Role Reversal — An Assistant Teacher’s Perspective
“I’ve learned so much
from these kids—to be
curious and thoughtful,
to slow down, stop, regroup,
and keep going”
by Sarah Kenerson, Art & Assistant Teacher in JP/Roslindale
Being a BOPN teacher, I have to admit, my childhood wasn’t particularly outdoorsy. Growing up in a tiny rural Texas town, I was boxed in by cornfields and railroad tracks that led nowhere. My dad, the local librarian of a rinky-dink, volunteer-run library, would bring me in during my summer breaks in hopes of gaining an assistant. Instead, I’d sneak out to the community center’s garden, prop open the fence, run barefoot through the mulch, and sit underneath the big oak tree where the Texas sun couldn’t scorch me. But as I grew older, my once green, hidden-away town began transforming into a heap of concrete and condos. As the years went by, I felt I had changed with it.
This summer, after a few years living in Boston, I had the privilege of becoming a resident at the Delford House—a thoughtfully designed community space that provides housing opportunities for BOPN teachers. This offer appeared when I needed it the most, like a home-cooked remedy soothing something that had long yearned to be healed.
Working alongside Ella, Michelle, and the “Hopping Frogs” class at the Arnold Arboretum, my days were filled with simple joys I had neglected in my newfound adulthood—a sense of true wonder and astonishment at the world around me.
One afternoon, we played beneath Pine Needle Hill’s canopy of branches, then visited the climbing rock. While the children scaled it with ease, I stayed rooted to my spot, cheerleading from below. I watched in awe, as they conquered the rock wall like billy goats.
One student, however, hesitated beside me.
“I bet the view up there is beautiful.” I said, trying to encourage her.
“I’m scared I’ll fall. I’m scared of heights, you know.”
Well, that made two of us. It was just as new an experience for me as it was for her.
“Will you climb with me?” she asked.
My first instinct was fear. Reluctance. I have clumsy feet which have often betrayed me when I least expected it. I had become unfamiliar with my body, and couldn’t recall the last time I scaled something like this. I must have been around her age.
The rock wall wasn’t so tall, but rather, it was steep, and I felt I couldn’t keep myself upright for long. But something in the way she was willing to try, even when she was fearful, struck a chord within me to do the same.
To my surprise, the other students watched on, shouting words of encouragement—not just to their classmate, but to me, their teacher. On confident, sturdy feet, they divulged the secret roots, footholds, and particularly strong tufts of grass, as a path forward opened. Suddenly, I became a student, and they became my teachers.
I wasn’t going to waste their sentiment.
Step by step, we climbed together, encouraging each other. My uncertainty and hesitation showed through, despite my attempts to swallow them. But, surprisingly, that made her climb faster. Upon reaching the top, she sat beside me, chest heaving from the thrill, but before she could take in the view, she confidently climbed down—only to go back up on her own.
BOPN came into my life when I needed it most. Being in a city like Boston, especially as a college student, you can lose touch with yourself. Your senses dull as the loud symphony of road rage and construction threatens to swallow you whole. You find yourself rushing everywhere, chasing buses and walking as fast as your legs can carry you. You forget that feeling of meandering, in pure awe of the world around you, when everything was so new and exciting. I’ve learned so much from these kids—to be curious and thoughtful, to slow down, stop, regroup, and keep going.
