Experienced Reflections
from Educators, Students and Community Members
The following article originally appeared in Community Works Journal


The Soul of a School
by Cynthia Hughes, VCW Outreach Teacher
Cynthia is a veteran teacher whose experience includes serving as a Chapter One and classroom teacher and school librarian. She serves on the staff of Community Works as an Outreach Teacher and Resource Specialist.

In a recent chat, a teacher told me he was concerned that the soul of teaching was disappearing. He felt it sinking under the weight of standards, testing, standardized curriculum, and what he called the McDonald’s phenomenon that is sweeping the country unifying and smoothing out regional differences and making sure we’re all on the same page (literally).

Well, souls have always interested me. I don’t mean this in a Bible-thumping redemptive sort of hallelujah kind of way. What I’m talking about is the elusive, amorphous, ever-changing part of our shared existence. I think of it as the core, the feelings, the intelligence of a person, group, place, or situation. It can be revealed in one simple moment if we are paying attention.
Sometimes I think that I am a teacher because I’m interested in souls. I began this interest at an early age. I may have discovered my own soul one day, as I sat in the large dusty entranceway of our old house. We often played there as kids, and it was there one sunny morning I saw millions of specks bouncing around in a shaft of light that was coming in through the window. I didn’t know what this was. My sister told me it was dust particles, “you know pieces of dust, dirt.” I was in awe of their number, their movement, and I waved my hand through them, stirring them up. I sat watching for a long time. I then began noticing them everywhere I went. Sometimes their numbers were few, like upstairs in Mrs. Blood’s clean apartment. Sometimes their numbers seemed downright dangerous, like in the cellar coal bin. But it was in that quiet moment in the hallway and later, during quiet moments under the lilacs or watching rain run down the window panes, that I came to know a little bit of what was inside of me by connecting to what was outside of me. This got me wondering all kinds of things. What was the air made of? Did I breathe in all that dust and where did it go? What was the wind? And who was I, anyway? People had told me I was made of dust, too. I had discovered my own curiosity for learning, my own personal reality.

It’s our job to help kids learn to read and to write, to learn math and spelling conventions, to give them ways to discover their thinking and to find the best home for their unique talents and abilities. Somewhere in all of that lies the soul, the part of each of us that can’t be measured with a rubric, scale or test score. The unique experience of each person’s interactions with each other, each thing, each learning opportunity, each conversation, each perception, we cannot know that by testing it. We need to take the time to listen for it, to allow and encourage it to be expressed. I’m not just talking about the kids. When we as a staff gather each Wednesday, there are times when a bit of soul gets revealed, when someone dares to speak what she or he feels. Or when in exhaustion, as the latest person tells us of the latest program we ought to try, we can all sense the hard work we are sharing. Or when someone feels safe enough to express his or her passion or enthusiasm for something.

Last week in the woods, walking up toward the stream, Alex (one of my students) suddenly said, I love the sound of water”. He said it with conviction, and I knew it was his own experience, his own soul talking, not something someone told him he should appreciate or learn about. To me, it is the small moment like this that measures a person’s intelligence for living. A moment will matter a lot more twenty years down the road than his ability to achieve a high test score. This is what I appreciate about our two schools. I have witnessed countless examples of kids feeling happy and feeling safe enough to express their souls in different ways. Once in a group conversation about anger, one boy told us he gets so mad when his shirt won’t come off over his head that he bites the shirt. The group erupted in laughter, and what moments earlier could have been a stern reminder about appropriate school behavior became a delightful sharing between kids of the silly things they’d done in frustration. Isaac admitted that when he tripped over a chair once he kicked the chair and hurt his foot –lots of laughter. The student who had lashed out earlier in the classroom no longer felt like he was alone in his inappropriate outburst –he got the message, everyone did, but no one left the meeting feeling ashamed. In another classroom Sean became the bard and recited poems to us. Everyone in the meeting area waited patiently as he sat with his back to us for two minutes, remembering the words. There was a respectful pause when he finished his recitation, then applause, and in his own quiet way Sean beamed. Yesterday, making mini Mexican marketplaces, Rebecca, Brandi and Haley discussed what should be sold at each booth. It was clear they understood what can be found at the marketplace and helped each other make tiny colorful replicas from clay. Many times at the Primary Program morning meeting the songs carried us into our day with kids and teachers singing our hearts out, I mean really singing our hearts out and smiling at each other, so happy, so free. How does one measure the successes and learning that come out of these interactions?

I have been deeply moved by the strength and commitment of each of the programs I’ve worked in this year, the dedicated work of teachers and staff, the ways in which children are valued and listened to, the collaboration and collegial support, the expectations of good work from both adults and children.

I think the McDonald’s folks should come for a visit to see the range of structures that support children’s thinking, development and happiness before they waste any more money on making every classroom the same.