Last Bell

January 2005

By Pamela Thompson-Kelly

8:15 sharp: School bus doors swing open and students disembark. Eight hundred pairs of feet thunder through the front entrance amid chattering voices, a wave of excitement. Some 38 of those feet enter my first-grade classroom. The school day begins! The children place their belongings in wooden cubbies and start the morning math assignment awaiting them at their desks. Enthusiasm fills our classroom and we're all anxious to begin learning together.

A normal day? Not. Let me describe a typical arrival to my classroom.

Harry (all student names have been changed) drags his book bag into the classroom and promptly collapses into a heap on the rug, whining about the miserable start of his day. He then proceeds to stuff his entire body into a six-inch-wide cubby, refusing comfort.

Peter bounds into the room and immediately selects his first victim to torment, hoping to start this morning with a reprimand from the teacher. Through this activity the child has obtained the center stage that he regularly demands.

Next arrives Walter. He has brought in collectors' cards, which are not allowed in school, and proceeds to gather his followers to view the most recent additions. You'll find his book, coat, hat, and homework on the floor. His shirt is on backwards and his socks don't match, zipper in the down position and pant pockets inside out. "Please put your belongings away," I say, and then notice a far away look in his eyes. I will need to remind him five or more times before he follows my directions. Not to worry, I'm told. Give him time to mature.

That's because when these children reach second grade, a team of my peers will develop recommendations for helping them. The same approach prevails in many other districts. But why wait? Some children do grow out of their problems without specialized help. Others don't, yet we don't have to convene a whole team with its complicated procedures to offer critical help. Let's bring in the school's psychologist. Let's provide additional training for the teacher, long before formal identification.

Why lose a year? Think about my class this bright morning.

Harry has extracted himself from the cubby and is now wiping off his book bag and lunch box because "it has touched the rug." He will spend a great deal of his day wiping off his belongings to free them of germs.

Peter has finally made his way to his desk and is rocking in his chair to an inner rhythm. His morning work, which I placed on his desk prior to his arrival, is left untouched and has fallen to the floor. If it isn't retrieved soon, it will become part of the expanding clutter beneath his desk—crayons, shavings, pencils, snack papers, and garbage. When asked, "Peter, would you please clean under your desk?" he answers, "I didn't make that mess. Hey, who did this?" Soon, he's shaving the paint off his new pencil with student scissors, covering the layer of forgotten items under his desk. Yes, it's distracting—this is the "center stage" child. But Peter is a bright and beautiful boy whose energy prohibits him from completing any assignments. He needs help—now.

I don't want to label the children. I just want these wonderful little characters to get the help and guidance they deserve as early as possible. We as educators need to have our voices heard and stop waiting for that magic age of seven.

Another summer will end. Once again the feet will come thundering down the hallways and smiling faces will enter our classrooms. Among them, there may be a Walter, a Harry, or a Peter, and I don't want to still be asking, Why wait? 

Pamela Thompson-Kelly teaches first grade in Columbia, Connecticut.