Stage two of a five-point Kelly Scale on work issues, aggravations, and the treatment of our children and adults that have me scratching my head — and setting a stopwatch for myself I could never possibly satisfy.
So yes. I am talking about lunch. I use the H word. And frankly, the T word too. Texas.
Who’s business is it? Nobody. So who am I telling? Everybody.
Do you want to know which two words should frame kids figuring out their lives?
Noisy and together.
The look and sound of it is consistent cycles of learning and growth. So the two words that make kids kids — and help humans be human — are noisy and together. Nearby to the adults first, then a little further away, with a bit of oversight and mostly intuition, checking in on the noisy kids together.
Silent lunch? If I had to design circles of hell, that would absolutely be one of them.
One of mine, if I have approximately three to nine to dole out — depending on which symbolism and metaphor I’m making — is silent lunch. That is so mean. So unnecessary. So uncalled for.
Do better, adults.
Figure out the seating. The flow. The waves of students. Get vetted community volunteers to show up as lunch monitors — they have the time, they want to be there, all you have to do is tell them. Designate outside space. Four parking spots, a shade tarp, and something for kids to sit on becomes a special privilege rotation. Split the cafeteria into stations. Run it in waves. Think ahead. That’s literally what good teaching means.
Do better at the elementary level. Do better at the middle school level. Do better at the high school level, where the issues shift but the need doesn’t. And always — always — put teachers at the center of the planning, because they are the shepherds. You could at least respect that.
Kids are supposed to talk. We are supposed to let them.
We can do better and we used to. Think for yourself, principals. Act, watch results, trust the process, and have a little more patience than current society is modeling — then get proved right.
It will feel good. And kids will get to talk. Guess what they’ll talk about?
Eventually school. Sometimes you. Always their teachers, their lives, their parents, and the things they ultimately care about.
Don’t you think that’s good for them?
If not, you can go to hell. I will go to Texas. They’re pretty similar some days — but I want the kids to talk and eat together.
Always have. Always will.