Elternbesuchsmorgan für Alex, und Räbeliechtli

This morning I had such a treat: it was parent visitation day in Alex's class.  As you might recall, I completely missed the parent morning last spring out of ignorance, so nothing in the world could have kept me away this time around.

All the same, Alex had a deep-set fear that I would forget or somehow miss it again: when he came home from school yesterday he asked me several times if I was planning on coming, and last night, when I tucked him into bed, he requested that I please just write myself a note, just in case I was forgetful in the morning.  He was taking no chances.

Dennis was staying home with Joey, but he was hoping to make it to work by noon, which would have necessitated my leaving Alex's class a half-hour early.  When I asked Alex what he thought of that, his face fell and he shook his head emphatically, so Dennis shuffled his schedule.  Alex doesn't ask for much: this clearly was important.

Not that I wanted to leave early, anyway: I was fascinated, all day long, with watching and playing with all those kids. They were busy, busy, all morning long.

As soon as a child entered the classroom (after carefully hanging up his coat and reflective collar and changing his shoes: it's a class of tiny Mr. Rogerses) the teacher asked him "And what would you like to do today."  The child named a toy to play with, and he was sent on his way.

Alex picked (as, I gather, he does most morning) the Eisenbahn, and he spent the first part of the morning building a railroad track that stretched across the classroom and back.  As he was building, he told me "I'm very proud of this. And I'm always sad when it's time to clean up." But he and the boys who joined him had a nice long time to enjoy the railway before the teacher, Frau Ziegler, turned on some soft music, signaling clean-up.

I was impressed by how well the class transitioned.  Alex scooped up his toys immediately, as did the rest of the class, and scooted over to the circle of chairs.  His teacher is very clever: every time she called the children to their circle, she had them do some sort of game or activity while they waited for the rest of their classmates.  They were always very simple games that the kids could play unsupervised, and they kept them quiet and concentrating.

One time, a child was selected to lead the class in "Which hand has the button."  Another time, one kid was given a palette, and while she marched around the room, the rest of the class sang a song about colors. When the song was done, she picked a classmate to name a color on her palette, and then he joined her in her little parade. But the game they played most was a sort of a coin toss: a child is given a large disc, and he assigns two classmates the different sides and then sets the disc spinning. The winner of the toss takes the next turn in the middle.

As simple as these games are, I'm sure the kids learn quite a lot from them: self-direction, certainly, and patience. I suspect they also learn a little about classroom politics. Alex confided that, when he's in the center of the room and needs to choose players for a game, he's torn between picking his best friends, so that their feelings won't be hurt, and the kids who he'd doesn't know so well, so that maybe they'll become his friends.  I think many of his classmates shared his dilemma: for some, minutes passed while they made their selections.

The first time the kids were gathered into a circle, they treated us parents to a few songs, and then the teacher gathered them together on the floor so that she could explain the morning's activities.  She'd set up six different stations around the room, and the kids could to do each once or twicetwice, stamping a sort of a passport sheet each time they finished an activity. The teacher explained and demonstrated each activity thoroughly, although surely the kids were familiar with all of them–a coloring worksheet, a sorting game, shape bingo.  It took a long time, but halfway through, when one child let out a big sigh, Frau Ziegler took her cue immediately, putting the whole class on their feet for a quick song.

Stringing beads

But all of that groundwork paid off beautifully: once the teacher released the kids into the classroom, well, you've never seen such a peaceful and self-sufficient class.  The kids worked at their own paces, and if a kid chose a game that required partners, he waited quietly at the table until some other children joined him...and then they worked so well together, taking turns and being excellent sports. It was impressively seamless.

I commented on the behavior of the class to Frau Jenny, and she promised that not all Swiss Kindergarten classes are this well-behaved and disciplined.  "These are some exceptionally good kids," she told me. But I think the teachers have something to do with it, too. They have such a peaceful, calm way about them that certainly transmits to the classroom.

Matching gloves

After about 45 minutes of focused work, the kids were called back to their circle, and then Frau Ziegler sent half the class to the cloakroom to get their snacks.  The chosen half spontaneously broke into a little cheer "Yay, yay, yay, yay!" as they marched to their lunch bags, pumping their fists in time. The detained half, Alex's, over-feigned pouting when it was their turn to get their food, arms crossed at their chests and chins down, chanting "Ich mag dass nicht, Ich mag dass nicht..." through some escaped giggles.  Even their protests were orderly.

Alex and some of his favorites: they're like a pile of puppies

As soon as a kid finished his snack, he could leave to play on the playground, which is why Alex begs me daily to pack him tiny snacks.  When he finished his own, Znüni, he dashed outside, joining some of the boys in a no-rules game of chase.   Some of the other kids grabbed tiny rakes and added to the school leaf pile, and some climbed on the school's playhouse, but Alex spent the entire recess running, nonstop, with his friends. I had a lot of the moms tell me how sad their kids would be when Alex left the school, which was sweet and sad to hear.

After the kids reconvened with a few more songs, the teacher told them they could either work more on their stations, or do a felting art project, or play with any of the classroom toys.  When the kids broke into their perfectly organized chaos, Alex chose to play with legos and spent a half-hour quietly puzzling on how to build the world's longest car. He tried many different designs while I, following his instructions, fished through the bin of ancient but completely serviceable legos, piecing together the arms, legs, and heads of dismembered minifigs, to serve as Alex's passengers.

Eventually, he decided that he should finish his stations, and so he willed his car to a classmate, but when it was time to clean up, Alex ran back to the legos to scoop them away. "It's the rules. We have to clean up everything we play with."

Frau Ziegler ended the day by gathering the kids back into a circle and leading them in a little guided discussion about emotions.  She showed them some pictures of children, and asked the class how the kids were feeling. And then she had the kids play a little charades, choosing volunteers to demonstrate "happy," and "sad," and "angry."

You may have noticed that, other than some pattern matching, the kids did nothing that could be categorized as academic. Swiss Kindergartens focus on emotional intelligence, teaching the kids to work together, to listen to teacher, to focus on a project, and to follow directions, generally learning through play.  Conversely, in Ella's Kindergarten, the focus was so academic, with the kids quite regimented.  There was no other way, I suppose, for the teacher was charged with getting that class to read, and with only two or three hours each day of class time.

I suppose that we'll have to pay the piper when it's time for Alex to return to American Kindergarten: he'll have a little catching up to do.  But I'm so glad he gets to have a playful Kindergarten experience, like the one I enjoyed, for a little while longer.

Frau Ziegler dismissed the class for the day by having the children all close their eyes. One by one, she touched their cheeks with a feather, signaling that it was time to rise and leave the room. And that, I think, sums up this classroom nicely: the teacher guided the children beautifully, all day, with a light but effective touch.

Packing up for home

I must admit that I was exhausted when it was time to leave the school.  And that was definitely a good reminder for me: when Alex comes home saying that he feels fragile, or if he seems short-tempered, it's only because he had a long, long morning, full of the important business of playing.

We paused to play with cattails and
to run around a playground on
the way to the parade,

So we rested for a long time in the afternoon, but as soon as Ella finished her homework, it was time to set off on another adventure.  Do you remember those turnips I showed you a few days ago?  It's time to reveal their purpose.

In Switzerland, in the fall, it's tradition for children to hollow out and carve turnips with decorations or their names. Then, on the night of their neighborhood's parade, families light the turnips with candles, and the children carry them, in procession, through the streets while they sing little songs. The tradition is called Räbeliechtli, or, quite appropriately, lighted turnips.

I've asked quite a few Swiss people about the background of this festival and, amusingly, no one really knows.  More than anything, it's considered of illuminating and embracing the darker days of winter.  Why turnips?  The best guess is that they're, quite simply, plentiful in Switzerland.

When I told the kids where we were going, Ella said dryly, "You're taking us to see a parade of turnips? Well, that sounds just wonderful."  And then she broke character, giggling and eventually conceding that, as odd as the festival sounded, it probably would be fun. But my goodness, that child has her father's sense of humor and delivery.

The parade route looked long, and the parade didn't start until 6:00, so I decided that we would be spectators rather than participants tonight.  But we were well-prepared spectators, with bags of popcorn and thermoses of cocoa to keep us warm and happy.  Dennis timed his arrival perfectly, joining us from work when the first children stepped into the street from the church where they'd gathered.

And, as I pointed out to Ella afterwards, we had a great time, and it was, in fact, wonderful.