Perfect Child

The other day when I taught the grade 3,4,5 class, I got to spend a bit of one-to-one time with a particular student. She tends to stay to herself so I don’t know her as well as some of her more outgoing classmates. As I was chatting with her and marvelling at her humour and insight, I suddenly had a flash of this same little girl in kindergarten. She was rolling around on the floor while the rest of the children were sitting in a circle, singing. At each invitation to join, she made her disdain abundantly clear and carried on with her rolling.

Every time I noticed her that year she was doing her own thing, to say the least. I felt anxious just watching her, but I distinctly remember the kindergarten teacher’s response when I asked about that little bundle of wild. The teacher, Dayna, filled my ear with how great that little girl was and how much she loved this, that, and the other thing about her amazing personality and on and on it went. I looked back at the little girl lying prone in the middle of the classroom. “Right,” said I.

And now I get it. When I look at the nine year old version, I see everything Dayna could see – and I could not – in the five year old version.

There are two points to this story. The first is an ode to one of the most amazing Early Childhood Educators I have ever worked with. Dayna always fills my ears with how wonderful and amazing and unique and creative and brilliant her students are. (While we watch them lick sticks or shove spoons down their pants.) When I substitute in her classroom, I spend the whole time doing head counts and rubbing my fingers nervously over the pile of bandaids in my pocket. I can’t do what she does. I can keep them safe and happy and maybe they’ll do some learning if I stay out of their way, but I will never be able to do what Dayna does.

My second point is that there is a perfect child in every student we work with. That is the version of the child that the parent is referring to when they are mystified by your version. Sometimes that version is blindingly bright, sometimes it’s carefully camouflaged, but a parent can always see the perfection.

So how do teachers keep the vision of that perfect child in the midst of a large group of challenging and demanding personalities? As a teacher, is there a “magic” age for me? An age at which I, like Dayna, can see all the potential and possibility when I look at a student?

There are days when the five year olds make me nervous and the teenagers make me tired but eight to ten year olds almost always make me want to play. The way they learn fascinates me, the way they try on new personalities and discard them like mittens fascinates me. The way they teeter between egocentricity and boundless compassion fascinates me. The way they want to work as much as they want to play. The way they cautiously reach for independence but still want to please you . . . it all fascinates me.

Is the age that fascinates you the age you should teach? Or is it just the age you’ll find most enjoyable? Were you thinking I would have answers for these questions? Nope.

But here’s to all the teachers, like Dayna, who look at a child and see their best self; who inspire each child to be their best self. And here’s to the perfect child still residing in each one of us.

Apparently, mine is nine and a half years old.

Monica is the author of "Thanks for chucking that at the wall instead of me."