I GIVE MY HEART TO CHILDREN: Vasyl Sukhomlynskyi’s School of Joy
Vasyl Sukhomlynskyi with his students / napensii.ua
Vasyl Sukhomlynskyi (September 28, 1918 — September 2, 1970) was a teacher by the grace of God who considered love the cornerstone of education and upbringing. During his lifetime, he wrote 48 monographs, 600 articles, and 1,500 fairy tales, parables, and short stories. His works have been published in 53 languages, with a total circulation of 15 million copies.
His most famous book, I Give My Heart to Children, has gone through nearly 55 editions and has been translated into 29 languages. Sukhomlynskyi was awarded the Order of Lenin, the Makarenko Medal, and numerous other honors. He spent his entire career working in a rural school. He lived for children, dedicating every moment of his life to them, never belonging to himself.
FROM ONUFRIIVKA TO UDMURTIA
September had just been born. It winked with dahlias, asters, and young slippery jack mushrooms. It smelled of pumpkin porridge, spread its mist over corn cobs, and carried the warmth of Indian summer. The air was filled with birds’ cries and the ringing of the school bell. Vasyl stepped into the schoolyard, inhaled the blend of early autumn and children’s laughter, and once again felt unconditional happiness. His heart belonged to children forever.
From a young age, he dreamed of becoming a teacher. Growing up under a thatched roof, he watched his father craft furniture and musical instruments and listened to his mother’s stories. His mother sewed, spun, embroidered, and skillfully dyed fabric. She was round-faced, cheerful, and soft, like a freshly baked bun. She never idled or wasted time sitting on the porch. Always busy, she later inspired Vasyl to call his parents «folk educators», as all their children — Vasyl, Serhii, Ivan, and Melaniya — became teachers.
Life was strict and harsh. In the middle of the famine-stricken year of 1933, he graduated from seven grades of school, then attended a workers’ faculty program, and at seventeen gave his first lesson. He taught Ukrainian language and literature, believing the language to be a precious treasure where words resembled pearls. Words like velvet, necklace, towel, kerchief, banner. Height, distance, brook. The key was choosing words carefully, as imprecise ones could wound or even kill. It was akin to using a nail instead of a pencil during an art lesson.
Before long, the young man became a deputy principal and fell in love. His chosen one was Vira Povsha — equally young, inspired, and sincere. The couple lived together for only two years before war erupted. Instead of sun-loving swallows came predatory steel bombers, and instead of morning calm — flashes, explosions, and bitter tears. By July, Vasyl was off to the front, while Vira, holding her round belly, bid him farewell. She was carrying their first child.
Everything changed too quickly. The young soldier completed junior political officer training in Moscow, was assigned to a rifle regiment, and suffered his first injury near Mozhaysk. The second injury proved devastating. Somewhere near Rzhev, his life took a drastic turn.
His left shoulder was damaged, his left arm shattered into fragments, and a piece of shrapnel lodged dangerously close to his heart. He lost a significant amount of blood, faced the threat of gangrene, and endured several complex surgeries. The surgeon insisted on amputating the arm, but Vasyl pleaded for it to be saved.
The doctor asked, «Why? Are you an artist?»
«No, I’m a teacher», he replied.
Winter retreated reluctantly, and spring awakened slowly. Adonis and celandine bloomed lazily. Daphne shrubs began to grow. In the hospital corridors, broad-faced women with red hair shuffled past. Outside the hospital windows lay Udmurtia — hills, forests, and ancient trees. Home — his native Onufriivka — was 2,000 kilometers away.
A SCHOOL ROMANCE
Vasyl spent over four months in evacuation hospitals. Though eager to return to the front, he was demobilized with a first-degree disability. He settled in the urban-type settlement of Uva, located on the banks of the Va River, and became the school’s principal. The settlement thrived with brickworks, a match factory, a soap-making workshop, a chemical plant, and leather and cast iron production.
On the forest edges, black storks strutted on their long purple legs while local women baked tabani — flat sourdough cakes — and pea balls almost daily. Vasyl missed his homeland, his beloved Vira, the grain fields, and the warm bread made from last year’s wheat. It was there he received the devastating news: Vira and their son were gone.
Onufriivka had quickly fallen under occupation. Vira left their child with her parents and joined the partisans, distributing leaflets and hiding prisoners of war. Eventually, she was captured and brutally tortured, but she endured in silence. The Germans, resorting to their cruelest methods, took her ill 10-month-old son, stripped him naked, and placed him before her, threatening to «feed» him.
Vira bit her tongue even harder. They murdered the child before her eyes, gouged out her eyes, and hanged her days later. Vasyl could barely cope with the pain. It stayed with him for life, as did the shrapnel lodged close to his heart.
Winters in Udmurtia lasted half a year. Snow fell as if from a flour sack, and frost gripped jaws and temples. Spring was brief, followed by a hesitant summer. Familiar sights like coltsfoot and clover blossomed. Vasyl taught the Russian language diligently, cared for his students and teachers, combed his hair back neatly, and spoke softly. Even then, his unique pedagogical style stood out.
One day, Anna Devyatova, a young and cheerful inspector from the People’s Commissariat for Education, visited his school. She came to assess the readiness of schools for the new academic year, and Vasyl’s school impressed her the most — as did the slender young principal. The attraction was mutual, and a correspondence romance blossomed.
For a year, they exchanged letters, and in 1944, they married. That March, Vasyl learned that his homeland had been liberated and began packing his bags. Anna, who lived in Izhevsk and taught at a pedagogical college, was reluctant to settle in what she saw as a godforsaken Ukrainian village. She agreed only to meet her husband’s family and spend a few weeks there. However, that short visit stretched into years.
LOVE, ROSE GARDENS, AND HEALTHY HAVENS
The couple settled in the village of Pavlysh in the Kirovohrad region, just seven kilometers from Vasyl’s childhood home. Vasyl was immediately appointed head of the district education department, while Anna became the school principal. There was plenty of work to do. Vasyl Oleksandrovych focused on rebuilding schools, recruiting teachers, and providing desks, notebooks, and textbooks.
His heart ached for orphaned children and the war-traumatized generation, and he firmly believed that education and upbringing should be rooted in love. To help his wife learn Ukrainian faster, he wrote her letters with translations. In 1945, their son Serhii was born; in 1946, their daughter Olia followed. In 1948, despite his frail health caused by untreated wounds, Sukhomlynskyi took over as principal of the Pavlysh School, marking the start of his creative ascent.
The school was in poor condition: cramped and cold, with classes held in three shifts due to a lack of classrooms. The only lighting came from a single kerosene lamp. One side of the building was adjoined by an old shed, while barren plots of land stretched to the left and right. At 30 years old, the new principal set out to create something unique and rolled up his sleeves.
Together, they built new school buildings and planted an orchard, a rose garden, and a vineyard. Soon, there was a beekeeping farm, a greenhouse, a dovecote, and even a weather station. Students raised rabbits, grew apples and pears, and crafted seed drills and winnowing machines, as Sukhomlynskyi believed intellectual and physical education should go hand in hand. With the money they earned, they traveled on excursions to Moscow and Leningrad.
Sukhomlynskyi was multilingual and a lifelong learner. He subscribed to 26 newspapers and magazines annually and collected books from everywhere he went. He encouraged all his colleagues to pursue higher education and often attended lessons but never pointed out shortcomings publicly — only during staff meetings. He emphasized that preparing for a good lesson takes a lifetime. He advocated for questioning techniques that encouraged students to think critically rather than recite textbooks. For younger children, he suggested using storytelling and games.
Over time, he established the «Fairy Tale Room», the «Island of Wonders», «Green Classrooms», a parent school, and a «Health Garden». The idea for the «Health Garden» came to him in August when he noticed that future first-graders looked pale and sluggish and decided they needed outdoor activities.
He and the older students built huts by the river, equipped with drawing tables. Nearby, they set up a field kitchen, a bathing area, and a motorboat. A large orchard flourished around them. The children woke at dawn, swam in the pond, did exercises, and had breakfast with porridge. They strolled through forests, gardens, and fields, snacking on watermelons, melons, and plums.
Lunch included corn on the cob, borscht, young potatoes with dill, and crunchy cucumbers. Morning and evening brought fresh milk. By the time September 1st arrived, the first-graders were unrecognizable — rosy-cheeked, tanned, and barefoot. Now, they were ready to begin their educational journey.
LESSONS IN THINKING
He would wake up at dawn, at four o’clock. After walking through the garden, he would sit at his desk. Manuscripts were scattered everywhere — on shelves, the sofa, and chairs. He wrote quickly, by hand, never typing a single book on a typewriter. Articles for his colleagues were in Russian, but fairy tales for his students were exclusively in Ukrainian.
His tales told of snowflakes, freezing sparrows, a glass man, a crimson flower, silver hair, a boastful rooster, a shepherd, a beekeeper, and a hedgehog mother with her little ones. Leading newspapers and magazines like Soviet Education, Teacher’s Gazette, Komsomol Truth, and Family and School eagerly published his articles on their front pages.
He corresponded with parents, writers, students, priests, and even juvenile offenders in correctional facilities, answering every letter personally.
His teaching philosophy stood apart from the Soviet system. Sukhomlynskyi rejected grades except for praise, believing low marks humiliate a child’s dignity and break their spirit. He argued that every child is unique — not everyone is destined to be a worker. Writers, artists, and dancers should also be nurtured. He focused on humanism, kindness, a love for nature, and respect for others.
He educated with kindness and taught through wonder. If there were no questions at the end of a lesson, it was a troubling sign that the teacher had not fully engaged. He prioritized reflection over rote memorization.
Sukhomlynskyi opposed the idea of early socialization and boarding schools where parents would send two-year-olds to dedicate themselves entirely to serving the state. Instead, he believed children should be loved, supported, and encouraged. Their creativity and imagination needed to be fostered, and their resilience developed.
He worked tirelessly despite his failing health. In the last 20 years of his life, he wrote 20 books, some of which he rewrote multiple times.
«RAISING YOUR CHILD, YOU RAISE YOURSELF»
Short in stature, with a measured, soft voice and a sorrowful gaze, he always maintained eye contact during conversations. He ate little but enjoyed borscht, black bread, compote, cabbage rolls, fried eggs, and milk. Sukhomlynskyi considered himself a rural man.
Once, while returning from a conference in Germany, he visited his daughter, who was living in an apartment in Kyiv. Over tea, he asked for some bread, ate slowly, and gazed out the window. Eventually, he remarked, «My God, how do people live here? It’s like a beehive. I could never do this».
He never punished his children, raising his voice only once over unfinished homework (his children addressed him formally as «you»). He organized shadow puppet shows for the family and took them on weekly Sunday walks to a meadow with a spring. When the children were sick, he would tell them fairy tales and illustrate his stories. He was knowledgeable about space and constellations and often discussed pedagogy endlessly with his wife.
After work, he would sit on the porch and answer questions from villagers. He loved music, played the flute, and adored choral singing, especially the song «The Mighty Dnipro Roars and Groans». He listened with his children to Flight of the Bumblebee, Tchaikovsky’s poetic scenes, and works by Schubert and Grieg. He encouraged them to greet frosty winter and midsummer sunrises, to observe the pirouettes of swallows, the wanderings of ants, water striders, and various insects.
LENIN IS ALWAYS ALIVE
But envy and criticism were inevitable. Sukhomlynskyi was accused of «abstract humanism» and using «clerical rhetoric» because life was meant to be lived «according to Lenin» and written about in the same way. It was preferable to focus on how the leader carried logs, drank carrot tea, and met with petitioners — not on the healing power of springs, unity with nature, or the formation of a child’s spiritual world.
Every paragraph was expected to fervently thank the Communist Party, bow low, and adorn walls with red carpets and slogans like, «The Party is the intellect, honor, and conscience of our era». The scholar Dmytro Lykhachov made a particular effort to criticize Sukhomlynskyi in his article «We Need Struggle, Not Sermons», published in Teacher’s Gazette.
Lykhachov loudly mocked the «Christian morality» of the teacher and reproached him for the lack of Marxist-Leninist citations and references to congress materials. Vasyl took the article too much to heart. He wrote a response to the «scholar», but it was never published.
THE FINAL BELL
His heart began to falter more frequently. Doctors insisted on serious treatment, but there was no time for that. A new school year was approaching, and an article titled «Earth, Labor, Human Being» needed finishing, so the school had to be prepared. On September 2, 1970, his heart, still bearing its shrapnel, finally stopped. At 51 years old, the teacher gave his last lesson, clutching asters, notebooks, and the class journal as he ascended to the classroom one floor above…
