01/08/2026
I would love to hear your thoughts on this. I remember those nap times well...because I could never fall asleep. I started kindergarten early. I couldn't sit still. I was curious about everyone and every thing. I was often disciplined for talking too much! But nap time helped me settle. It taught me patience, self restraint and respect for myself and others. It taught me how to just sit with my thoughts without acting on them. You? https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1ByasUvWNu/
When We Taught Children How to Rest â And Then Forgot Why It Mattered
In the 1950s, there was a moment in every kindergarten day so predictable you could set your watch by it.
After the singing.
After the crayons worn down to stubs.
After circle time and sticky fingers from graham crackers and small cardboard milk boxesâ
The lights would dim.
A record would settle onto a turntable.
The needle would crackle, then find its groove.
Something soft would fill the room. Something slow. Something kind.
And twenty little bodies would stretch out on striped mats or faded rugs. Shoes tucked under cots. Blanketsâfrayed, thumb-worn, familiarâpulled up to chins. A room full of children learning, together, how to exhale.
Naptime.
For millions of children growing up in the 1950s, â60s, and early â70s, this ritual was as essential to kindergarten as finger paint and the alphabet. It wasnât filler. It wasnât babysitting.
It was the lesson.
Stillness Was Once Part of the Curriculum
Educators believed something weâve slowly forgotten:
young children need quiet.
Not just sleepâbut stillness.
A pause where feelings could settle.
A space where overstimulated minds could wander safely.
A reset before the afternoon rush of blocks, numbers, and playground dust.
The science agreed. Childrenâs brains and nervous systems were still under construction. Rest wasnât a reward. It wasnât optional.
It was developmental maintenance.
Teachers became guardians of calm. Soft voices. Slow footsteps between rows of breathing bodies. A whispered story read to no one and everyone. A hand smoothing a blanket. A steady presence in low light.
A lighthouse.
The Quiet That Shaped Us
Some children sleptâdeep, open-mouthed sleepâexhausted by morning play and the overwhelming newness of school.
Others didnât.
They stared at the ceiling.
Counted tiles.
Watched dust motes dance in a thin blade of sunlight slipping through the curtains.
They drifted into that rare kind of daydreaming that only happens when youâre fiveâwhen time is wide and nobody is rushing you to become something yet.
Even the kids who hated naptime learned something important.
That sometimes you have to be still, even when you donât want to be.
That rest is not the opposite of learning.
Itâs part of the work.
For many children, it was the only stillness in an otherwise loud, busy day. A quiet bridge between lunchboxes and hopscotch. Between learning letters and learning how to share.
Then We Decided to Hurry
By the 1970s and â80s, something shifted.
Kindergarten stopped being about socialization and curiosity and started being about readiness.
Pre-reading. Early math. Staying on track. Getting ahead.
Schedules tightened. Testing crept younger. Parents worried about falling behind before childhood had even properly begun.
Naptime began to feel inefficient.
Unproductive.
A luxury we could no longer afford.
So the mats were rolled up.
The record players disappeared.
Overhead projectors replaced them. Then computers. Then tablets.
By the 1990s, naptime was mostly gone from public kindergarten classroomsâsurviving only in preschools and full-day programs for very young children.
A Day With No Pause
Todayâs kindergarteners move from reading groups to math centers to screens to lunch to more instruction. Recessâif they get itâis brief. Quiet is rare.
There is no dimming of lights.
No permission to close your eyes.
No collective exhale.
And we act surprised when childhood anxiety soars.
What We Remember â And What We Lost
Those who lived it still remember:
The rows of striped mats.
The scratch of a needle finding vinyl.
The smell of that one blanket that probably only got washed twice a year.
The relief of being told it was okayâexpected, evenâto stop trying so hard.
Naptime wasnât just about sleep.
It taught us that rest has value.
That quiet has purpose.
That you donât need to be productive every minute to be worthy.
It was a lesson we didnât realize we were learningâuntil we grew up in a world that never stops and makes us feel guilty for needing to pause.
Maybe Thatâs the Lesson Worth Remembering
To parents: your kids likely donât have this anymoreâand theyâre expected to perform at full speed all day long.
To teachers fighting to protect play and rest: youâre not being soft. Youâre honoring what science has always known.
To anyone who feels ashamed for needing rest: we used to teach five-year-olds that stopping was part of learning.
And to those who say childhood is âtoo easyâ nowâtodayâs kindergarteners have more structured academic time than third-graders did in the 1950s.
We didnât make childhood harder because it was necessary.
We made it harder because we forgot how to slow down.
We once dimmed the lights, put on a record, and gave twenty small people permission to just⌠be.
Maybe itâs time we remembered how.
