He survived. Thrived even. Ate his lunch. Loved story time and music. He has a very nice teacher, a very bright classroom, and a class size of 14, which about as good as it gets.
Learned a new word today: bussers. Used to describe the kids who take the bus to school rather than walking (there are a good number of kids bussed in from suburban Charlottetown to Prince Street). Used in a sentence: “The walkers have to wait for the bussers to leave before they’re allowed to go.”
Twenty-two years ago I entered teacher training myself — an aborted effort, as it turns out — and did a round of practice teaching in a kindergarten classroom.
In both cases, the “transition to grade one” was, as I recall, a transition from the halcyon days of youth (kindergarten) into a more traditional all-desks-in-rows setup where “buckling down” was the operating metaphor.
I’m happy to report that this no longer seems to be the case: the desks are grouped in anarchic Hall-Dennis-style pods, the classroom is startlingly un-prison-like, and Oliver’s teacher seems more like Meg Ryan than Miss Havisham.
Of course this is just the first day; I’ve still an opportunity for all my conspiracy theories about formal education to come true ;-)
Back tomorrow for more.