The Place Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright…

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein

 

Fifteen pairs of eager eyes turned towards Leeja as she opened the book and began the story. Sitting around the table, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes shifted from picture to picture, as each new page unfolded. Answers flew back and forth as they predicted and debated, agreeing or disagreeing with parts of the story. Even the shyest were gently coaxed into sharing their thoughts.

This was my first quiet introduction into a MOP session at BLC and as I looked around at heads bent over books, while fingers underlined each sentence word by word, I realized it’s not just one component that makes up a session, it’s everything.

It’s the joining of hands as they sing songs; it’s the shy smile in the eye of a child who has just been appreciated for something simple. It’s the pitter patter of eager feet that follow us when we arrive for a session. The raised hands, eyes that rove from page to page, answers that never fail to astound our perfectly normed minds.

It’s this. This interaction of thoughts and words and songs and ideas that make up a MOP session. It’s this that makes reading not just an act, but an interaction, a privilege. It’s this that makes ‘reader’ not just a description, but an identity. It’s this that makes sharing, not just a responsibility, but a learning, an experience. And by default, it’s not just about what we give, but what we take away.

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.