Having actions that occur regularly in the time we spend together are comforting and calming for young learners, and arguably all learners. Keeping the schedule consistent is one aspect of our daily rituals—and it is what keeps Byron, for example, sane. I also use a
Figure 2.11 Taylor’s drawing of what he does and doesn’t understand from The Stranger.
Figure 2.12 Dylan’s draw-ing of what he does and doesn’t understand from The Stranger.
small chime in the classroom; when I strike the chime, or have the daily chime ringer do it, we all “freeze” as soon as possible. But our rituals go far beyond just the schedule and attention-getters. Some rituals I put into place, and some we create together.
Right before our two-week holiday in December last year, a stu-dent gave me a large candle. Several other children saw it and were interested in using it in the classroom. After considering how to use it, I offered the idea of an opening and closing circle to begin and end the week. We worked together to create our biweekly learning circle ritual. At the beginning of each week, we gathered in a circle (no small feat with five- and six-year-olds). One selected student sat near me as learning circle guide. The guide waited for everyone to get very quiet. She or he told me to light the candle (Figure 2.13). I pushed the lighted candle into the middle of the circle. When the guide thought the group was ready, she or he said,
“Our learning circle is now open,” and then blew out the candle.
The process was repeated with the same guide at the end of our week, with the group again gathering in the circle, our finding silence, the guide telling me to light the candle, and the guide say-ing, “Our learning circle is now closed.”
Our final closing circle that year, on the last day of school, was simply amazing. We followed the same pattern as always: sit, get
Figure 2.13 Andie lights the candle to open the learning circle.
quiet, light the candle, say the words, close the circle. The students clapped as the candle was blown out, but then they got quiet again. They all just sat there, unlike the other days when they got up after the candle was blown out and safely stowed.
My mind started racing: How long would they sit here? How late were we for the buses? Finally one child bravely said, “Andie, I don’t want to leave.” Other heads nodded. I nodded, too, tears forming in my eyes. No one else spoke. I finally told them, “I don’t want to leave either, but we have to. Let’s go together.” So with our smiles and tears, we got up.
The circle ritual helps all of us in so many ways: first, it was cre-ated mostly by the students. Each child has a set week when they are the guide. But a bigger, unexpected teaching of the circle is how to wait and listen to friends. Throughout the year the class varies between twenty and twenty-six people sitting together, yet we find consistent ways to listen to one another’s thinking in our circle, whether they are speaking at the time or not. Many times when someone is ready to share and they are called on, they actually mean they are ready to think, and want us to wait for them. And we do.
One year, Dylan routinely would raise his hand, be called on, and look off into space, formulating his words as we waited patiently. Spencer waited until I called on him, put his fingers to his temples, and said loudly, “I’m thinking.” When we waited long enough, most of the time he would offer new insight for us.
I model our first opening circle early in the year, and as soon as the candle is lighted, it seems the children’s brains are lighted, too. This year, Allison suggested lighting the candle for people’s birthdays. Sidney and Montana said we ought to go over some of the class promises. Leteshia thought we should say good morning to each other. As a group, we decided to light a candle for people’s birthdays. In December, Allison told me she would be moving and asked if, on her last day, we could light the candle for her.
When Jesse arrived in our class in March, it seemed natural to ask him if he wanted us to light a candle to welcome him. His eyes wide, he said, “Yes.” The ceremony continues to expand.
We come from different backgrounds and our languages are different; family conversational practices, family size, socioeco-nomics, and countries of origin all affect what we say and the way we say it, as well as what we hear and the sense we make of it.
Added to that is the fact that some students in my classroom have physical challenges (hearing or articulation difficulties, for exam-ple) that make it difficult to understand the words they speak.
Truly listening may mean asking someone to repeat their words several times. And a speaker might need to struggle to make him-self or herhim-self understood.
The reading comprehension strategies require the reader to use their life experiences to connect with the texts we read. As we share our thinking in the circle, the need to stay focused and listen deeply to each speaker increases throughout the year. Our learning as a community depends on our finding ways to respect each other and the different worlds we come from as well as the ways we each express meaning.
E
xperiences in the past month in our classroom include mul-tiple readings of Pumpkin Circle (Levens 1999), a visit to a pumpkin patch, and ongoing observations of the life and death of a pumpkin and its seed children. The children are gath-ered in a circle in the meeting area, discussing what they knowabout seeds. Their contributions are varied and unpredictable.