Khaberni - The seventh period in Jordanian schools appears like a long shadow at the edges of the day, stirring debate among parents and educators, and igniting deeper discussions about the meaning and human limits of the school day.
As soon as its bell rings, sighs scatter in the corridors, steps slow on the stairs, and voices of mothers rise through school groups: "Isn't this long day enough?!"
But behind this simple question hides a whole system of visions and contradictions, between those who see the seventh period as a burden that should be lifted, and those who see it as a necessity to regulate the curriculum; and between the two lies a gray area filled with confusion and debate.
From a pure educational standpoint, the seventh period was introduced in response to organizational needs: overcrowded classes, lack of buildings, and an abundance of subjects crammed into a curriculum that time cannot accommodate. The solution was to extend the school day by an extra hour, as if adding some light to the day to make room for learning. However, we forgot that the mind is not a lamp whose light increases with time, but a flame that dims when stressed. After six consecutive periods, the student is not receptive, but resisting sleepiness, hunger, and distraction, struggling to maintain concentration, and striving to appear attentive while their spirit runs towards home.
Therefore, educational scientists believe that learning at the end of the school day is like plowing in thirsty land, where seeds are sown but find no moisture of awareness to sprout. Yet, it cannot be denied that the seventh period has its practical logic in some schools; it is a tool to ensure time balance, and to distribute subjects fairly among classes, especially in schools with two shifts. But the flaw lies not in its existence, but in its function and method. If the seventh period were made a window for expression and extracurricular activities, or an opportunity for flexible academic support, it would transform from a burden to a reliever, and from folly to meaningfulness.
On the other hand, the social and psychological dimension of this debate cannot be overlooked. A student's eagerness to return home early is not always an indication of love for home or longing for rest. Many students run after school not towards their beds or books, but towards their phones and electronic games, or to gatherings of friends in squares and parks, where hours dissipate between fun and noise. Here lies a silent educational risk, as reducing the school day without guidance or meaningful alternatives opens the door to early behavioral deviations or scattering in values and interests. Not all time granted to students is a time for rest; some empty time becomes a hidden burden on both education and society.
As for parents, their feelings towards the seventh period are intertwined between emotion and realism.
They long for their children's early return, not just out of nostalgia, but also to be freed from the responsibility of the long journey after exhausting work hours. Some of them arrive at the school gate burdened with job fatigue and tight schedules, wishing the day were shorter so they could return home with their children and close the day's chapter.
But as evening arrives, another story begins: the children did not sleep early as the parents hoped, nor did they complete their homework as planned. And so, the parents find themselves between a rock and a hard place: no rest achieved, no learning accomplished, and no education properly balanced between home and school.
This paradox reflects a deeper image than just "the fatigue of the school day"; it is a mirror to the nature of the relationship between the educational system and family life in Jordan.
The system demands discipline and time regulation, while the family seeks flexibility, warmth, and comfort.
Between the two, the student is lost between precise schedules and a tired spirit.
Here lies the major issue: Do we want a longer school day or a deeper educational experience? And should we measure education success by the number of hours or by the depth of impact?
Perhaps it's time to reconsider the philosophy of the entire school schedule, not by abolishing it nor by glorifying it, but by redefining it. The seventh period could transform into a different space, closer to "the golden hour" that combines pleasure and knowledge, leisure, and thinking.
It could be dedicated to volunteer work, artistic creativity, or intellectual discussions that broaden perceptions without exhausting the body.
True education is not about stuffing minds with information, but about shaping a balanced human being who knows when to work and when to rest, when to learn and when to reflect.
In the end, the seventh period is neither an adversary nor an ally, but an indicator of how we view education and life.
It is a minor exam on our relationship with balance, between the system and compassion, between duty and humanity.
And when the final bell rings, and the steps of students leave the schoolyards heading towards the sunset, the questions remain hanging in the air: Was that last hour a step towards awareness ... or another towards fatigue?
