Liesbeth's Tale
Liesbeth's Tale
"There's a crack in everything that's how the light gets in" - Leonard Cohen
If you want to listen to a fragment of the audiofile with English subtitles, click on this Youtube-link.
(Google translation) We call Liesbeth at the beginning of the Easter holidays. She is one of the teachers of the third kindergarten class in a large Limburg kindergarten and has more than twenty years of experience. You can rightly say that she is tried and tested in the profession. With infectious enthusiasm she talks about 'her children' and 'her class'. During the lockdown, she can't resist jumping into the school every day. “The class is my life, hey,” she says, “I'm there more than I'm home.” However, she didn't mind the closure of schools three weeks ago. A kindergarten teacher in her team was found to be infected with COVID-19 early on. In those first weeks of frightening reports in the media, this caused some concern and fear among the teachers. The decision to close the schools initially felt like a relief. But then Liesbeth gets a movie from toddler Mona. Mona has a wobbly tooth. Since the most decisive colleague retired, Miss Liesbeth has been on duty as the tooth teacher. She helps the children give the annoying loose teeth the last puff. Liesbeth herself is surprised about her reaction to the video. “I broke down then,” she says, “I started crying. I was looking at myself.” We ask what exactly touches her in Mona's video. She replies: “Gosh… The visual contact. Being able to talk to the kids. You live so close to each other and yet you are so far away from the kids. Despite all the whatsapps I have received… You are still in the classroom with heart and soul. In class it's my kids, huh. That's what I say: you have a mom, but in the school I take care of you. And you want everyone to be okay. Yes… That bond you have with the children suddenly disappears.” When we ask later in the conversation what she misses as a teacher during this lockdown, Liesbeth comes back to the bond with her children and the connection in her class. “I miss that class connection, the positivism that I see in my children. Now I'm in the dark. I don't know anything. I miss the everyday things that the children come to tell me. I miss the wonder and admiration in their eyes when we do an activity. Taking care of my children. My class is empty now. The coat racks are empty. Toys remain on the playground. It is very quiet at school.” She starts talking about her 'over-enthusiastic' class, in which she has invested a lot. “I have a very tough class. At some point I just didn't know anymore. And when I say that I don't remember, my colleagues look up: oh, if Liesbeth no longer knows how to deal with keeping class, then it must be really tough. So we've been through a lot together. Don't get me wrong, they are very nice kids. I have a very enthusiastic class. But it is a busy class that demands a lot of energy.” If half an hour later and after many detours in the conversation - we learn about floating and sinking in Corona times, the sons who are working themselves in the meantime, parents teaching their children dialect during the lockdown ("eijn", "twiej ”), a colleague's dog that had to be put to sleep, Facebook posts about teachers on vacation (“You want to defend your job!”), the bear hunt, bloopers while the team was making a movie for the kids, the frailty of the life, sense and nonsense of product- and process-oriented education, the importance of playful learning - asking about a moment she really enjoyed in class during the past year, Liesbeth returns to the connection in her 'spicy' class . The trajectory she took with the children this year made a deep impression on her. This is the story that stays with her. “My point of work as a kindergarten teacher is to dare to let go of my planning, my timetable, my prepared environmental enrichment and to observe more, watch more and respond to what the children need. So at one point I asked my children: 'I do have a lot of ideas about what I can do with you, but what do you actually want?' I already knew what the answer would be, of course (monkeying): 'Party! Where is that party?' My headmistress had already said: 'You have a real party class!' So we worked around parties for two weeks. I have included language and math. The children really enjoyed it. And I. We really had a really, really good time. That has also strengthened the feeling in the children of: I can be there, with my teacher.” Liesbeth tells this story with a smile. She enjoys the impetuosity of her children. That should be clearly stated first. Only then does she talk about her concerns. “I had my hands in the hair with my children. I always looked very positively: oh, they will still find their way, it will come, they need even more time. Then an intern came into my class and I saw myself in her. I saw her struggle with those things that were also very difficult for me. At one point I was working in the hallway with some kids and I heard the intern count down so the preschoolers would line up anyway. She was actually threatening. Then I thought to myself: but this can no longer be. That's what I said in the coffee room, where the care coordinators were sitting: there will come a time when I will close the door and leave. And when my children stand alone, they stand alone. This just can't be done anymore. Half an hour later the care coordinator came into my class. We also consulted the UCLL Teacher Training. This is how my project came about 'close to the ball'. (Emphasis) I didn't invent that, did I! I've been given advice, and I'm very happy about that. I had eight 'sjarels' in my class. I called them to me, took a ball and pictures of children from the class. I explained to them very calmly: that ball is me. I put pictures around the ball of children who easily follow class appointments without needing extra guidance. To put it irreverently, from 'the braverikskes'. Those photos were far away from the ball. I put one picture of them close to the ball. (Proud) I had only taken two pictures and they already knew what I wanted to say: 'That's us! We are, because we don't listen!' 'Oh yes?', I asked, 'And how come?' They had an explanation for everything ('because we still like playing!'). They also knew very well when things went wrong: when we went to the toilet, in line, when cleaning up. During all individual moments. I said, 'But that's not really nice. Because we have to threaten a lot and get angry. I don't feel like a missus, but a policeman, and chief, and witch, and wizard. And I don't really like that. Those kids far from the ball are kids who stick to class appointments. You can too, but not yet. Not yet. I know you can. But not yet. And we're going to practice that. I'm going to help you with that. When I say 'close to the ball', you must be close to me. We're not going to say anything to the others. It's a little secret among us. It's something we're going to work around. Because I know you can do it, but not yet, and I want you to be able to do it on your own too.' That's how our project started. It went very well, only I had to inform my other toddlers, because that didn't work. I shouted 'close to the ball' and then the whole class looked like: what is the teacher saying now? I wrote in my class calendar: then we will have another conversation and we will evaluate again. We are going to see if there are children who are no longer part of the project or children who still want to be part of it. During those conversations, the children themselves indicated that it was still difficult for me. I think I need some more practice time. (Proud) Yep, they knew it perfectly! We also discussed what they would like as a reward. What responsibility could they take on? Where could they contribute? And so I had children who were given the responsibility after playtime to clean up the outdoor kitchen, take the little ones to the toddler row, … In two weeks I went from eight children to five on the project. I now have two more, (with a wink) the 'die-hards', that I can't let go of just yet. In the end, I offered perspective. I agreed with them: 'You go to the classroom toilet, the others go to the toilets outside, they can do that alone. I'm in the cloakroom peeling the fruit. When you're ready, you take the fruit and eat already. Even when I'm gone. You can do that, I know you can. When you're done (eating the fruit in the circle always took a bit too long for them) you can already help the toddlers put on the coats.' The class has now become a completely different class. Those eight children certainly determined the dynamics and atmosphere in the classroom. I regretted that. It should be cozy and fun. I always want to be able to get things across with a joke, with lots of laughter and fun in the classroom. I want the classroom to be a warm nest, especially for the children who don't have that at home. The first thing you want is that the children like to come to school. That they feel good in class. And if you have to 'gumble' and 'gumble' all the time… I think that's my biggest win this year. The children demanded negative attention. And because of my positive way of acting, I was able to turn that around: I know you can do that. You are worthy of my trust.” When Liesbeth finishes the story, we feel the urge to thank her. We enjoyed listening to her. After this story, the tension disappears from our conversation. We ask some questions for clarification and talk about this and that. Time to wrap up. One statement from Liesbeth, in response to the comment that trainees should be given a lot of practice opportunities in practice, is perhaps worth extracting from the sluggish conclusion of our conversation: “Every year there will be a toddler in your class who your path shifts a stone.”
Liesbeth and the Samaritan
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