Familiar Strangers

There are many people who I don't know, but with whom I regularly come into contact. I think of them as familiar strangers. Perhaps I pass them on the sidewalk or the hallways of my building. Maybe they're a security guard in a place I like to go or drive the bus I regularly take. My instinct is to begin to acknowledge them with a friendly, "Hello." Even a smile or a nod of recognition would do. But unless they look up to make eye-contact with me, I pass on by without saying or doing anything beyond anticipating that the contact. I suppose you can say that I'm waiting for consent to engage.

I don't like using the word "consent" in this context because, in fact, eye-contact is really not a clear affirmation of consent, but if they do look up at me, I'll at least smile. I want them to know that I see them, that I've seen them, that it's okay, that I welcome them. Most of the time, that other person smiles back, says, "Good morning," and that is the beginning of one of those small social bonds that makes, for me, life a little less anonymous, more familiar and pleasant. 

There are many, however, who never look up no matter how long I wait for their eye-contact. I just want to be friendly, but I shouldn't judge them. I know that for many the effort of even that eye-contact is too much. Or perhaps to be more precise, it's not the one-off eye-contact that exhausts them or makes them anxious, but the prospect that if they do it once, they'll be expected to do it every day. It might even escalate from polite smiles to a daily grind of verbal greetings and small talk: HowareyouIamfineLookslikerainArethosenewshoes . . .

I'm disinclined to impose myself on others and I know that even eye-contact can be an imposition to some, even as there is a part of me that feels like it would be rude to not make eye-contact with a fellow human I see so regularly. So I wait for it without insisting upon it.

There was a time when the refusal (as I framed it) of eye-contact left me feeling slightly abused or ignored, even offended. What a jerk! I'd think as they passed me by with their eyes on the ground in front of them. How rude! But who am I to force myself on others? Who am I to insult them, even in my own mind, when I don't know anything about them other than the fact that we are regularly in the same place at the same time? Perhaps I remind them of someone who once hurt them. Maybe they are painfully introverted. They could be suffering from mental illness like anxiety or depression, which are both all too common. They could be grieving or calculating or thinking a great thought that will one day transform the world.

That said, I'm sometimes with people who don't have my scruples about imposing themselves. My wife, for instance, will not only smile, but call out to these people, "Good morning!" or even more mortifying to me, "I love your jacket!" It puts me on edge, but most of the time, these familiar strangers respond as my wife hopes, often even with seeming joy at being singled out for notice. Sometimes we all stand there on the sidewalk for a time chatting beyond the confines of small talk. Occasionally, those people upon whom she has imposed herself become, with time, actual friends. 

Living in a world with other people is a complicated and infinitely nuanced thing. As my wife will point out, she first met many of her best friends by doing what I would consider imposing herself on them. Still, I wait for the eye-contact. And I know that even that is too forward for some people -- I've seen the fear in their eyes when they make the mistake of looking up and find me waiting for them.

We can't go through life imposing ourselves on one another nor is it healthy to ignore one another. Most humans are born with a drive to connect, but what that means is clearly different for each of us. My friendly gesture can be another person's hostile act. There are those for whom this whole discussion is an outrage: Here we go again with the political correctness! Why can't we just be natural with one another? There are others who feel, perhaps, that I haven't taken it far enough. 

I wonder about all the people who have been intimidated by me because they sensed my waiting for their eye-contact. I wonder likewise about all those best friends I have allowed to pass unknown, who would have been thrilled to have the excuse of a broad compliment or a greeting to connect with me. And then, I must wonder about the world of relationships beyond the relative superficiality of those I have with familiar strangers. 

This is the real work of humanity: connecting. Staying connected. Re-connecting. If we were electrical appliances we would just plug-in to those standardized sockets and be done with it, but of course, are not appliances, nor are we standardized. We are born with a unique shape. Life makes us even more uniquely shaped. If we are to connect with one another as equal and free humans we must turn ourselves round and round with each new person the way a child does when trying to fit a piece into a puzzle. It will be both uncomfortable and rewarding. We will often fail to make the kind of connection we seek, but we must also know to never give up because without connection life is colorless, hostile, and without meaning. 

That is the work we do in preschool, but it is also the work we do throughout life. 

I will not impose myself on you, but know that I'm always waiting for eye-contact. Also know that if you call out to me, I will not ignore you. From there, I hope, we can figure it out because that, I think, is what we're here to do.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

"We Have A Deficit Of Wonder Right Now"

We tend to complain about children and their electronic devices, but from where I sit, it's the adults we should be worried about. 

It really wasn't that long ago that I had to be reminded to carry a quarter in my pocket in case I needed to use a public pay phone to call home. I rarely remembered my quarter and I even more rarely needed it. Yesterday, I had a moment of actual panic when I realized I'd left my smart phone at home when I went to the grocery store. What if there's an emergency? What if I miss an opportunity? I talked myself out of the silly overreaction of returning home to fetch my phone. Nevertheless, during the next half hour of shopping I re-discovered my phone "missing" at least three more times. Then when I got to the register, I had another brief panic as I reached for my phone to make payment via Apple Pay. It took me a moment to remember that I was still carrying my wallet in which I keep my debit card, something that I reckon is on the same path to irrelevance as pocket change.

When I got home, the first thing I did, even before putting away the groceries was to check my phone.

The preschoolers I teach are pre-literate, which means their brains have not yet been shaped by the process of compressing human verbal expression into a meager 26 crude symbols and a handful of punctuation marks. They are also, for the most part, pre-device, which doesn't mean they are device-illiterate, but that they don't find themselves impelled to thumb on their screen every few minutes.

Throughout the day, I check the weather, the sports scores, my messages. I take a look at news headlines, my social media accounts, my bank balance. I pay bills, shop, find my way, order takeout, and distract myself with games. I hardly consider myself a "power user." I'm just your average middle-aged person who appreciates being able to extend myself into the world in ways that would have struck the quarter-in-the-pocket era me as superhuman. Just as automobiles, corrective lenses, and hearing aids "enhance" us, our devices make us super-connected, super-efficient, and at least potentially super-informed.

If my pre-teen comic book reading taught me anything, however, it's that superpowers come at a cost. In those old Marvel Comics the most common downside of superpowers was a feeling of alienation from the rest of the world. Some of these superheroes were even ostracized or feared. Many suffered under the burden of responsibility. Their human selves were in some way or other weakened or harmed by their powers. 

"Everything is explained now. We live in an age when you say casually to somebody, 'What's the story on that?' and they can run to the computer and tell you within five seconds. That's fine, but sometimes I'd just as soon continue wondering. We have a deficit of wonder right now." ~Tom Waits

As I observe young children at play, I see pre-device humans, people who don't need authoritative answers to everything, who are perfectly fine living in a state of wonder. This is part of the price we pay for becoming superhuman. Wonder has served humans for millennia. Not knowing. Not having everything explained. Mythologizing.

I've recently begun to actively reject my superpowers for an hour or two every day, leaving the house without devices, on foot. I find a place far from home where I can sit and watch the sky and make up stories about the clouds or the wind or the arc of the sun. I wonder about the trees and what they might be thinking about me. I wonder about the birds that land in the perceived safety of my stillness. I don't call it meditation. I call it wondering. I don't know if I'm doing any healing from the deficit of wonder that came with my superpowers, but it is at least a momentary salve and a reminder that the children possess something that I may have lost. 

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

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Are We Teaching Toward Understanding Or Are We Just Enforcing Rules?

It seems that a lot of our neighbors have lately added pets to their lives. Everywhere I go, there are puppies straining at the ends of their leashes, impulsively lurching after an up close sniff of whatever has caught their attention. Often it's me they want to get at. Of course, their owners hold them back, usually apologizing, sometimes feebly saying something like, "Leave it."

Personally, I enjoy when these balls of fluff frolic against my shins, but I likewise know that responsible dog owners teach their puppies to "leave it," especially when the "it" in question is a human being. But for now they are all driven to get as close as they can, to invade my personal space in order to engage their sense of smell. It's part of dog culture, so to speak, which is never more clearly on display than when we're at the off-leash areas where there is no delicacy about nosing into even the most private nooks of personal space. I'm sure there are exceptions, but most dogs don't seem to naturally require, nor do they naturally respect, personal space. It's something about which they must learn.

Although, I wonder if they ever really "learn" it. Sure, dogs can be trained to keep their distance from humans unless invited, but I doubt they ever understand what it's all about. They've learned that their beloved human wants them to keep their distance. They might have learned that there is a punishment connected to forgetting or a reward offered for remembering. They may have even transcended the carrot-and-sticks paradigm and internalized it as "good dog" behavior, but I doubt they ever come to comprehend why. Their brains, being dog brains, are simply incapable of grasping our human concept of the sanctity of personal space, even as they are capable of heeding the "rules" surrounding it.

When it comes to dogs, that's probably good enough, but too often, it seems, we adults act as if this is good enough for children as well. The other day, a child at the supermarket was repeatedly, and joyfully, shrieking in the sort of high pitched way that only toddlers can. His mother shushed him several times, but it only stuck for a few seconds before he would begin shrieking again. Finally, she leaned into his stroller and said, motioning toward me apologetically, "When you scream like that it hurts other people's ears." That did the trick: she had given him the why instead of just the rule and his brain was clearly ready to understand. 

This reliance upon rules as a replacement for understanding, especially when it comes to teaching children, is pervasive. Indeed, that's the way mathematics is most frequently taught. Children memorize algorithms that will lead to the correct answer whether they understand the concepts or not. We drill three-year-olds how to sound out words before they're capable of actually reading. This is what standardized tests measure, not understanding, but whether or not certain rules have been internalized. We instruct children in such classroom rigors as walking in lines, raising hands, and sitting on their bottoms, then we wonder why so many of them persist in breaking those rules. So we scold, cajole and punish until they know they must do those things even if they don't understand why. This is the way we train dogs.

Teachers are in the business of understanding and understanding must precede algorithms and rules. When a child understands that what he is doing hurts the ears of others, he then understands why he shouldn't shriek inside the supermarket. It's not until a child is capable of understanding that letters and numbers are abstractions that represent words and numbers that he can actually understand reading, writing, and ciphering. It's not until a child's brain has developed beyond a certain level of self-centeredness that they understand that raising hands is a fair way to make sure everyone gets a turn. (I still don't understand walking in lines and sitting on bottoms, except as crude crowd control measures, something in which I've never been interested.)

Sometimes as adults we must rely upon rules because the children for whom we are responsible are not yet developmentally ready for understanding, although whenever we find ourselves relying too much on rules, we must ask ourselves if what we are expecting of the children is appropriate. I mean, if we need rules and algorithms, then maybe the kids simply aren't capable of understanding and we're just, at best, wasting everyone's time. Then all we're really teaching is obedience and I think that's an immoral and dangerous thing to do.

In every thing we do as educators, we must ask ourselves, are we teaching toward understanding or are we just enforcing rules? Because there is a difference and it is important.

This is why we leave children to their play. This is why we strive to create environments in which they can explore, experiment, question and discover without requiring a slew of adult mandated rules. We want them to start with understanding, in their own way, in their own time, and according to their current capabilities, which is to say their developmental stage. It's only from there that the algorithms and rules will ever make any sense at all.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

In A Matter Of Seconds

The boy was sitting atop one of our Tonka trucks, poised at the top of the short, but steep concrete slope that bifurcates the playground. It wasn't clear whether he was summoning up courage to take the plunge, carefully assessing the risk, or simply taking in the view, but having been around young children for a long time and knowing this boy in particular, I figured that the odds were on the side of him taking the plunge one way or another.

Normally, this would not have been a particularly fraught moment for me. After all, the slope was short, the ground was soft, the boy competent, and I'd previously witnessed hundreds of other similarly inclined children emerge largely unscathed. The monkey wrench in my calculations was the recent addition of a planting box not far from the bottom on the slope. That was an immovable object. 

If I'd come across an adult in a similar circumstance, I'd likely pause to watch without comment. I would assume they knew what they were doing. That said, I was explicitly responsible for this boy's safety whereas an adult's safety, while still perhaps on a moral or ethical level at least partially on me, wouldn't really be my concern. 

This is one of the filters I regularly use when considering my actions in relation to those of the children in my care: would I treat an adult the same way? And if not, why not? It's a calculation I make several times a day, often on the fly like in the case of the boy on the Tonka truck. I'm generally disinclined to impose myself on anyone, especially when it comes to telling them what to do. Still, I had concerns about his prospective plummet ending too suddenly and even violently.

I didn't want to rob the boy of the answer to the question he was asking about himself and the physics of the world around him. It was information that would likely come in useful for calculating future risks however this particular plunge turned out. Having survived this short precipitous slope on a Tonka truck, and the odds were nearly 100 percent that he would survive, it would become data for future risk taking. So allowing him to proceed was on the side of learning and longterm safety. 

That planter box complicated things. I personally didn't yet have any data on it. As far as I knew, this boy was the first to attempt anything like this since it had been built. This is the fulcrum upon which our days teeter as important adults in the lives of young children. In similar circumstances, many adults would simply call out, "Be careful!" a phrase I've stricken from my person lexicon being that it is both a command and so vague as to be useless. He was clearly already being careful. His long, thoughtful pause at the top of the slope told me that, but maybe I, in my larger store of experience, had information he could use, so I said, "I'm going to watch you so I'll be here to take care of you if you get hurt."

I said it because it was the first actual truth that came to me about the situation. He replied calmly, "I'm not going to get hurt."

I answered, "Good. I'm just worried about the planter box. It's pretty close to the bottom and you're going to be going fast. If you run into it, you might go flying through the air." Maybe I was exaggerating, so I added, "It might be cool, but you also might land on something hard."

"That's not going to happen," he replied, eyes fixed on the planter box below. I realized that I'd now done what I needed to do. 

Then after another moment of consideration, he let himself go, stopping his momentum with his heels several inches short of the planter box. He looked at me in triumph, "See?"

It all happened in a matter of seconds, this exchange about risk and safety, this calculation of odds by two people at different stages in life.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

A Place Of Wildness And Wonder

By now, most of us know that one of the most powerful stress and anxiety reducers is to spend time outside in nature. This is part of the reason that forest schools and other kinds of outdoor education are increasing in popularity, especially as we are experiencing a crisis in terms of the mental health of our youth.

My friend Erin Kenny, forest school pioneer, author, and creator of The Cedarsong Way, would say, "The kids can't bounce off the wall if you take away the walls," a mantra that I expect holds true for all of us. As a teacher in an urban school wanting to expose the children in my care to the benefits of nature, I once asked her if being outside was enough. She answered that it depended on what kind of outside I was talking about. She conceded that being outdoors was probably better than indoors, but that most urban areas were too "constructed" and "controlled" for children to receive the full benefits. "There is a wildness to nature," she said, "that is hard to find in a city."

There are gardens and parks, of course, but those kinds of places, while beautiful and made from natural things, are also managed spaces. Humans restrict, prune, clear, and plant. We decide what will thrive and what will not. We make rules and draw boundaries. In other words, we make these places less than wild.

One of the reasons that taking children outdoors, even if it isn't into a natural space, is so beneficial is that we adults tend to care less about outdoor spaces. Inside we fuss over the little virtues of cleanliness, tidiness, the proper uses of things ("Chairs are not for standing!"). Outdoors we back off a bit and that alone might explain why most children are more relaxed, open-minded, and creative outside. Even so, most playgrounds are managed spaces as well and to the degree they are is the degree to which we reduce the potential benefits to children and to ourselves.

But urban settings aren't without their wildness and thus their ability to be natural spaces. They exist all around us, but they tend to be places we overlook or even actively avoid. I'm thinking of vacant lots, the scruffy no-man's land between buildings, abandoned buildings, alleyways, and other "wastelands." They are not places of picturesque beauty, nor are they likely to inspire awe or a sense of oneness with the universe, but children who grew up in less suspicious times knew these as desirable places to play largely due to the fact that there were no adults around to manage the wildness out of them. Plants emerged from cracks, critters scurried about, and if you broke something, who cared?

Yes, I'm aware that hazards abound in such places, but isn't that in the nature of wildness? Isn't that, in part, exactly why being in nature is so profoundly beneficial? It isn't only about breathing meditatively or hiking serenely in a beautiful places. As Erin suggested, we also need the infinite possibilities of wildness in our lives and part of what makes a place wild is giving up on our urge to manage, control, and maintain, leaving to it just be as a place of wildness and wonder.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

Is It Ethical To Prepare Children For The Future?

More than twenty years ago, while touring kindergartens for our preschool-aged daughter, the head of one private school told the assembled parents, "Our community doesn't reflect how the world is, but rather how it ought to be." Specifically, he was referring to the racial and socio-economic make-up of their enrollment and teaching staff, but he could have been talking about their emergent, project-based curriculum as well.

I wasn't yet a teacher, although I believe I'd begun toying with the idea. I liked what I saw of the place, but this idea of creating a school around how we want the world to be rather than how it is intrigued me. After all, the calling card of most schools is that they prepare children for the real world or, sometimes, the future. At the same time, having spent most of my educational life in American public schools, I was aware that a great deal of what I was taught, perhaps most of it, turned out to have nothing to do with the real world I'd been living in since graduation.

Fran Leibowitz once quipped, "I assure you, in real life there is no such thing as algebra," something that has been true in my life. The only algebraic equations I've ever solved were in math classes, whereas cooking, a skill I use every day in real life, was only offered to me as a high school elective for a single quarter. If my school had been interested in preparing me for the real world, cooking would have been on the front burner. Was 15 years of math really necessary to prepare me to for the things I use math for today like managing my money, which really is just basic addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division? 

Or were they preparing me for how "they" want the world to be? I doubt it. Has anyone has ever sat down and envisioned a world in which we spent our days solving for x? The best rationale I've ever heard for requiring all that mathematics education is that it teaches "hard logic," something that can be useful, of course, but if that's the goal, I can think of far more efficient and direct ways to expose children to it. Indeed, as I watch preschoolers at play, I see them practicing the habits of logical thought as they go about their block building and risk assessments.

I've singled out mathematics here, but when passed through the filter of preparing children for the real world, be it for the concrete now or some idealized future, much of what gets explicitly taught in school fails to do either. I've written before about how a truly useful curriculum, one that gives children the opportunity to learn things they will definitely use in their lives would be one centered around cooking, personal finance, basic household maintenance and repairs, auto maintenance, personal relationships, health (including mental health), grooming, social skills, psychology, and philosophy. I'm sure there are other things that could be added to the list, but these are the things I've found to be necessary in the real world and in each of them I am largely self-taught. Certainly, there were adults who pointed me in certain directions, but the learning, the acquiring of the skills was all mine.

What if we, as a society, decided to prepare children for the world as we want it to be? In the case of that one, individual private school, I imagine the head of school, in consultation with his staff, determined what that would mean. But since this approach is one designed to engineer a new and better future through what and how we teach children, the stumbling block will always be the exact definition of "new and better." In a democratic society, this is meant to be the responsibility of all of us, not just the curriculum makers. Would public schools have leave our curricula up to a popular vote of the local community? What about educators who have different ideas about the way the world ought to be? And, at bottom, this approach is about "shaping" children into a particular form, one required for a future determined not by the children themselves, who will live in that future, but rather by adults, who won't. 

I know there is a lot of gray area here, but I can't help but be repelled by either approach. It seems to me that preparing children for the future, which is at bottom what we are attempting to do whatever our approach, is fundamentally unethical, perhaps even immoral. From where I sit, the only ethical approach to education is to support children as they prepare them for their future, and what that means can only be determined by the children themselves.

What if we adults spent less effort trying to manufacture the citizens of tomorrow based upon either the imperfect present or how we would fix it, and more on helping children in front of us learn and achieve what they themselves want to learn and achieve right now? After all, they are the ones responsible for creating the future. They are the ones who will be living in it. Who are we to tell them what will be useful? Who are we to tell them what is a waste of time? This is why I am on the side of self-directed learning, or what we in preschool call play-based learning. 

I assure you, in real life there is no such thing as the future. There is only a single, constantly emerging now, one that we are all creating together. If we are to be ethical educators, the only approach, to my mind, is one in which we stand beside our children as they are right now, leaving the future out of it and supporting our future elders as they make the most of right now.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

"After That They Get To Do Whatever They Want"

A reader recently wrote to me in response to a post: "The way I look at it is that kids owe us their obedience until they're 18, after that they get to do whatever they want."

I wonder how many other people feel this way. I hope not a lot. In fact, I hope this guy was joking or trying to provoke me, but I know better. I don't have to look particularly far or wide to discover people, even people in education, who behave as if they believe this about the relationship between children and adults. After all, it's written into our laws. The so-called "age of majority" is 18 in 48 of the 50 US states. It's 19 in Alabama. It's 21 in Mississippi. Sure, there are caveats and exceptions, but for the most part parents must be quite neglectful or abusive for the courts to grant "emancipation" to a minor.

Likewise, when we look at laws around compulsory schooling, children are required to attend until they are at least 16 right across the US, although most states mandate school (or an alternative, like home schooling) between 5 and 18. And our public schools, where most of our kids wind up, we have enshrined obedience as one of the foundational principles of how they operate.

But even setting the black and white of laws aside, it's rare to find an important adult in a child's life who does not, at least from time to time, put their foot down. We don't even shout, "My way or the highway!" the way we might with another adult because there is no highway for children, only the prospect, even with the most lenient of parents or understanding of educators, of being allowed to "do whatever they want."

And there are a lot of things that children might want to do or be that we forbid. We don't allow children to own property, to choose where they will live, to vote, or to hold a job. The list of forbidden things is long. So, as shocking as this reader's point of view is at first, it's one that is embodied in law and society.

Most of us allow children some freedom. Many even allow them a lot of freedom, especially as they get older and have "earned" it. We tell ourselves we do it for their own good, for their safety. And no doubt, for many of us, we genuinely believe this is what we are doing, but there is no getting around the fact that we are, therefore, teaching our children the dubious habit of obeying those who are in a position of authority. There are many who see no problem with even that. After all, in the real world, it can be dangerous to defy authority.

So what about those other traits we value, like independence and critical thought? These can also be dangerous in the real world, as are creativity, standing up for one's beliefs, curiosity, and, indeed, finding one's own unique way in the world. Much safer is to do as you're told, to be thrifty, to keep your head down, and to avoid questioning too deeply or seeking after any truth that challenges the status quo. 

These are not things that are learned through obedience. Do we really expect that after nearly two decades of contrary training that these traits will emerge spontaneously at some magical moment like their 18th birthday? 

Most of us, as parents at least, strive to execute a slow-motion letting go by trying to walk a balance of allowing a bit more freedom to the children, ideally, with each passing day, until, by the time they are 18, they are ready to be totally free. Teachers, however, cannot afford too much freedom amongst their charges because, at the end of the day, they know that their number one priority, the thing that will most certainly get them reprimanded or fired, is if the children in their care are not safe, be it from physical, emotional, social, or even intellectual harm.

So, as we adults seek to protect children from fortune's blows, we also teach them that danger itself is to be avoided and it is assumed that doing as one is told (or expected or trained) is on the side of safety. Better to stick to the well-trod path, under the street lights, amidst the predictable, placid crowd, taking our pleasures in the form of rewards while avoiding the punishments.

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~Howard Thurman

As someone who has been struggling to come alive in the real world for six decades now, I'm finally starting to understand that a life with minimal danger is a life that is, all the way around, minimal. And I think that this is a great sin we commit against our fellow humans, our children: we teach them to avoid risk, yet in the real world, risk stands at the center of everything worth doing, be it climbing a mountain, telling a cherished person, "I love you," or defying authority. It is difficult enough, I've found, to "come alive" even with my adult freedom to do whatever I want.

It's no wonder that so many of the 18 year olds I know have decided to pursue computer programming, business, or accounting upon their emancipation. That's what they've been trained for, the safe course, even when their hearts tell them to be dancers or entrepreneurs or professional skateboarders or any other of the countless ways to come alive in the world. When I was 18, I really wanted to be an artist, a painter, but I chose to study advertising (advertising!) because I perceived it was a career in which I could "safely" (that is, earn a decent income and a certain social status) express myself creatively. 

If we want children to come alive, it seems to me that we're doing it all wrong. After 18 years of doing what they are told, how can we expect them to do anything other than play it safe, that this is the reasonable thing to do, let alone know what it is they want to do with the freedom we grant them upon turning 18?

What would happen if we could come to understand that it is not just morally wrong, but irrational in the largest sense, to assume command of children? What if we saw our adult role as being responsible for them, rather than in charge of them? What if we understood that our role is not to instruct or shape or train children, but rather to support them in discovering what it is that makes them come alive? Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

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If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

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"It's Not Enough To Love; You Have To Say It"

Implied in the word "teacher," for most people, is the idea of talking. When teachers are portrayed in popular media, we are generally shown in front of a room of dutiful students taking notes as we lecture. Even when early childhood educators are portrayed, more often than not, we're shown as bent over our charges, lips flapping.

The longer I've done this job, however, the more I'm coming to understand that listening is really what we're here to do.

Now, I'm the first to admit that I can be a chatterer, a habit I developed as a baseball player and coach, although to be honest I don't really expect anyone to be listening to my classroom banter because the purpose on the diamond, as it now in the classroom, is to create a sort of unifying rhythm for the "team," rather than to convey any specific information: I could be chanting nonsense syllables and likely get more or less the same effect. That said, every teacher needs to work on something and I suppose that the central one for me is to shut up and hear more.

"Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person they are indistinguishable." ~David Augsburger

You see, more than anything else, that's what we gain when we stop talking and start hearing: our silence becomes a nest of pure love for the child (indeed, any person) with whom we are. When we set aside our agenda, when we step outside those notions of the teacher who "lectures," when our focus is on hearing rather than talking, we are giving that person our greatest gift.

And there is a distinction, I think, between hearing and mere listening. It is more than just creating a silent space in which a child can express himself. And, indeed, it is even more than truly comprehending or sympathizing or empathizing.

It is not enough to love; you have to say it. ~French proverb

It's only when the child knows they are being heard that the act of listening holds the power of love. And the way we let a person know they've been heard is, in their pauses, to repeat back to them their own words, verbatim; not our interpretation or extrapolation of those words, but rather the exact words they use to express themselves. When a child says, "I am sad," for instance, we let them know they are heard, that they are loved, by echoing back to them, "You are sad." And in that echo, we have said both, "I've heard you," and "I love you."

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If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

The Myth of Selfishness

We can all, under the right circumstances, behave selfishly, but laboratory studies consistently show that when faced with things like resource distribution, say sharing a plate of cookies, we demonstrate what scientists call "inequality aversion." Even children as young as three will divide a cake out equally, and at six would rather throw a slice away than allow one person, including themselves, to have more.

Indeed, it appears that we Homo sapiens, whatever else we are, are serious about equality. 

Over my decades in the classroom I've witnessed it myself, even amongst children younger than those studied. Sure, sometimes a kid can behave selfishly, but most of the time I find myself inspired by children's instinctive fairness in social situations. I once, in a misguided attempt to "teach" about fairness, tried to give all of the girls a special jewel, while excluding the boys. The moment the girls realized what was happening, they spontaneously handed their jewels back to me, rejecting them, saying, "It's not fair." They would only accept their jewels if I included the boys. There was nothing for me to teach these children about fairness.

Were I to ask a strangers on the street, however, I'm certain that most would classify selfishness as one of the traits found under the heading of "childishness," along with a tendency toward tantrums and unreasonableness. We know what people mean when they say that someone is behaving "like a big baby." And those of us who work with children know that it's a slur against babies and young children in general.

The worst tantrums I've ever witnessed have been adults who have lost it. Unreasonable demands are far from the exclusive domain of children. And when it comes to selfishness, adults are far and away more likely to behave according to the own self interest even when it clearly harms or disadvantages someone else.

Selfishness is a learned behavior. We are born with a natural aversion to inequality. We are then socialized to want the biggest piece for ourselves, not through explicit teaching because most of us value fairness as a moral value, but because of the way the world is structured, with competition being one of the primary mechanism through which we distribute resources. A truly childish society would never allow billionaires to sit on their piles while millions of others are forced to live hand to mouth.

Many of us go out of our way as early childhood educators to teach equality, fairness, sharing, and turn taking, yet the research is quite clear: we are a species that already understands these things, at least in social situations. Perhaps the children should be our teachers. But we do it, I think, because we know the sad truth is that once the kids are in the world beyond our classroom walls, they will find themselves in an adult world in which selfishness often shows up as a virtue, even as few of us beyond the Ayn Rand inspired dead-enders believe it to be anything other than one of the roots of evil.

Research also tells us that most of us, most of the time, also exhibit "inequality aversion." That finding, which has been replicated countless times, flies in the face of what many of us think we know about humans. We tend to think we live in a competitive dog-eat-dog world, but when we look to our left and look to our right we see fellow humans who are, in their hearts, unselfish and averse to inequality. Anthropologists tell us that this has been the norm for as long as there have been humans, that our species has thrived largely because of our instincts in favor of equality. So how did we get where we are?

I have my theories, but the bottom line is that our hunter-gatherer ancestors didn't tolerate selfishness in others. They would start by teasing and mocking someone who hoarded resources, for example, and if that didn't bring them into line, they would turn to shame and even, in extreme cases, ostracize them. I'm not advocating for shaming others, but I can honestly say that I feel ashamed of myself when I've behaved selfishly. I think most of us do. I don't know if those girls who returned the jewels to me were experiencing shame, but I imagine they would have had they kept the jewels. 

No, it seems to me that the only way that anyone can accept inequality is if they have bought into a story that frames inequality as inevitable or even righteous. In the past, that story might have been about the "divine" nature of the hoarder, which would excuse things like royal rule. Today, the story is that those with the most "deserve" it because they are smarter or have worked harder. These are modern mythologies, of course. We know for a fact that no one has the divine right to more. We know that hard work doesn't necessarily lead to more; if it did, most early childhood educators would be living large. And we all know smart people who have never been able to cash in on their brains, no matter how big. 

Perhaps, if we really value equality and fairness, we ought to be thinking more about the stories we tell, both to children and one another. But one story we can stop telling right now, is the myth of "childishness" because it implies that selfishness is our natural state, which is perhaps the most pernicious myth of all.

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If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!