It was the last day of school. I had taken my place by the front door where I have been every morning for the last 10 years, greeting the students as they arrive for class. This day, the excitement was in the air.
Children were tumbling out of their cars with flowers, gift bags, and fruit trays. Their faces were bubbling over with joy. At the door that day, many of my students had stopped to present me with a flower or a gift or a poem written from their hearts, and cards, from grateful parents, for an awesome year.
It was almost time for me to leave the door and walk down the hall to my students, excited to start their day. I was getting a bit restless, looking at my watch, thinking about all the activities planned for the morning. That is when Jonny and his mom drove up.
Jonny, a darling little four-year-old boy, had come to our school in the middle of the year. I had taught his older sister, Judy, several years earlier. She was a quiet and gentle little girl. Jonny was totally different from her. In a Montessori classroom, as in a family, every child is uniquely different, uniquely gifted, with untapped potential, waiting to unfold in natural stages. So it was with Jonny.
From the first day, he came in looking for playmates, always wanting to be part of the action. Jonny had a hard time sitting still and an even harder time listening. He loved the interaction, and many days, he turned the work into a vehicle for socialization.
As Jonny was learning to navigate the classroom, he bumped right into “respect,” a concept that would begin to develop and strengthen his ability to show value and emotional control. Respect for the environment, for the materials, for his friends, teachers and for himself, which is a foundational hallmark of the Montessori classroom, along with “grace and courtesy,” would be presented and modeled daily.
Jonny saw by example how to conduct himself and harness his emotional swings by himself. Along with the other students, he would be encouraged to always lace respectful words around his actions which, in the long run, would help diffuse moments of emotional conflict or misunderstandings.
Respect and fairness go hand in hand. Most of the time, children are very forgiving, but they know if you are authentic. They know by your consistency and fairness. They know by your love.
As you model respect to a child through your speech, mannerisms, and tone, they get a sense of well-being and a love for themselves which nourishes and smooths out emotional needs.
In return, as Jonny began to make choices to move throughout the classroom with “grace and courtesy,” he would gain a sense, maybe for the first time, of how it feels to be respected and treated with fairness by his peers. This new found respect empowered Jonny to grow in self-worth and self-respect, while at the same time, developing a more tender, understanding heart towards others. Mutual respect had emotionally bonded Jonny to his friends and to his teacher.
Jonny got out of the car, but he didn’t walk towards me. He just stood there, motionless until the mom finally got out of the car to see what was wrong. After much coaxing, Jonny began to slowly take steps towards me with his head down. So slowly, in fact, that mom had to walk with him. He was extremely upset. I could see it. Mom could see it.
She kept whispering to Jonny as they walked, but his unhappiness persisted. As Jonny reluctantly inched towards the door, he kept fidgeting, trying to carry his backpack and a small plastic water bottle that was almost empty. Getting a bit impatient, his mother called to me from the sidewalk, “Jonny is upset because he does not have a gift for you today.”
With that, I immediately left the door and walked towards him. “Oh Jonny, that’s okay,” I heard myself say. “We are going to have a party today and the Kindergartners are going to bring healthy treats!” There was no response.
Jonny did not look up. In fact, he walked right past me, through the door and towards the hall. His mom and I just looked at each other. We didn’t know what to say. All of a sudden, Jonny turned and came barreling back out the door. With his strawberry blonde hair glistening in the sun, I saw immediately that his countenance had changed.
Jonny stopped short, right in front of me, and with a happy grin and twinkling eyes, handed me his small, clear, almost empty water bottle. It was all he had to give that day, and he gave it to me, with all of his heart. With that, Jonny hurried to class and I just stood there, speechless.
When I finally walked to class, I had to choke back tears.
There were piles of lovely gifts waiting for me as I stepped into the classroom that day, but I found myself clutching that almost empty water bottle to my chest, as I told Jonny how much I loved it. Jonny beamed. Later that morning, Jonny’s mom brought a flower to school for him to present to me, which was so thoughtful, but our hearts had already connected, and that almost empty water bottle had become my treasure.
Marilyn Long Webster is a retired School Director of Midwest Christian Montessori Academy in Bolingbrook, Illinois. This article is from a journal entry written during her career as a guide.
Tomorrow’s Child / April 2019 / Pg 24
