While my classmates’ laughter echoed across the frosty playground, I sat frozen at my desk. A page of jumbled letters stared back at me. My teacher hovered nearby with arms crossed. A wave of disappointment ran through my body. The rule was clear. No finished work, no recess. I was already miles behind. My IEP, the learning plan that should have protected me, said I needed breaks. The school’s rules said otherwise. I was not being taught. I was being punished for the way my brain is wired.
New Hampshire lawmakers are considering Senate Bill 578, which would prohibit schools from withholding recess as punishment. Recess is a classroom too. It’s the first place children learn to coexist, negotiate and resolve conflict.
Under Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, students with disabilities are entitled to a Free Appropriate Public Education in the Least Restrictive Environment. That includes non-academic settings like recess. Keeping me inside while others played was not just unfair — it was exclusion in its purest form.
For students like me with dyslexia or ADHD, reading for long stretches feels like running a marathon in a straightjacket. By mid-morning, my mind was overheating, each letter resisting recognition like iron filings repelling a magnet. Recess was not a luxury; it was a lifeline. When it was taken away, stress spiked, focus collapsed and every word I tried to absorb slipped away. Neuroscience shows that stress floods the brain with cortisol, impairing memory and focus. You cannot learn when your brain is in survival mode.
But the damage was not just cognitive. Recess is where friendships ignite, alliances form and inside jokes are born. From my desk, I watched peers swap high-fives and negotiate games I could not join. On the playground, neurodivergent students are not slow. We are teammates. When schools deny recess, they send the silent message that you do not belong here. That silence shapes identity.
There is a societal cost, too. In a digital world where disagreement can be resolved with a block button and algorithms curate what we see, children rarely practice compromise. On the playground, compromise is unavoidable. You cannot block someone who wants a different game. You negotiate. You argue. You learn that fairness matters and that your actions affect others. The playground is democracy in miniature.
When schools lock neurodivergent kids inside, they are not just keeping them from learning. They are removing the first public square many children will ever know. They are dismantling the laboratory where we practice coexistence and tolerance.
Recess is not a reward for being fast or quiet. It is a developmental need, a cognitive reset and a matter of equity. SB 578 recognizes that discipline should not disproportionately harm students whose disabilities already require accommodation. It affirms that inclusion is not optional.
Passing this bill will not weaken standards. It will strengthen the community. Recess is not about playtime. It is about teaching the next generation how democracy works.
Lawmakers should pass SB 578. Schools should stop treating recess as leverage. Parents should ask how often it is withheld.
Recess is not a reward. It is a civil right. It is a cognitive lifeline, a social equalizer and the first laboratory of democracy for all children. And it needs to be protected.
Michael Jozokos is an 11th grade student at Brewster Academy in Wolfeboro.