Pretend

When I was a little girl, I loved to pretend.  I’d pretend my pink bike with the flowered basket and the banana seat was a horse and that the old swing in the backyard was a stagecoach.  I would play outside under the mulberry bush with my neighborhood friend, Michelle, pretending we were Mary and Laura from Little House on the Prairie.  My kite on a windy day was a trained bird of prey who did tricks for judges that didn’t exist.  I even pretended I had a sister and we shared the bedroom.  When it was time to clean it, I’d sputter and grouse at my “sister” about HER mess and threaten to divide the room in half just like Marsha and Jan Brady did on the Brady Bunch.  Pretending is a wonderful way to spend a childhood!

That said, pretending is not a wonderful way to spend an adulthood.  I remember pretending when I was struggling to have children, and my best friend was pregnant for her first child and then a second.  I smiled through the pain, trying to ask all the questions a good friend should like “What color will you paint the nursery?”  “Tell me your top name choices, again!”  “Any cravings, yet?”  Pretending I was as excited as she was.

The pretending continued when I felt alone in my marriage.  I wanted to present the “perfect family” to the world.  I started scrapbooking to document the first year of the much awaited arrival of my “born from the heart” son, Lucas.  I started cooking casseroles and had dinner ready every night at 5:30.  I planned the Disney trip as soon as Lucas could walk.  I was going to do this right, the way I imagined the intact families of my childhood neighborhood did.  I reduced my teaching by half, so I could be home with my toddler.  I pretended it was okay that colleagues thought of my job as “hobby” teaching because I was only there in the mornings.

At school, we all had to pretend it was feasible when “No Child Left Behind” dictated increased proficiency until a mandated 100% proficiency for ALL students in 2014.  We nodded in agreement as if that was possible.  Today we still nod in compliance when we review our district’s core beliefs, including “All children can learn at a high levels.”    We agree to our meeting norms which state we will ONLY discuss those issues we can control, regardless of the apparent loss of control in any aspect of our profession.  I’m turning this pretending around.  Mindless nodding will be put on the shelf, and I will save my rich, imaginative spirit for the work I do with kids, those walking the line between childhood and young adulthood.

Middle school students will tell you their Barbies are packed away, they no longer play with the Star Wars figures, or pretend they are the teacher to a bedroom full of stuffed animals.  That might be true, but they adore “pretending” in the classroom.  I’m reminded of this anytime I slip into a make-believe character when teaching a lesson.  For instance, recently my 7th graders were completing a quick research unit on “How astronauts combat boredom in space.”  They were preparing a slideshow presentation for the class when this popped to mind, came out of my mouth and became the most motivating element of the research lesson.  I announced to the class as they were huddled in groups, deciding who would say what, “Oh, I should probably tell you.  My sister Tris, who works as a special projects manager at NASA, will be here tomorrow to listen to all your proposals.”  They looked up at me.  Quiet for the first time all hour.  “Your sister?”  one asked, incredulous.  I stayed with it.  They were hooked.  Game on.  I had them; we were playing.  The next day, the me who is a teacher was unexpectedly called out for an emergency meeting and “Tris” stepped in to listen to the presentations.  It was magical because the learning was fluid, not forced.  We found our “more” in the learning.  I should remember to roll in the play when I can; the spirit of pretend and the agreements silently made when a class “plays” together changes us for good, changes us for the better!