I’ve found that thinking about my own experiences in school is hard for me— I’m struggling to recall learning experiences besides simple math problems, and generally don’t seem to remember meaningful experiences in school. I think the easiest way for me to think about a time I learned something because I was in the ZPD is by trial and error. Did I learn cursive when I was in the ZPD? No, I still can’t write in cursive. What about when I was learning how to solve 3x = y + 7? Nah, that’s boring. I suppose one example of when I was helped to bridge the gap between what I did not know and what I could know is writing my senior paper at the end of high school. I was in a two-year English class, and from the beginning, I knew it would end with the writing of a 20-25 page paper. I had yet to write a five-page paper, and I had no clue how I was going to research and write one of 25! However, the teacher showed us that we could, she walked us through the process of research and annotated bibs and critical histories. We were given time and plentiful feedback and everyone in the class accomplished the task.

Thinking about the 4th graders I get to observe, I easily see the ZPD in action. They learn new concrete skills every day, for example, what earthquakes are. Right now they are learning about text features, such as headings, labels, charts, and bolded words. Last week, the teacher passed out photocopied pages of a book and the students had to cut out any text feature represented on the page. Once the tiny slivers of paper were in their hands, they rushed up to me so that I could glue the features onto a chart. There was a square for each text feature. With the knowledge about text features they had been taught, they constructed this scaffolding which they could refer back to. For example, on Friday they had to fill out an exit slip for reading which asked them to explain how a text feature helped them understand the book they were reading. One of the girls raised her hand and asked Ms. McLaughlin to flip to the chart the class had made. She could then use this as a tool to complete the exit slip without having to be retaught.

Part of Vygotsky’s sociocultural theory of development emphasizes social interactions with peers and the more knowledgeable other (with could be peers). In a class of 18 students, the kids are getting plenty of social interaction — they’re all paired up and often have the opportunity to read with a friend. School isn’t just about learning math and reading, but how to share a space with others, get along, work together, etc. The 4th graders at Greenvale are immersed into a system that prioritizes these social interactions and encourages collaboration. I’m curious how the social element of Greenvale compares to Prarie Creek, and more so, schools outside Northfield, Minnesota, and the U.S.

One of the primary activities I get to observe in the classroom is reading. The first Monday, Ms. McLaughlin gave Logan and me each a clipboard with reading questions on it; we could ask the kids questions from the board, or simply have them read to us. Each day I’m there I wander around the classroom, moving among the kids and engage them in conversation. I usually ask them to tell me what’s happening in the book (they all eagerly give in-depth summaries, yet most can’t remember the characters’ names) and then they read out loud to me. Frequently, they come to words they can’t pronounce. “Synthesis,” for example, tripped up the best reader in the class, Ben. He paused at the word. “Let’s sound it out, “ I said. “Sin-thee-sis,”  I slowly said. He repeated it, then reread the sentence. As the MKO, I could help him, but he was in the ZPD where he had the ability to learn. This word-learning happens with almost everyone I sit down with. Additionally, the teacher recognizes that I’m an MKO for the kids and so I often am tasked with the job of keeping certain kids on task or helping them fill out little quizzes/exit slips. On Friday, I went outside with two girls (one at a time) to keep them focused while they filled out a math exit slip. It asked them to calculate the number of feet in yards (for 1, 3, 4, and 8 yards) and it gave them the hint that there are three feet in one yard. Even with the straightforward nature of the exit slip, I had to tediously keep them on track, putting the graphs into question form for them. “Okay, now, how many feet are in four yards? Okay, hey! Let’s stop talking about pumpkins! How many feet are in eight yards? Allie, Allie! Can we focus?” I think this is an example of my role as an MKO. Whereas the two girls could not do the exit slip alone, they could complete it when I walked them through it, explaining what they were supposed to do.

This last example, of the math exit slip, has left me thinking quite a bit. The first girl I went out in the hallway with is… different. I know she is smart, but she struggles with concentrating and often acts “inappropriately.” The previous week I had seen her excel in reading activities, but on Friday I witnessed her absolutely butcher this math exit slip. “How many feet are in a yard?” I asked. “One!” she yelled. “Hmm, does that make sense if this says that there are three feet in a yard?” I prompted. The teacher had told me not to help them with the answers, but she was refusing to focus on the question and I thought the least I could do was to remind her of the hint on the page. She got that first question correct, but put incorrect answers for everything else on the page. I knew she knew the right answers, but she had no interest in proving that. After she finished answering the questions, she flipped the page over and started drawing a “vampire princess.” “Allie,” I said, “I think we need to go back into the classroom.” She whined that she didn’t want to, that class wasn’t fun. “Well, maybe you can draw in class?” I suggested. She replied no, she wasn’t allowed to. This made me sad. Of course, the kids should concentrate when they’re in class, but there also seems like there should be a place for creativity. It seems wrong that nine-year-olds should be punished for being creative. It seems like that could persuade them to stop drawing altogether.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about this one girl, Allie. After coming back into the classroom, vampire princess drawing completed, we walked to her desk, she sat down, and then she essentially grabbed my butt. “Hey,” I said, bewildered. “I’m sorry,” she said, almost without prompting. “I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” She said this completely blank-faced and without much emotion. I really don’t know what to think of this experience. It’s just odd. I don’t think she has a lot of impulse control, I think she is incredibly curious and that she doesn’t have the opportunity to learn the way she wants to in class. I’d love to learn what makes kids, what made Allie, do things like this.

In other news not concerning Allie, I’ve had a lot of fun just observing the classroom as a whole. I have talked to everyone in the class but wasn’t under the impression that I’d made an impact with any of the kids. On Friday, however, I was given two gifts! Because the school raised $10,000, everyone was given bags of popcorn and candy. As I was walking around the room, one of the girls walked up to me, hand outstretched and full of M&Ms. “Here,” she said. “Oh, do you not want these?” I asked. I’d seen some of the other kids throw away the candy. “No! They’re for you!” I thanked her and she went back to her desk. The previous visit this same girl had seemed annoyed with me for sitting next to me during reading time – “You always visit me” – she had said, slightly rudely. Apparently, my impression was wrong, and I was candy-worthy. My second gift came from Karmen, who is quiet and has very good handwriting. She came up to me at the end of class and handed me a sheet of paper with a cat drawn on it. She had drawn it for me! Now, it’s hanging on my bulletin board.