A Moment on the Playground
“Look! A ladybug!” Three words spoken on a sunny May morning near the Kindergarten play area.
A ladybug had landed at the bottom of the slide, a tiny red dot on a yellow mountain. Like magic, an enthusiastic audience for the tiny creature appeared. Three, four, five children stopped everything to witness this wonder as it made its way slowly up the slide.
Someone produced a soft green leaf. “Let it crawl here,” the leaf-holder said. Another leaf appeared, and another. The ladybug was surrounded. Obliging her audience, she stepped onto a leaf and held perfectly still.
Silence. Then, “I know a song about a ladybug!” someone whispered, and she began softly, “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home…”
Someone else began to count the spots. “I think there are four. That means she is four years old,” the child announced. “She doesn’t seem that old,” mused another.
Several children, full of energy, continued their play up and down the structure nearby. However, when they reached the top of the slide, they stopped. They saw instantly that something important was being witnessed below. Some simply turned around and continued their play elsewhere. But others joined the observers, squatting at the top of the slide to peer at the ladybug. Even a trip down the slide was abandoned for this moment of wonder.
The ladybug snapped her shell open, revealing tiny, translucent wings. “Ohhh, look!” was the enraptured response. “She has wings under there!” The ladybug took a very short flight and landed at the tip of the leaf, tucking her wings neatly under her shell. This insect knew her audience!
“She just flew! Did you see that? She can fly!” Surely this was not news. But to witness this flying in a real ladybug – one that for these moments was their ladybug – was a special kind of “knowing” for these children. This was real!
I have worked in schools for over 35 years. I’ve witnessed such encounters dozens of times. Yet there are several things about this playground moment that have stayed with me.
I am struck by the simplicity. In an age when children are bombarded with sophisticated high tech attempts to grab their attention, it is reassuring that a random encounter with a ladybug can provide such wonder. I am struck by the ownership of the learning. We know that student engagement is essential to the acquisition of knowledge. We know that relevance makes for greater understanding. It is wonderful to witness both in action – in a “learning moment” that had nothing to do with lesson plans and state standards. I am struck by the timelessness. As I watched the children, I had a sudden vivid memory of being six on the playground of my New Hampshire school. I am certain that a 1950s-vintage ladybug would have been offered leaves and songs – probably the same song – and been met with similar awe. Similar scenes are repeated daily wherever children gather. This quest to “make meaning” from our world unites us as humans across time and across nations. I find this particularly reassuring in a world that seems so huge and complex. It is wonderful that the quest for truly “knowing” provides us with a common ground.
It is moments like this one that make my work so special – and that are worth sharing as we approach the end of another school year.
Deborah D’Amico