I went to my classroom today to pick up my iPad and whatever else seemed important enough to bring home. Arnold, our fearless facilities director- they don’t make them any better – let me in, wearing a mask and gloves. He was his usual polite, collected, warm self, and I didn’t expect anything less. The world could come crumbling down around him (and it sort of is), and he would still be the same. After he gave me a few instructions, he rushed off to attend to someone else’s needs. As I crossed the lobby and took a few turns, my classroom windows were straight ahead, and it looked like someone had left the light on. When I let myself in, I saw that it was just the sun coming through the skylight. I guess I do get a good bit of of natural light in there, after all.
I stood in silence for a few moments, turning slowly around as I took in the signs of a community abruptly paused. The colorful paper chains of book titles still hung from the walls, one link for each book finished, one chain for each class period. An anchor chart waited on deck with just the title, ready for students to add their ideas; their readers’ notebooks lay sleeping in their bins, waiting for playful hands to snatch them out and fling them to classmates. Books stood at attention in their baskets, expecting a sixth grader to pluck them out any moment and grant them another life.
Right. I’m on the clock here. Pull yourself together. I scanned my professional books and grabbed a few Teacher’s College units and a couple of SIOP books. I walked over to our classroom library and selected some books the kids have wanted me to read. I grabbed the candy and snacks out of my cupboard (sorry, four and six-legged friends), pulled my bags onto my shoulder, and closed the door behind me.
My Corner of the Village 