We’re Only Five

Fifty years ago I was teaching kindergarten at Colorado Academy in Denver.  We had a wonderful program for four- and five-year-olds in a supportive and exciting school. Housed in a converted apartment, my two co-teachers and I had plenty of classroom and outdoor space to explore and foster learning of all sorts.  Sometimes the lessons came from the students.

One random day, my colleague and I were returning from a gym class, wandering across campus, when we came across a young man in a wheelchair. Probably a veteran of the Vietnam War, he clearly had no legs and became an instant source of fascination for our young children. Some of them were not kind as they observed what might well have been their first wheelchair occupant.

In somewhat of a fury (I was still quite young myself), I marched our kiddos back to our PreSchool building, where I sat them down and proceeded to express my indignation that they would treat a fellow human so disrespectfully. I have no idea how long I spouted, until one little fellow finally raised his hand.  When I called upon him, he simply said, “Mrs. Glass, we are only five.”

He was correct. I apologized and shut up.  That little boy has no idea what an impact he had on me then and for the rest of my career. Children are remarkably generous. We adults have much to learn from them.

Author: Glass

I retired in July after forty-six years in independent school education. I taught students in classes from PreK-12, was a middle school head for many years, and a head of school for 17. View all posts by Glass