Skip to main content

The Walking Talk...

The Walking Talk 

Each time I take my students out for recess I walk the playground...checking to make sure the play is going well, the perimeter of the playground is safe, and the kids are all accounted for. I've grown to know every inch of our playground in the past 10 years.  The physical scene can grow tiresome to behold.

This may sound like a redundant part of my day yet I tell you it is not.  I rarely walk the playground alone.  I am accompanied by kids; sometimes one child, sometimes a small group.  They walk with me.  They talk with me.

I have learned so very much about children in general from these "walking talks" and more so I have learned much about individual children.  The questions they ask, the answers they give, the thoughts they express.

In all, I must say that the imaginations and sincerity of children is what shines through at these times. While engaged in our "walking talks" I see who they truly are.  I hear their stories, their dreams, and their ideas.  I listen to their tragedies and answer their questions for understanding.  I lose the fact that I am their teacher and they are my student(s) and we find ourselves relating simply as human beings. 

Children seek.  They seek understanding from adults.  They seek our encouragement, our acceptance, and our time. 

Take a walk with your child.

Talk with your child.

Better yet, take a "walking talk" with your child.  They can show much about who they truly are.

 Mr. Casten
April 15, 2011 

  Copyrighted material of Michael C. Casten

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Looking Out

Looking Out Originally written May 27, 2015 Lightly edited for clarity in August 2026. Just hours ago, my students left. They are on their way to summer adventures, family time, and friends. Just as quickly as they walked into my life, they walked out again. Yet each of them will always be a part of my life. When a school year begins, my new students are just that—students. They arrive as a group, and at first there is little that distinguishes them beyond their physical appearance. They are quiet, reserved, and and still unknown to me. During those first few days, I snap a picture of each one, not yet knowing who they really are. I work to learn their names and match each one to a classroom number. I try to figure out who knows whom from the neighborhood. I share pieces of my own life, hoping they'll eventually share theirs. Time meanders on. Slowly, they begin to let their light shine. Slowly, they begin to share what's important to them. Slowly, I'm afforded the opportu...

Art & Science

     The familiar winds of autumn blew rapidly through the playground.   Ponytails flying, unzipped jackets flapping, and soaring playground balls all took errant paths.        Just as fall has briskly left so has trimester one.   Reports cards were sent home today and I plan on placing the final touches to each student’s conference narrative.   The practice of filling out the narrative for my students has become one of my favorite “at home” aspects of teaching.   I look forward to retreating to my little office in the basement, surrounded by the faint noises of my family upstairs, and writing.   I seem to enter into a world only my students and I really know; the life of Room 211 on a daily basis.       My mind pictures each student as I am writing about them.   Their faces make an entrance into my thoughts followed by the smile I see each day.   I travel back in t...

Running...

Running... Original post written on August 18, 2012. Minor changes for clarity made in Aug 2026. Twelve years. That's how long I have been teaching at Lincoln. Twelve years. That's how long I have taken the same route from my house to school. In that time I have seen many houses for sale, then sold. Some were torn down to make room for a new house, a new family, and new students. I've seen the streets that I traverse through Elmhurst being ripped apart and rebuilt to make them safer and more driver friendly, not to mention more car-friendly. Twelve years. I've seen high school kids standing on corners, waiting for the school bus to pick them up for school. Some of them recognize my car while others recognize me as their former teacher. Most of them, however, probably do not pay much attention to me as I pass by. Among all that I see, Monday through Friday mornings there is an unmistakable figure, usually two blocks ahead of me on Fairfield. He is a man. He has slightly ...