Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Where The Classroom Ends

This is my “My Room Message” to my students yesterday. And though I am no Silverstein, I tried to capture in my message that which lies beyond the classroom.

Beyond the classroom? Is there such a place? Yes, I think there is. It’s that place where we seek to reach kids who can’t stay, won’t stay on the sidewalk because it’s not leading them anywhere. We know this. They know this.

“For the children, they mark, and the children, they know…”

They know (especially by the time they get to us in high school). The endless track of teaching and testing to keep them away from the edges, to keep them centered on the sidewalk. And I am not only talking about “students of concern.” I am talking about all kids–high, low, medium-who’ve become disillusioned about and disengaged from their learning, as if it’s not theirs to own. And I imagine it seems to them more a game of earning than learning. But isn’t that the game we invite them to play? And if by some chance they go astray…well, the rules of the “earning game” can be harsh.

And so for them–for each, I seek to see that place where their learning is their own, where their learning can live.

“And watch where the chalk-white arrows go…”

I “seek to see,” not to show. Where each kid walks, so I may help them grow. Around their corners and around their bends, so I may find where the classroom ends.

And they begin.

A bit of fancy this morning, I suppose. But maybe we need a little fancy. Maybe we need to step off the track a bit and seek the “chalk-white arrows” and see where they go.

Happy Thursday, all. No school for us tomorrow. See you back here on Monday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.