It’s Friday afternoon and I am in my backyard, setting out plastic cushions six feet apart, disinfecting pencils, and copying my lesson plan onto a dry erase board with multi-colored markers. It’s starting to get cold, but I’m armed with a case of hand warmers and a list of activities that will keep my students moving.
I’m ready for winter.
Before the pandemic hit, I babysat part-time for a few local families. Once schools closed down their in-person learning, one family approached me with an idea: Zoom classes for their second-grader and a few of her classmates; they needed extra help learning to write.
Over the years, I have volunteered with literacy organizations— including a quite strict ESL after school program for second graders in an elementary charter school near my college, and a fun, yet hectic all-age creative writing and academic support program that caters to disadvantaged students from schools across Brooklyn. So I was excited to create my own curriculum––both utilizing teaching the strategies I’d learned and making up new activities. I knew the age group well, but I also knew that ability and interest varies widely, no matter the age—whether because of personality, home support, or developmental differences. My goal from the start was simple—I wanted the kids to write something––anything—and have fun doing it.
Still, I could not ignore a nagging worry that, by charging for my services, I was contributing to the widening education gap that children have experienced during the pandemic. My small group of students would receive an extra hour per week of writing help, while so many children would not, because their parents couldn’t afford it. As a social justice advocate, I felt like a hypocrite, and began to question whether I should agree to this teaching plan after all.
After further consideration, I evolved a few simple solutions. While a tutor with my level of experience might charge anywhere from $40-$150 per hour, I decided to charge just slightly more than my normal babysitting rate. This way, I could make up for some of my lost childcare income and cover supplies. I also decided to offer a sliding scale to any family that needed it.
I began to lead small groups of second-graders in writing and spelling projects over Zoom. The sessions were hectic, experimental, and in many ways, felt like trying to herd kittens. But my goal was being met: the kids were enjoying writing.
One of the motivating factors for the children was social. Unlike the large Zoom lessons with their school classes, where they become frustrated by the chaos of their classmates speaking over each other, in our small group they get the chance to interact with one another and also have an adult provide individual support.
In early fall, the parents, eager to give their children more opportunities to socialize safely, asked to move our writing classes from Zoom into my backyard. We would wear masks, keep our distance, and sanitize our hands frequently, but at least the children could play together. Through experimentation, I expanded my activity repertoire. I made up games and projects that would get the kids running, dancing, playing, and writing.
Here are some crowd-pleasers:
I make sure to include at least one physical activity in an hour-long session—and I never ask the kids to sit still for longer than a few minutes at a time. They need time and space to let loose and simply be kids, especially now that they’re so often stuck inside. So do I!
Which is why my backyard classes have felt like such a breath of fresh air—literally—for all of us. With two to four children per session, and no end-goal other than to get my students writing, not only am I seeing academic progress, but the kids are excited to come back. I work with them at their own skill levels, rather than a standardized one, and I love hearing them ask, “Can I do an extra sentence?” It doesn’t hurt that I get to take a break from my computer to run around outside with a bunch of seven-year-olds.