Our grandsons knew exactly where they were going. We followed them, down the aisle of the sanctuary to the pew that seemed to be theirs.
My husband broke protocol and leaned over me to whisper to them.
“Cows know where to go for their milking,”
And though our grandsons have never worked in a dairy barn, they knew what he meant.
We talked about this later at lunch. It’s not just at church that people seem to own their seats. On the school bus, in the lunchroom, and in classrooms, people claim places, even if they aren’t officially assigned.
Most students care where they sit. And they have a plethora of reasons. They want front seats to focus, back seats to see the whole room, middle seats to be among their friends, along-the-wall seats to feel safe.
No matter the desired vantage point, people like to establish personal territory in shared spaces. Usually, others tacitly assent. But when this unspoken rule is broken, I’ve seen students nearly come to blows.
Not all students have altruistic motives for seating choices. Some want to sleep or chat or daydream. But I’ve found that usually students are glad to be guided to the place where they learn best.
Some of my students stood at a counter in the back of the class, others pushed a desk up to mine. After some false tries, one of my seventh-grade students found his place under my podium. Closed in by three sides, he churned out excellent work, raising his letter grade by two in one marking period.
Cows in my grandfather’s milking barn knew their stanchions to be good places. There they found chopped grain in their troughs, water when their noses pushed a lever in their bowls, and relief from the heavy bags of milk they carried. In their stanchions, they could let go and breathe easy.
And this is how students settle in when they find ideal spots for learning.
Apple to Apple 