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Day in the Life: Lower School

Day in the Life: Lower School

By Dylan Howlett

In three hours, they would look up at a sphere in the sky to observe a celestial phenomenon. But now, just a few minutes past noon on the second Monday in April, they have glimpsed another sphere, this one earthbound and technicolor in the middle of a hardwood floor. The Lemurs of Chip Lupa’s fourth-grade class trot into the Durham Academy Preschool/Lower School Gym. It is impossible to eclipse their joy. “YES!” one student shouts when he sees the sphere on the floor. “YES! YES!” cries another student. “I literally haven’t done this since kindergarten,” another says. “It’s so much fun,” a fourth says. Their teacher, Kristin Stroupe, can’t help but laugh. “People talk all the time about how they had traumatic experiences in their PE class,” says Stroupe, a Preschool and Lower School PE teacher. “But who doesn’t love a parachute?”

The Lemurs encircle the magical piece of fabric. “Today is the best day ever,” Stroupe says. She tells them she recently saw a T-shirt online that read, “I Wish Every Day Was Parachute Day.” Stroupe will find little disagreement from the Lemurs, who launch into a two-and-a-half minute warmup set to the frenetic standard “Wipeout” by The Surfaris. The Lemurs jog around the edge of the parachute until the iconic drum fill kicks in, at which point they run in place until the fill ends. And then the parachute beckons.

Today’s lesson doubles as a review of anatomy. The deltoids — which give the shoulder its rounded contour — are the starring muscle. “Deltoids ACTIVATED!” Stroupe shouts, and the Lemurs take each hand and tap their opposite shoulder. The parachute circuits begin. There’s “Merry Go ’Round,” in which Lemurs run around the parachute and try to return to their original place while their classmates continue pacing in a circle. “Is it sneaky harder than it looks?” a gasping Stroupe asks after taking her turn. “Yeah!” the Lemurs say. There’s “Umbrella,” in which the Lemurs activate their phalanges, or finger bones, as they lift the parachute above their heads and watch their classmates sprint beneath the parachute in accordance with Stroupe’s directives. “Under if … you have a pet!” “Under if … you like UNC!” Then the Lemurs grasp the parachute with their phalanges and run toward the middle of the sphere with the parachute above their heads, and the two-dimensional fabric mushrooms into the shape of a balloon.

The routines become more intricate, more adventurous. A common refrain rings out from Stroupe before each of them. “Teamwork ACTIVATED!” The Lemurs ascend “Mt. DA” as they crawl by color — red, yellow, green or blue, depending on the segment they’re grasping — to the center of the ballooned parachute, and they even take a second to enjoy the view from the imaginary summit. They become willing “Gophers” by scrambling on their knees and hands to the middle before poking their heads out of the hole in the parachute’s center. And then they build a tent, holding the parachute above their heads before they hoist it downard and sit on the edge, enveloping all of the Lemurs beneath the parachute’s colorful expanse. Lupa arrives to collect his class and finds a bemused Stroupe. The Lemurs have gone to Texas to watch the total solar eclipse, she tells him. And then she utters the agreed-upon code word. “But there was no eclipse!” The Lemurs spring from underneath the tent and swarm Lupa, their laughter ringing throughout the gym as the discarded parachute — in equal measure an umbrella, mountain, gopher hole and teacher-eluding tent — settles to the floor. If only every day could be parachute day. And yet, at the DA Lower School, every day feels like parachute day.

This year alone, we’ve already peeked inside the joyful walls of the Lower School to see math instruction, language arts lessons and visual arts projects in action. We return now for the third installment of “Day in the Life,” a glimpse into the everyday brilliance of DA’s four divisions that has already featured the Middle School and Preschool. When they’re not activating their deltoids, Lower Schoolers are flexing muscles both of heart and mind: building community, conducting research, internalizing foundations of coding, speaking world languages, identifying their emotions, confronting our nation’s troubling past, designing bird feeders and compiling veritable encyclopedias on U.S. states.

Come parachute into the Lower School with us. You’ll love where you land.

 


8:15 a.m. — Community Assembly, Lower School

Brumley Performing Arts Building

As rows of eager first- through fourth-graders sit before her at the Lower School’s monthly Community Assembly, Carolyn Ronco leans knowingly into her handheld microphone. “Did you know,” the Lower School director asks, “there’s going to be a solar eclipse on Monday?” A chorus greets her query. “Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

The typical focus of a Community Assembly, however, is far less concerned with the extraordinary than the ordinary: building community, celebrating togetherness, raising awareness. The morning’s programming features multiple Upper School students presenting on a variety of subjects. Aayaz Hussein ’25 visits on behalf of the Upper School Muslim Affinity Group to discuss the importance of the lunar calendar within Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr. He asks Lower Schoolers to ask others about their religions, to get to know them, to build a more inclusive community.

Laci McDonald, the Upper School dance teacher, shares the history of Special Olympics and offers reminders about the approaching Special Olympics Spring Games, which will mark the 39th year that DA has hosted the games for Durham County students. Four members of the Upper School Sustainability Committee offer a primer on sustainability — Hannah Elman ’27 likens emissions to “car farts” — and everyday choices that students can make to reduce our energy needs. Connor Ennis ’24 leads the quartet of committee members in a stirring rendition of “Turn Off the Lights,” beseeching students to use less energy. The assembly ends with its traditional recognition of all student and staff birthdays from the previous month, as those with birthdays take the stage while the audience serenades them with the Lower School’s birthday song.

But the assembly belongs, not surprisingly, to the eclipse. A group of Upper Schoolers takes the stage to perform a skit that introduces the Lower School to the three “main characters” of the approaching eclipse: the sun, the moon and the Earth. Laughter rises from the seats as the Upper Schoolers lean into the absurdity and the moon stands in front of the sun. Afterward, another Upper Schooler shares a detailed tutorial on how to build a homemade pinhole projector to better enjoy the eclipse.

Community, too, means ensuring your fellow members remain safe. Does anyone know, one Upper Schooler asks, the most important rule for watching a solar eclipse? A sea of hands dart through the air. “Don’t look at the sun!” a Lower Schooler shares. The Upper Schoolers on stage smile wide and bright.

 


9:35 a.m. — First-Grade Research

Dr. Michelle Rosen, Horton-Kirby Library

The Fabulous First-Grade Explorers (FFGEs) have found their next expedition: the Savanna. They’re wading through the tall grass by way of PebbleGo, an interactive learning tool that offers encyclopedic articles with read-aloud support. Their guide is Dr. Michelle Rosen, the Preschool and Lower School librarian who, on this day, models note-taking as the students in Debbie Suggs’ class brace themselves for an adventure in research-based synthesis. They sing “The Super 3” and recite the foundations of worthwhile research — “Plan, Do and Review! Plan, Do and Review!” — to the tune of “Bingo Was His Name-O.” It’s time to learn the rules of the trade.

“You’re not allowed to copy down exactly word for word,” Rosen says as she gestures toward a PebbleGo article about lions. It’s never too early to have a meaningful discussion about academic integrity. Rosen defines “plagiarism” for the FFGEs. A student frowns. “But copying is a compliment!” she says. Rosen smiles. “It’s also stealing.” The secret to avoiding intellectual theft, Rosen says, is one of Suggs’ most treasured recipes. “We’re going to put it in chunks,” she says. Or, as Suggs likes to say, it’s time to remove the chocolate chips from the cookie.

Rosen walks to a dry-erase board beside the panel that displays the article about lions. She draws a webbed graphic organizer with the phrase “Lion’s Body” at its nexus. Rosen reads from the article. “Lions are large wildcats,” she says. She returns to her graphic organizer to fill one bubble with “large” and another with “wildcats.” “They weigh 500 pounds.” 500 pounds. “Lions have light brown fur.” Light brown fur. “Male lions have manes around their neck. Males = manes. The job of the researcher, however, isn’t done.

“Now we have to teach the world about this,” Rosen says. “What do we communicate in?” “Sentences!” the FFGEs say. Rosen nods. “We need to turn these notes into sentences,” she says, and they start to unspool the graphic organizer. “Large” gives way to “Lions are large animals,” while “wildcats” produces “They are categorized as wildcats.” And soon it will be the FFGEs’ turn to synthesize on their own. During the next six weeks, they’ll split into teams and write a paragraph based on one species of penguin. The paragraph will eventually serve as a script that they’ll record on video. But now it’s time to practice. They receive from Rosen a printout of a blank graphic organizer, and they work within groups of three or four to build a web around “Lion’s Food.” There’s a flurry of scribbling pencils and furrowed brows as the first-graders alternate their gaze between PebbleGo and their paper.

Rosen sidles over to Suggs. “Their brains are on fire,” Rosen says. Suggs nods. “Do we know how to take notes?” she asks the FFGEs.

She doesn’t need to wait for their answer. “Oh, yes!” she says.

 


10:10 a.m. — Second-Grade Spanish

Mercedes Almodóvar’s Classroom

Anna Larson’s second-grade class gathers in a circle (“círculo”) with Mercedes Almodóvar, the Lower School Spanish teacher. They have already dispensed with those most accessible markers of time, place and self: the date (“¿Cuál es la fecha de hoy?”), the weather (“¿Qué tiempo hace hoy?”) and each student’s birthday (“¿Cuándo es tu cumpleaños?”), the majority of which fall in April (abril). It’s time to “pasar la bola,” or pass the beach ball, around the circle.

When they receive the ball from their classmate, each second-grader must share a word (palabra) or sentence (ración) in Spanish. The rest of the class chants encouragingly. “¡Piensa! ¡Piensa! ¡Piensa! ¡Piensa!” they say, repeating the Spanish word for thinking. Then they snap out of the reverie. “SHHHH!” they say, and it’s time for the student to respond.

But then the ordinary beach ball transforms into something more. Soon it’s a papa caliente, or hot potato. The student who last shares repeats “papa caliente” as the ball passes around the circle, and it stops only when they cry ¡Papa! The student with the ball shares their word or sentence of choice. Tengo ocho años. Mi familia es grande. Mi familia es feliz.

After a few minutes spent reciting a poem in Spanish about the arrival of spring (“la primavera ha venido”), the second-graders have reached the end of class. “¡Váminos!” Almodóvar says, and the class lines up in front of the door. One student waves to a visitor as she takes her place in line. “Do you like Spanish class?” the visitor asks, and the student nods.

“It’s fun to learn a new language,” she says.

 


10:45 a.m. — Second-Grade Science

Diane Daly and Lori Evans’ Classrooms

The engineering process is, under most circumstances, long and involved. It says so in placards that hang at the front of a Lower School classroom dedicated to science education. Ask. Imagine. Plan. Create. Improve. Tracy Riddle’s second-grade class will embody all five of those tenets by the end of their class with Diane Daly and Lori Evans, the Lower School science teacher and science teaching assistant, respectively. They will design — using cups, plastic trays, clothes pins, craft sticks, pipe cleaners and string — the prototype for a functional bird feeder. The feeder must have enough structural integrity to hang from a tree; to support any bird that wishes to stand on it; and to hold bird seed. Design. Build. Test. They have 25 minutes.

A bulletin board sits atop the classroom wall that is due north, according to the cardinal directions affixed to all four sides of the room: “What Will You Create Today?” The challenge looms above the counter where young engineers hurriedly snatch up materials and return to their seats. They hole-punch styrofoam, carve slots into cups, finagle pipe cleaners through tight spaces and suspend overturned cups with strings. They work with intention and urgency.

With 10 minutes remaining, Daly pauses the group and reviews procedures for testing. They try out their perch by placing one of multiple bird figurines on their feeder. Yardsticks protrude from the branches of a fake tree to allow students to hang their prototypes. And a cup of feed awaits to pour it through their feeder. One student turns to their classmate with pride. “I didn’t use any tape so far!” they say. “Nice!” their classmate says. But time is scarce. “WE HAVE FOUR MINUTES?!?!” one student exclaims after glancing at the timer, and the room fills with the insistent panic of seasoned engineers grappling with a deadline.

Much like the aviary inspiration for today’s lesson, Daly and Evans flit about tables, advising on structural vulnerabilities, pushing thoughtful design, encouraging the persistence needed to produce feats — or feeds — of engineering. One second-grader appears pleased with a two-tier feeder that contains multiple perches. He cuts holes through the top and sides to accommodate a string for hanging the tree. Only the chime of the timer can break his concentration.

At this moment, Daly chooses to emphasize the fifth and final engineering principle on the board. “You can always take these home and improve them,” she says, handing each student a Ziploc bag of seed to continue the testing, the perfecting, the engineering. The science.

 


11:30 a.m. — Fourth-Grade Field Trip

Stagville State Historic Site

On April 4, DA fourth-graders visited the Stagville State Historic Site in Durham. As part of that week’s grade-level newsletter, fourth-grade teacher Lauren Miller wrote the following reflection on the trip and its immeasurable impact on her students:

We took a powerful field trip to Historic Stagville on Thursday. The site educator, Vera, led us on a tour of the historic site, which was one of the largest plantations in North Carolina. We were able to visit the original home of the Bennehan-Cameron family, one of the original slave quarters, and the Great Barn. Vera spent two hours telling us stories about the lives of the Bennehan-Cameron family and the more than 900 enslaved people they held on their property.

Our intention was to take our field trip to Stagville in early March to align with our study of enslaved people. However, due to scheduling conflicts, we had to push the trip this year to April. This was my first time attending this field trip, and as I experienced it alongside our students, I decided there were many benefits to taking the trip this month. Because we finished our enslaved people unit a few weeks ago, students have had time to reflect on and integrate their understanding of slavery into their longer-term memory. They now also have some knowledge about the centrality of slavery to the Civil War and North Carolina's role in that conflict. Having these building blocks in their brains helped them process and receive the information Vera provided in a deeper way.

When we returned back to school, we rehashed the "parts that stuck in our minds." Students were awed by the story of the cowrie shell, which archeologists found at the site of one of the former slave cabins and demonstrates the cultural connection enslaved people strove to keep with their West African heritage. They were heartbroken by the story of Mary, one of only three enslaved people known to have escaped from the plantation, and how her story illustrated the impossible choice between seizing freedom and leaving one's family behind. Like me, the students were amazed by the immense knowledge of Vera, who spoke to us clearly and compassionately for two hours with no notecards and ably answered every question we threw her way. I helped them make the connection between her knowledge and the many, many historians and researchers who have spent their careers combing through evidence to create the body of knowledge from which Vera drew.

History is cool. It's hard and sad and complicated and beautiful all at the same time. What a gift it is to explore it alongside your children.

 


12:30 p.m. — Fourth-Grade Counseling

Martha Baker’s Counseling Office and Classroom

Martha Baker reaches calmly for her TV remote, and her fourth-grade students watch her with equal calm. They have settled into the afternoon’s counseling class by sounding a singing bowl to practice their breathing. Baker has spent the last few minutes reviewing previous lessons about attitude — how we act, how we treat people — and emphasizing the need to, as much as possible, look through a neutral, or yellow, lens. “Go with the flow,” Baker says. But what do you do, she asks, when something happens? When your buttons get pushed?

The fourth-graders are spread across a couch, a few chairs and the floor in Baker’s office, and they raise their hands to volunteer their visible signs of frustration. Gritted teeth. Cracked knuckles. But before you pop, Baker says, before you go and dump your “mads” on someone else, you have to stop and think. You must, as Baker is doing now, reach for the remote and change your channel. “We need to have our own list of channel changers,” Baker says. “What are some ways you can change your channels if you’re stuck in your ‘mads’?

Hands reach toward the ceiling. Go to my room and lie down or just play with something. Go outside. Take a walk. Listen to really loud music. Listen to a podcast. Read. Play with a fidget. Call my friends. Talk to someone. Eat. Sleep.

Baker challenges the group to think about their two preferred channel-changing strategies, the two things to which they can resort most reliably when their yellow lens starts to tilt red. It fits perfectly with Baker’s counseling motto for students on the precipice of middle school and changes and emotions, when they’ll turn to the strategies shared within the walls of Baker’s office. “You do you!” she says, and 17 students reach within their minds for their own remote, their own channels.

 


1:45 p.m. — First-Grade Technology, Engineering and Design

Michele Gutierrez’s Classroom (a.k.a. the TED Lab)

The clatter of keyboards and mouse clicks rises above two clusters of Fireflies — Jessica Soler’s first-grade class — as they stare intently into their computer screens. They’ve logged onto CodeMonkey, an educational coding platform for kids, while Michele Gutierrez, the Lower School technology coordinator, circulates among her aspiring coders.

The self-paced program empowers the first-graders to refine their foundational skills — sequencing, loops, conditional loops, procedures and, eventually, text-based coding — as they attempt to guide a cartoon monkey through video game-style maps not unlike those found in Super Mario Bros. Students build sequences using directional arrows and commands that direct the monkey to collect bananas and treasure chests; the coders can play the sequence at any point to test their selected movements and make any necessary adjustments.

One student expresses sadness when she mistakenly clicks a button that exits out of her map. Gutierrez walks over to her. “That’s the great thing about computers,” she says, guiding the cursor toward a solution. “When we make a mistake, we can just undo it.” The map restores itself. The student smiles. She regains control of her mouse, and she starts coding anew.

 


2:15 p.m. — Third-Grade Social Studies

Amanda Dolan’s Classroom

The Dragons — members of Amanda Dolan’s third-grade class — breathe an exhaustive knowledge of U.S. states. Since January, they have immersed themselves during social studies classes in the assigned state for which they’ll create a full binder of research in time to share during the annual Third Grade Grandfriends Day on April 26. The state binder project is a staple of third grade at DA. Dolan’s daughter, Maya Dolan ’24, completed the project when she was a third-grader. She doesn’t have to be reminded that her state was Colorado.

Nor do any current Dragons need any reminders, or even any prodding, to spout a trove of state-specific facts. Their binders contain 15 required components, ranging from elevation maps to coordinate grids and an “important person project” that profiles one of their state’s most recognizable natives. Each student is even responsible for producing a mola, a Panamanian art form that tasks students with weaving construction paper to depict their state’s bird or flower. They have toggled between iPad-driven research and handwritten postcards about their state’s weather patterns. And, after more than three months of intensive research, they are undisputed experts. Just ask them.

“People have been living in Missouri for 10,000 years,” Luca says.

“People in Utah are called Utahns,” Max G. says.

“Hawaii is entirely plastic-free,” Catherine says.

On this afternoon, with their deadline approaching, the Dragons find themselves in various states of choice. Several students refine their coordinate grids, while others start to craft their binder covers. They consult a designated state book from which they can draw individual information. They determine their pacing and direction with exacting ownership. The room fills with a focused murmur.

In a far corner by a kidney-shaped table, Agnes waits for Dolan to trim one of her pages with a paper cutter. She can’t wait to share her most cherished fact about her state. “Michigan,” she says, “is the magic capital of the world.” The U.S. Congress recognizes it as such: The town of Colon has been home to Abbott Magic Company since 1934, and it has held a weeklong gathering of magicians from around the world for 90 years. Agnes smiles as she revels in the novelty of this overlooked anecdote.

But Agnes doesn’t miss the true magic of this project: a spirit of collaboration and learning together. She asks Catherine about the design for her Hawaiian cover. Agnes’ eyes grow wide with a suggestion.

“A smiling sun,” she says, capturing the essence of the Lower School in its totality.