After a lovely Spring Break break, here’s a first grade story about fairness. It’s hard for teachers to know whether they are being fair or not. What do you think? Is the teacher in this story fair?
“Red Rover. Red Rover. Let Ethan come over.”
Ethan was the smallest boy playing. That’s why Jack called his name; he wasn’t likely to be able to break through their linked hands. As Jack expected, when Ethan ran at their line he didn’t get through. After the initial attempt Ethan was supposed to stop pushing, but he didn’t.
The rules were: when you hit the other team’s line and you didn’t break through, you stopped pushing. But Ethan didn’t stop, and it made Jack mad. As Ethan kept pushing, the line broke. Ethan picked Reagan to go back to his own line with him.
“He cheated,” Jack said. “You’re supposed to stop pushing.”
None of the others on his team said anything.
“He cheated,” Jack said louder. “No. No. You can’t go back to your line. That was cheating.”
But Ethan was halfway across. Jack ran to get in front of him, blocking his way. Ethan didn’t look up to meet his eyes, but tried to follow Reagan back to his line. Jack tried to block both, running in front of first one then the other, and spreading his arms.
“No!” He knew not to touch or push, but they wouldn’t listen. The others, even on his own team, didn’t seem to care as long as the game continued one way or the other. It wasn’t fair. He got close to Ethan, insisting, trying to use his own greater height to force him to look and respond.
“Stop!” They wouldn’t respond.
And then there was Miss Waters, who had seen. “Jack.”
He looked at her.
“Please come here.”
He uttered a sound of frustration and came. By the time he got to the edge of the yard the others had continued with the game. Another from his line was backing up to get a running start.
“Let’s sit here.”
“What did I do? Ethan was cheating. They wouldn’t listen. He was cheating. I was just trying to get them to stop.” He was so frustrated that he was crying now. “They wouldn’t listen.”
She didn’t say anything for another five seconds or so. He sat, barely.
“What did I do?”
She cocked her head and looked out to the field. “Well, first of all, when I call your name and ask you to come see me, what is the appropriate response?”
He sighed. “Yes Ma’am.”
“Right. Great. Okay, so it sounds like you’re upset and it looked like you were using your body and voice in an inappropriate way with Ethan. You want to tell me what’s going on from your perspective?”
“What is perspective?”
“That means, how you saw what happened.”
“I wasn’t doing anything. He was cheating.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
He explained. She listened.
“I can see why that frustrated you.”
“Yeah. It’s just, at home, no one listens to me. They don’t let me talk, ever.”
“Hmm.”
“He was playing it wrong.”
“You’re probably right.”
She didn’t say anything for a while, looking out to the field where the game continued without him. He shifted on the seat and kicked a stick.
“Can I go play now?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” His voice swung high and strong again.
“I told you already.”
“What?”
“You can’t use your body to make other people do what you want them to do.”
“He wouldn’t listen.”
She didn’t say anything.
“So, can I go?”
“No.” She grimaced as if she, too, was being required to sit out of a game.
He made a growling sound. Her head turned.
“You may not respond to me that way.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He kicked the dirt, having kicked the stick out of his own reach.
“How long do I have to sit out?”
“Not sure yet.”
“I don’t understand why no one will ever listen to me.”
She turned toward him and thought of their common humanity.
“What is it you would like to say?”
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CC image courtesy of Pat Pilon on Flickr.