What I Learned in a 1970s Open Classroom

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I kicked off my kindergarten journey in Potomac, Maryland, back in 1971, just as the open classroom concept was beginning to take shape in schools across the U.S. Honestly, no one had a clue what would come of this experiment, but it was deemed an adventure worth taking.

Lake Normandy Elementary School was designed like a flower, with each petal, or “pod,” representing different grades and colored by the carpet. In my kindergarten pod, which was pretty much devoid of walls, we had a vague sense of where one classroom ended and another began. But that was the beauty of it: we were free to roam and explore.

At the center of this flower was the library, a space that felt like the heart of the school—a place designed for endless browsing. You had to wade through it to get to other areas like the cafeteria or the bathrooms. And guess what? You didn’t need a hall pass or permission to go; if you had to go, you just went.

Our mornings would kick off in the open area of the pod, where our laid-back, long-haired, hippie teacher would strum a guitar and lead us in songs. “Joy to the World” was our daily anthem, while “If I Had a Hammer” summed up our philosophy. Those tunes sparked our imaginations. I remember a contest we held to draw the most marvelous toy. I didn’t win, but it was eye-opening to see how unique everyone’s ideas were.

Even now, when I encounter someone with a completely different perspective on something, I think back to that diverse array of marvelous toys. After the Pledge of Allegiance—a bit of a buzzkill after our free-spirited songs—we were let loose in our pod. Our educational tasks were laid out for the week, and we could tackle them in whatever order we pleased. Each task was introduced at a “center,” where we would find colorful worksheets and materials to guide us: experiments to see which objects float, imaginative role-playing as pioneers, math challenges, and even creative writing.

You’d usually have a reading group led by a teacher, but for math, it was pretty much a solo endeavor. I taught myself to add, subtract, multiply, and divide, which I still take pride in. Fractions? Well, I needed a bit of help there, but who doesn’t?

This freedom meant we were responsible for managing our own learning. If I wanted to finish all my assignments by Monday afternoon, I could. That left me the rest of the week to explore—whether that was learning about space in the library, practicing cursive with older kids, or goofing off with my friend Emma, memorizing digits of Pi.

This blend of time management and the ability to choose tasks that intrigued us laid the groundwork for my adult life. Now, I juggle a full-time job, work on a TV show, write books, handle freelance gigs, and even run a photography business. The lessons I learned back then still resonate: tackle tasks step by step, and stressing out is pointless. The work itself is what matters.

Fast forward to junior high, where I found myself trapped in a traditional classroom. It felt like being thrown out of paradise. Most of my education from then until college felt like torture, draining my curiosity. I’ve seen my kids go through similar struggles, especially my daughter, who’s now a senior at a competitive high school in the Bronx. They turned her curious spirit into a stressed-out perfectionist, lacking the nurturing environment I had in elementary school.

The arts were a big part of our open classroom experience, and many of my old classmates have thrived in creative fields. My friend Jake, who played the Wiz in our sixth-grade production of The Wiz, now runs a major network. We both believe that our unique educational experience shaped who we’ve become.

Reflecting on our carefree days, it’s hard to believe how we’d just walk out of class when bored. The rules at Lake Normandy were more like guidelines meant to be bent. I fondly remember one time when I challenged my oceanography teacher on a test question. I argued my case and got my point back; it was a small victory that encouraged me to question authority—a trait that has served me well.

Today, my youngest son is facing three days of state-mandated testing, which will determine his school’s funding and his teachers’ worth. Each morning, as I send him off to a school that prides itself on being artsy and non-traditional, I can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness about how much is lost when education is reduced to filling in bubbles on a test, rather than the joy of discovery and learning.

Lake Normandy Elementary School closed not long after my class graduated. The flower-shaped building is still there but has been turned into a recreation center. I try to avoid driving past it when visiting my mom; it’s too painful to think of it as anything other than the magical place it once was.

Summary

Reflecting on my educational experience in a 1970s open classroom, I realized how much that unique environment shaped my independence and creativity. The freedom to learn at our own pace allowed me to develop skills that have served me well into adulthood. In contrast, my children face a more rigid educational system that often stifles curiosity. This makes me nostalgic for the days when learning was about exploration and imagination.