Junior Kitchen?" Well, yeah. "Classroom Literacy Workstation?" Obviously. I blew through those budgets buying so much stuff in my first few years at my school. And you know what?
They didn't make me a better teacher.
That's how these companies try to hook you (and hey, it worked on me) - Buy this stuff, and there will be all the learning. Lots of catalogues have even started including standards next to their products, just to prove it to you. Heck, you barely even have to interact with the children as they use them. Just set them up with these self-explanatory, self-correcting educational toys and they will practically teach themselves, freeing up your teacher time to maintain records and give assessments. It's a win-win!
I can't say for sure when the shift started happening within me. The Quaker culture of our school, which so strongly values simplicity, was definitely a factor. I just couldn't look at the cluttered shelves and packed closet and feel that I was modeling the importance of simplicity to my students. And three years ago, when our program committed to integrating the Reggio Emilia approach, all of my years of accumulated stuff just looked like...well, like junk. I had tons of first-hand observations that told me these fancy products didn't guarantee critical thinking or creativity or emotional intelligence for my students. They didn't mean my practice was richer or more meaningful. All those hours of careful shopping felt so silly in retrospect.
These days, you will find some deliberately empty shelves in my classrooms. I want there to be space for the children to add things that they find or make. You'll find flexible spaces that can serve many purposes. You'll see a wide assortment of open-ended materials that I hope will travel all around the room. I may not be able to measure the difference, but I can feel it. I'm more present and engaged. The children demonstrate more imagination in their play. Their interactions are more nuanced. All for a fraction of what it used to cost.
And, moreover, I know this: I never felt like I was meeting an old friend when I was opening packaged, plastic "educational" materials.
