Learning Self-Control

On most days, my classrooms look like "controlled chaos." 

That's not how I describe it, but it's been a common enough observation that I know that's how it strikes adults who don't spend their days in play-based preschool. I take it as a compliment, but a backhanded one. I feel like the compliment part is attained by qualifying the word "chaos" with "controlled." As in, "I don't know how you do it, but you have these rowdies right on the edge of my comfort zone."

Of course, chaos isn't a desired state, although I imagine that most of us have enjoyed chaotic thrills on occasion. But when it comes to day-to-day life we prefer it to be at least somewhat more predictable, reasonably ordered, and, well, controlled. That said, most of us also bridle when the control comes from someone other than ourselves.

Children feel exactly the same way. They are human beings who want to feel that their world is predictable and reasonably ordered, but tend push back when others try to control them. Learning self-control, learning to manage one's own body and emotions in a variety of circumstances, is a prerequisite for all other kinds of learning, and the only way to get there is through practice. Unfortunately, when it comes to young children, we have a bad habit of exerting control over them, "for their own good," matter-of-factly backing it up with threats and even brute force. That's called external control and it's almost impossible to learn self-control from there.

French philosopher Simone Weil defined "force" as "that x that turns anybody who is subjected to it into a thing." When we "thingify" others, as MLK put it, we deny that they are "a human being with the same status and worth as other human beings." Indeed, when we allow ourselves to force others, we make them into objects, something less than human.

Play-based educators don't deny children their basic humanity. That, at its core, is what sets self-directed (or play-based) learning apart from standard schooling. Oh sure, even the most controlling adults will clutch their pearls and assert that they likewise honor the basic humanity of children. No one wants to be on the other side of that one, but the command and control backed up by threats of punishment gives them away: it makes children into things rather than people.

As play-based educators we seek to place freedom at the center of the children's experience. We strive to create safe enough spaces, beautiful, varied, and populated with other people. The project is to then make sure they know they have permission to explore, discover, create, succeed, fail, and, well, play. And, from the outside, that can look like chaos as dozens of independent humans pursue their curiosity. 

But it's not chaos at all, not from the inside.

From the inside, children will bump into one another and the adults' job is to help them figure out what to do about it. From the inside, children will take risks and the adults' job is to help them figure out how to do it safely (or at least safely enough). From the inside, children will experience strong emotions that may cause them to behave in challenging ways and the adults' job is to help them through it. In this balancing act of "controlled chaos," the children make their own agreements about how they want to live together. They learn that the only way out of a battle of wills is through negotiation and collaboration. They learn that when it comes to their own learning, their own curiosity is the best guide. And they understand that the role of adults is not to control them, but to keep them safe and to help them when they ask for it. We will not force them. I will not thingify them.

This is the way we learn self-control.

The most common response from those who cling to their right to exert force on children, is some version of the hypothetical, "But what if the child is about to run into traffic!" As a teacher in a very urban preschool, I've spent hundreds, if not thousands of hours, near traffic with young children, but I don't take them anywhere near that traffic, or any other hazard for that matter, until I'm convinced they understand the dangers. And even then, I hold their hands because my responsibility compels me to ensure their safety. 

Actual safety is the one exception and it's force that is not compelled by the threat of punishment, but rather by a clear and honest explanation of the natural consequences: "If you run into traffic a car might hit you and that will hurt. You might even die." We give them facts to think about, not punishments to fear.

In my course "Controlled Chaos: Teacher Tom's Guide to Classroom Management," we learn how to break the habits of force and "thingification". It's an approach that recognizes the full humanity of young children. Participants come away knowing that "chaos" cannot be assessed from the outside, and certainly not by adults who cling to their ideas of command. (Registration will begin soon and the course will be completed before the holidays.) 

"Controlled chaos" refers to the balancing act we perform with and for young children, these fully formed humans who deserve order and predictability, but only on their own terms. It's the only way any of us have ever learned self-control.

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Here's the link to learn more and get on the waitlist for "Controlled Chaos: Teacher Tom's Guide to Play-Based Classroom Management."

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