It’s the last day of classes before winter break, a snowstorm is on its way, grades are due tomorrow, and most of the eighth graders in my first period class are in their pajamas. Perfect time to just let them sit around for an hour and play video games or chill or do whatever they want. But no—I decide we’ll do a few rounds of Philosophical Chairs for the first half of class. Nothing too intense, just a little argumentative fun.
But things begin to fall apart even before I’ve finished doling out the holiday candy. Groups of students are talking over me; others are on their Chromebooks or admiring each other’s bedroom slippers. I surrender before I’ve even unveiled the first topic for discussion. They spend the rest of the hour playing video games or chilling or doing whatever they want. Should’ve been my plan from the get-go.
Two periods later, though, a split class of fourth and fifth graders comes in and, maybe against my better judgment, I decide to give it another shot. They’ve never experienced Philosophical Chairs before, so this won’t be a true version of it—more like practice rounds to get them used to the protocol. I’ve intentionally chosen topics they can dive into based on personal experience, such as “4th-5th graders should be allowed to use their phones in class” and “Social media does more harm than good.”
They run with it. Their energy is high, they bat ideas back and forth, listen to one another (for the most part), and numerous different voices—most in Spanish, a few in English—get into the mix. I’m trying to stay focused on their arguments, but part of me is also marveling at how differently things played out here than they did with the eighth graders a couple hours earlier. I realize that, as much as I’ve felt my head spinning this year as a “specials” teacher—going from 12-year-olds to 9-year-olds to 5-year-olds in the space of a couple hours—it’s also a gift. Four seasons in a day pretty much every day of the year.
With 15 minutes left in the period, we wind down the activity and I pass out candy and give the students independent time. Most choose to lounge on beanbags or draw on the white board or check out books from my classroom library. Two are sitting on a couch reading the comic version of my first teaching memoir, Holler If You Hear Me.
It seems a happy and perhaps appropriate note to end on, but then, across the room, I spot a kid sitting by himself. I’m thinking he’s just overwhelmed by all the activity, but as I get closer, I see that his eyes are red and watery. I ask what’s wrong, and at first he says nothing. But then he tells me, in Spanish, that he’s missing his dog, who died a few weeks ago. He tells me all about the dog—his name, what color he was, where he slept, what he liked to eat. The more we talk, the less down he seems, and eventually another student comes to sit with us. She asks if we can do the activity we did today again when we come back from vacation. “Me gusta discutir asi,” she says. “Es interesante.”
I’d love to end with something profound here—this being the last day before winter break and all—but the truth is, like most teachers, right now I’m just too tired. Have a good break, everyone.
Rest up Mr Michie! Many blessings to you and your family 😊