Quiet Owl

When I was in preschool, adults would sing a song to keep us quiet. The translation would be, “The owl goes ssh. All super quiet, like the owl that goes ssh.” I grew up with the notion that a good kid, a good student, was a quiet one, and I carried that with me when I became a teacher.

After years of learning, changing, and growing into the teacher I am today, I still see traces of that “quiet is best” message all over my mood. When students are chatty or loud, it triggers a profound root and becomes a personal attack. I know I’m not alone in this, which makes it easier to write.

You can find proof of my preference everywhere in my room: some assigned seats, voice levels, soft music to quiet down independent work. And yes, learning to be quiet to listen or think is important, but I should better identify when to expect silence and when not.

Yesterday, while Gianna led a math lesson, I visited several math teams as they worked through the problem. We expected talk, lots and lots of talk.

H: They give you three sides, so you add 5 plus 5 plus 5.

T: You can also multiply by 3.

M: Do we divide after?

H: No, because it’s not a square. We use the 26 and take away 15.

M: Wait… The 26? Ohh, because the perimeter is 26. I got it.

H: Put the 26 on top and then 15 under.

T: Don’t forget it’s inches.

I looked around—better yet, I “listened” and could palpate the collaboration because everyone was talking. The quiet owl wouldn’t thrive here, because talk has a role. It made me think of other times when, even if I believe we should be quiet, the noise could actually be a sign of something good happening.

It’s easy for me to see “how things should be,” and many times, I have a solid reason for such expectations. But every now and then, I step into a what-if mindset just to see what possibilities are out there. Those possibilities are worth paying attention to because they could not only mean something to my students but also improve my perception of what “should be.”