“Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle. I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle. I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike.” High pitched in all its glory—at the top of our lungs—it was “Bicycle Race” by Queen, or The Bicycle Song in the terms of an unknowing five-year-old. It started my morning for three years. Katherina would rock out to and sing this memorable song, even through its fiftieth time, with a joy that few siblings can muster. Sometimes loud, sometimes in a fit of giggles, but nonetheless, no shame. She wasn’t just my older sister. With such a huge age difference—thirteen years—Katie was a mother to me.
Heaving the clucky door of her 1982 Toyota Pickup, a hand-me-down from my Grandfather John, I made the mammoth plunge to the …show more content…
Unlike traditional classrooms, our space, like all in the school, was organized according to the Montessori method; this focused on a child’s natural desire to learn.
Sitting on the rug that also doubled as a circle time area, I busied myself with a book as I waited for the rest of the students to arrive. As I gazed at the words on the well-read pages, Katie prepared for the day; my sister also played the ever-important role of my …show more content…
Terri continued my heart beat quickened. “Your sister and I talked to your parents and we think you’re ready. What do you think about coming to my classroom?” What did I think? I thought she was crazy. This decision was daunting; it would bring me into a mysterious new world. Kindergarten. Or the equivalent. In a Montessori school system, you didn’t go to preschool one year and Kindergarten the next. Rather, you made the long trek down the hall, through the door, and into the mixed age level classroom where a myriad of learning levels intermingled. However, to a preschooler, this didn’t mean anything. All I knew was what I had heard: virtually nothing. What’s different in the elementary classroom? Will I ever see my friends? Will I fit in? If I don’t like it there can I come
Heaving the clucky door of her 1982 Toyota Pickup, a hand-me-down from my Grandfather John, I made the mammoth plunge to the …show more content…
Unlike traditional classrooms, our space, like all in the school, was organized according to the Montessori method; this focused on a child’s natural desire to learn.
Sitting on the rug that also doubled as a circle time area, I busied myself with a book as I waited for the rest of the students to arrive. As I gazed at the words on the well-read pages, Katie prepared for the day; my sister also played the ever-important role of my …show more content…
Terri continued my heart beat quickened. “Your sister and I talked to your parents and we think you’re ready. What do you think about coming to my classroom?” What did I think? I thought she was crazy. This decision was daunting; it would bring me into a mysterious new world. Kindergarten. Or the equivalent. In a Montessori school system, you didn’t go to preschool one year and Kindergarten the next. Rather, you made the long trek down the hall, through the door, and into the mixed age level classroom where a myriad of learning levels intermingled. However, to a preschooler, this didn’t mean anything. All I knew was what I had heard: virtually nothing. What’s different in the elementary classroom? Will I ever see my friends? Will I fit in? If I don’t like it there can I come