There is little time for 2015 kindness in our public schools. There seems only to be time to prepare children for tests. Line 'em up, sit 'em down at computers--it's their turn in the computer labs; Practice! Practice! Practice!--and begin the Common Core (call it whatever you want, it's still Common Core) grind of preparing them for "The Test." And it is a grind.

Get ready for 2015-2016 testing! Let the "grind march" begin!

But what, really do our children need? More than ever in this fast paced world, what do they really need from the adults in their schools? They need the small kindnesses that say to them: "My teachers care. They care about me."

George Wood, retiring principal of a rural school district in Ohio writes that, because of data driven instruction and high stakes testing, it's hard in 2015 to be nice to children. Mr. Wood says: "...it is harder for us to be nice to kids. With elevated standards and increased testing, we find ourselves with less leeway with which we can help a child navigate. With ‘zero tolerance’ laws and other Draconian rules, the mistakes some children make can no longer be forgiven. The rapid-fire social media culture means that if we ever err on the side of mercy or charity, it will quickly be seized upon by those who are just looking for us to make a mistake. And the emphasis on punishing schools for things like dropouts makes it that much harder to enroll a student whose residence is just a bit suspect."

The entire piece can be found here and it is worth the read: http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/05/22/what-has-changed-is-that-it-is-harder-for-us-to-be-nice-to-kids-departing-veteran-principal/?postshare=8221433162784811).

We in public schools across the nation, just don't have time. Plus it's risky to our school grade to help out a vulnerable child.

I do not remember a single test (with the exception of my eighth grade Ohio History mid term with Mr. Pixley). I bombed that one and a big glaringly ugly "F" was neatly written on my report card.

Dad was not happy.

Here, though, are memories of people--my teachers--who helped me along my way.

I remember Miss Beagle, my kindergarten teacher, chose me to swing the moon in our Christmas play. I looked down from the stage into Miss Beagle's luminous face framed in tight tight pin curls. I stepped forward from the line of singing kindergarten children and enjoyed a moment of five year old fame.

Months before in circle time--right before nap time--Miss Beagle had asked who wanted to swing the moon. Every other boy and every other girl enthusiastically raised their hands and cried: "Me! Me! Me!" I didn't. I just sat there and wished, wanted, watched, and dejectedly waited. Waited to see who of these exuberant friends would be selected. I remember well my astounded joy at Miss Beagle's quiet question: "How about you, Kim?"

Fifty three years later I can still see Miss Beagle smile at me.

I remember stern Miss Benner, my first grade teacher, motioned to me to join the "Blue" reading group because she saw me following along with her lesson from my less advanced "Red" group. Miss Benner had a stick in her hand as she pointed to words on the blackboard. She would point and the "Blue" group children would read in unison. I can't remember what my "Red" group was doing, but I know that my attention was on Miss Benner and her pointer. "Kim, why don't you try?"

The next day I "had me a seat" with the "Blue" group.

I remember Mrs. Heistand, my third grade teacher, cried in frustration at how ill behaved we all were one day. I felt bad.

My sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Moyer, had taught my father and my mother in the same school building (in the same sturdy shoes and pin curls no doubt). Mrs. Moyer recognized my love of reading and allowed me--during English class-to go to the library to choose books. Barbara Cartland was a favorite author. Romance!

It was with Mrs. Moyer's quiet urging that I had the courage to choose "Gone with the Wind" to read. It was a doubled columned book with teeny tiny words...and I loved it.

There's you some "differentiated learning"! Take a look at 11 year old me in the library reading "Wuthering Heights" while my classmates toiled over "no sė quė" in the classroom. That's Spanish for "I don't know." I am certain that Mrs. Moyer's allowing me to read and read and read somehow also allowed my propensity to learn languages to flourish. Plant a love of reading "semilla" and watch it grow!

George Wood ends his piece with a proud visit from a former student who'd benefitted most, not from the tests he'd taken, but from his teachers' and administrators' kindness and patience. I will end my piece in the same spirit. At the end of the last day of school--just last Thursday-- a future ninth grade boy and his father came to thank me. I'd helped the boy with credits and requirements to successfully enter high school. But that's not really why they thanked me. In the end they thanked me for simply being nice.