"With Our Ears And Our Hearts"

Mister Rogers:

"More and more I've come to understand that listening is one of the most important things we can do for one another. 

Whether the other be an adult or a child, our engagement in listening to who that person is can often be our greatest gift. Whether that person is speaking or playing or dancing, building or singing or painting, if we care, we can listen.

In times of stress, the best thing we can do for each other is to listen with our ears and our hearts and to be assured that our questions are just as important as our answers.

Listening is a very active awareness of the coming together of at least two lives. Listening, as far as I'm concerned, is certainly a prerequisite of love. One of the most essential ways of saying, "I love you" is being a receptive listener.

Listening is where love begins: listening to ourselves and then to our neighbors.

(And) when we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong along with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way to do it is by accepting ourselves that way."

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That Is All I Write About

I live and teach in one of the most politically progressive legislative districts in one of the most politically progressive cities in one of the most politically progressive states in America. Several years ago I was invited to speak in a place that has the opposite reputation. They wanted me to present a keynote about play-based education. At the time I was using the title "Democratic Education" over my standard talk on the subject. My host was happy with what I proposed except she requested that I change the title, explaining, "People around here are a little uncomfortable with the word "democracy."

I changed the title, but my mind was blown. What American could be against democracy? For me, it was a word like "liberty" or "justice," one that is a pure good, a concept toward which we, as a nation, strive together even as we might disagree on the path to take to get there.

I'd been asked to speak for an hour-and-a-half, then take a coffee break, before concluding with the rest. We were in a sanctuary, with me actually speaking from a pulpit (if you've never had the pleasure, it's a unique one). When it came time for the break, I walked up the center aisle on my way toward a cup of the life giving substance, when I noticed a tall man pointedly waiting for me at the door. He didn't look happy. As I approached him, I wondered if I was going to be punched, but instead he offered his hand, introduced himself, then said, "I can tell you're a liberal." My whole body went tense before he added, "But you're one of the smart liberals."

We spent the coffee break chatting about state politics. He was the owner of a small play-based preschool, a teacher, and a grassroots activist. As we talked we found some places where we disagreed, but most of the conversation was about matters upon which we saw more or less eye-to-eye. And indeed, that is what I've found in every conversation I've ever had with someone who society would tell me is my political "enemy": we agreed on most things. What separated us is perhaps important, but overall our differences are small, and we live most of our lives together on common ground, even if geographic or other barriers cause us to believe otherwise.

I certainly expected that my post yesterday in which I attempted to simply acknowledge and celebrate the historic nature of today's presidential election, one in which we will seat our first woman President, would make some people mad. This is the internet after all and there is no sanctuary, urn coffee, or face-to-face interaction to help guarantee good behavior, but I was still shocked at the anger, vitriol and, frankly, enmity that some people expressed in the comments on Facebook.

For the record, I do not indoctrinate the children I teach, but I do see our school, indeed every school, as a proper forum for discussing the subjects in which the children are interested. My older students in particular have taken an interest in this election, and especially during the debates (which many of our kids watched with their parents) they came into the classroom asking questions and voicing opinions. As the teacher, I simply moderated those discussions as I do all discussions, making sure everyone had a chance to speak, and occasionally echoing their words to let them know they were heard. If I express my own opinions in these discussions, it's when it has to do with civility or if I'm directly asked by one of the kids, then I answer simply and honestly without attempting to persuade. We talk about all manner of topics in this manner, be it bloody owies, Halloween costumes, volcanos, religion, sex, or poverty. It's their world, they have thoughts and questions: exploring those thoughts and questions is what play-based education is all about.

What shocked me most yesterday was the fact that some readers expressed the view that young children were too young to discuss politics, that it is somehow dirty and that they must be shielded from it. Indeed, some seemed to believe that by allowing the children to discuss politics I was violating my trust as a teacher. As I looked through the comments, I couldn't help but be reminded of my host who was nervous about the word "democracy." Maybe this is what she was talking about.

The promise of our nation has always been the goal of democratic self-governance. The reason we educate our children is to prepare them for their role in the process of self-governance, which is usually called politics. Our founders understood that an educated population is necessary if a democratic nation is going to thrive, which is why one of the first things they did after signing the Constitution was to start founding schools. I am not talking about indoctrination here (although I understand that some have approached education this way) but rather providing children the opportunity to practice self-governance. This is why the children at Woodland Park make our own rules, their own agreements about how to live together; it's why the children at Woodland Park develop their own curriculum through their play; and it's why no topic is off the table when it comes to public discussions.

That is the way our democracy is designed to work. It's more than mere voting, which I consider the bare minimum of citizenship. It is about friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues engaging, daily, in political discussions, sharing thoughts, opinions and questions. It's about looking for common ground and standing on it together as we civilly hash out our differences. This is what we spend our days doing at Woodland Park as we create our small democratic society.

Honestly, kids are better at this kind of deep democracy than adults. They have their disagreements, often angrily, then, sometimes within minutes, are back to playing together in the sandpit, enjoying their common ground. This is the hallmark of good citizenship.

I'm happy that the families of the children I teach seem to understand this. And to my readers, I cannot ask you not to get angry, but please don't be shocked and appalled when I write about politics: indeed, that is all I write about.

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!

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Tomorrow Is Election Day

Tomorrow is election day. The campaign has been too long and expensive, but that can be said of every election in which I've taken part. Everyone I know, whatever their political persuasion, agrees that it would be better if we could make make the political season (especially for President) shorter and cheaper. Spending the better part of two years picking our candidates and then our highest executive is simply wasteful, both financially and emotionally. There are Constitutionally legal ways to make that happen, but so far we the people haven't pulled ourselves together enough to do it.

I'm not one of those who shy away from engaging in political discourse. I see it as my responsibility as a citizen to not just vote, but to research, inform and attempt to persuade those who will listen. That's the way democracy is supposed to work, after all: self-governance is not something we can leave up to others. When we step away, we leave a vacuum that is filled by actors who will not act in our best interests. If we are to ever lose our nation, it won't be to an invading force, but rather to the slow-motion decay of our own apathy or, perhaps, disgust. Some say we've already lost it. To them I say, we won't get it back unless we take it back.

It can get uncomfortable, even nasty, I know, and I have sometimes contributed to that when I lose patience with friends and family, colleagues and neighbors. No one ever said that democracy would be fast or easy. It's messy and fraught with real dangers. If you've been following the blog, you'll know that I am a supporter of Democratic candidate Bernie Sanders and actually learned something important about myself and my country in the process of that support. I was disappointed when he lost, of course, but inspired by his continued engagement in the project of self-governance.

But nevertheless, this morning I can't tell you how excited I am for Tuesday evening, and I don't mean that I'll be happy for the election to be over. I'm looking forward to electing our first woman President, flaws and all. I'm excited for the children I teach, all of whom (and they've been polled) are "voting for the girl." Some of the girls in particular almost quaking with excitement when they talk of her. These kids are growing up with the first black President and now, if the polls and pundits can be believed, a woman. When I was their age it was literally impossible for a woman to be elected to the office, just as it was impossible for a black man to occupy the seat. We sometimes get so lost in the irritating day-to-day give and take that we forget to put our heads up to look at the longer arc of our history. Don't try to tell me that we are not making progress: tomorrow we will make the impossible happen and elect our first woman to the highest office in the land.

I'm not here to re-argue the merits of Hillary Clinton as a candidate, representative or person. I'm simply letting you know that for me tomorrow will be a time to celebrate something great that we the people have done. Then on Wednesday, we go back to the business of self-governance, which may or may not place me at odds with our new President.

And now, if the readers of this blog are representative of the voters in our country, close to half of you are mad at me right now, while the other half have already donned your party pant suits. It may seem off topic, but I'm going to end this post with a video from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. I fail at every moment of every day to be like Mister Rogers, but he still inspires me to be a better citizen and person. The second half of the video is the speech he gave as he was inducted into the Television Hall of Fame. He's talking about the responsibilities of those who work in television, but if you mentally replace the word "television" with "America" or "citizenship," I think you'll see that it is an important message for us all.

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!

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Another Story From The Trapeze Bar

Yesterday, I wrote about a two-year-old, her struggles, and our swing set trapeze bar. Today's post is about four and five year olds and that very same trapeze bar.

R is fond of sitting atop the trapeze bar to swing. I've seen her there several times this year, almost daily, but yesterday she was standing on a low stool, holding the bar, but unable to mount it. I was sitting on a table near her. She said, "Help me."

I answered, "I won't help you. What do I look like, your Mom?" It's a joke I've used with kids for years. Sometimes, I'll say, "What do I look like, a kid?" They always laugh and say, "No, you're not my Mom!" or "You're not a kid!" R responded that way, then said, "I can't get up here."

I asked, "I've seen you up there before. How did you get up there then?"

She said, "I think I put my leg over, but I can't get my leg over." She showed me that she couldn't do it.

I answered, "Maybe you used a taller stool last time."

"Maybe." Moments later she was back with one of the short step ladders we keep around the place. It took her a few minutes to position it to her satisfaction. This time she was able to hook a leg over the bar. She used the chains to hoist her body up, then threw her second leg over the way she'd been doing it all year, smoothly.

She's proud of her ability to "pump" and loves to get that trapeze bar going, which she did. She chatted with me as she swung, perfectly comfortable with the height and motion. Then L approached her, "Can I have a turn?"

R paused for a couple to-and-fro arcs, thinking it over, then answered, "I have to finish first, but you're next!" Then two more swings later added, "Could you move the ladder away for me? I keep bumping it."

L answered without hesitation, "Sure," ducking under her feet as she swung back and forth overhead. At one point she teasingly reached out a foot as if to kick him. She telegraphed it just right and he was able to duck under it. They both giggled, an acknowledgement between them that they were taking their risk together.

A couple minutes later R said to me, "Teacher Tom, I can't stop!" She was swinging high and fast, apparently out of control. Try as she might to use her body weight to slow herself, her efforts were failing. In fact, it seemed that her attempts were only making the bar swing faster. She wasn't panicked, just making me aware of the situation, not asking for help, although I offered it nevertheless, "Did you try just leaning back?"

She tried it to no effect. L was still standing with us, hands on the ladder. He had been studying the situation. "I know, I could give you the ladder and you could grab it with your feet!"

"Okay!"

L wrestled the step ladder into place, ducking under R's feet in rhythm with her swinging. She was going so fast that she simply kicked the ladder over as L dove out of the way, her momentum hardly affected at all. They both laughed wildly. Wordlessly, L then reasserted himself with the ladder, this time, firmly holding it, while remaining crouched to avoid getting his head bonked. Her first impact with the top of the ladder slowed her slightly, jarringly: more wild laughing. On her second pass over the ladder, she tried to grab it with her toes in a kind of pincher motion, almost succeeding. Now both of them were fully concentrating, L holding that ladder and R determined to stop herself.

On her third pass, both kids held. She didn't fully stop, but was now back under her own control. The coolest thing about this was that I was mere feet away in a somewhat chaotic circumstance and neither even bothered to consult with me as they figured it out together.

Then, as if nothing at all had just happened, R said from atop the now gently swinging trapeze bar, "Okay, it's your turn now." She first tried to land herself atop of the ladder before just grabbing the trapeze bar chains and dropping herself to the ground.

"Okay, now I'll hold the ladder for you," she declared, grabbing the ladder and authoritatively positioning it under the trapeze bar. They were both by now in full-on you-and-me mode, wide open faces, the sort of connection we make with one another when life is going just right. L climbed the ladder. At first he couldn't figure out how to mount the bar. It looked like he could manage it physically, but couldn't quite summon the confidence. R, the veteran, advised, "Just hook your leg over, then the other one, then I'll move the ladder away so you don't hit it."

L was cautious, but once he got his first leg over, he seemed to intuitively know what to do. R encouraged him, "That's it! Now I'm going to move the ladder so it's not in your way." L began swinging, although not as fast as R had before, perhaps having taken the lesson to keep it under control. The two of them communed for several back-and-forths, before R retired to one of the regular swings which had just become available.

That's when K arrived on the scene, saying, "I want a turn."

L replied, "I'm almost finished." He swung for bit longer, then called out, "Get me the ladder! I'm going to get down!"

From her swing, R had been paying attention to her protege. She called back, "Okay!" She then positioned the ladder for his dismount before helping K with his turn atop the trapeze bar.

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!

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That Daring Young Girl

When the two-year-old girl first caught my eye she was standing directly beneath the trapeze bar, craning her neck to look up at it. She reached upward, stretching on tip toe, her fingers opening and closing as if trying to grab hold, but coming short of her goal.

She dropped her arms and looked around, spotting a stool some ways off. Retrieving it, she attempted to position it under the trapeze bar. It fell over. She attempted to right it. It fell over again. She tried again, finally succeeding in getting it in place. 

Climbing atop it was no easy feat. There was nothing to hold onto to for support and the step up was higher than was comfortable for her little legs. Twice she toppled onto her seat in the effort, but she persevered, crawling onto the stool's platform on her hands and knees, squeezing her body so it all fit there, then carefully standing to her full height.

She looked up at the trapeze bar now, but couldn't at first see it. She had positioned the stool too far forward. Arching her back she spied the bar behind her. She made one reach for it, but realized it was too far away, so dismounted the stool, reversing the process she had developed for mounting it.

This time when she moved the stool, she repeatedly looked up at the bar to ensure that she was directly beneath it. Again, she had trouble getting it to remain on its four feet. Again, she toppled to the ground in the effort, twice, picking herself up each time, her expression of concentration unchanged by any of her tribulations. 

Now she climbed onto the stool, employing the crawling technique she'd discovered from her previous attempt, rising to her feet, finding the bar overhead, then reaching up to grasp it.

I had been sitting a ways off, but when she got hold of that trapeze bar, I stood, an involuntary act of celebration on her behalf. I was driven to get closer to her. She stood with her feet on the stool and hands holding the bar for several seconds. When she noticed me nearby, she smiled up at me like a champion, then launched herself into her swing, the daring young girl on the flying trapeze.

I know it's often hard for parents to not help their children when they struggle. After all, it was only a few months ago that these people were newborns who needed the adults in their lives to do virtually everything for them, but it's also vital that we teach ourselves to allow them their struggles, even if it means letting them fall down. It would have been so easy for me to see failure in her first attempts to launch herself on that trapeze bar, to right the stool for her, to move it into its proper place, to interfere with nonsense words like "Are you okay?" when she fell, to even lift her up to the bar. But there was not a single moment of failure here. Each fall, each repositioning of the stool, each reach that came up empty were all necessary steps in her process. 

And when she launched herself, she beamed. She didn't need my support, she didn't need my help, she didn't need me to tell her "good job" or "well done," none of it, because what she had done was all her own and she knew it, that daring young girl on the flying trapeze.

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!

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How To Make Education Relevant

Looking back it seems like life during my school years, sports excepted, was about individual achievement: test scores mostly, and grades. My adult life, however, has been almost exclusively about working with other people to accomplish something. I think this is true for most of us, most of the time, be it in our job, church, hobby, or family.

If education is a preparation for life, then it makes sense to me to model our schools after what our children will actually find themselves doing throughout the rest of their lives: people accomplishing things together. And that's what young children tend to do when left to be themselves.

I arrived at school one morning to find that the outdoor classroom's chairs and benches had been rearranged. There was a chair in the sand pit and the benches were perched along its edges. I wondered if we'd had a midnight visitor, which happens in a city. I returned it all to their regular spots.

I later learned the truth when a couple of the boys started shifting the furniture, moving it first to the sand pit, then eventually up the concrete slope, under the lilacs, continuing the game they'd started after school the day before.

"Teacher Tom, this is our cabin."

As they hauled the furniture across the space, up the slope and then wrangled it into place, they chattered, argued, questioned, and agreed. They thought, problem-solved, joked, and listened. No one expected anyone else to obey. As their mutual vision began to take shape, others joined them, finding roles in the project.

When they ran out of furniture to move, they incorporated our planks, the marimba, a fire truck, and then they started hauling logs.

One of the most universal, time-tested, and I would argue valid, complaints that children have always laid at the feet of traditional schooling is the charge of irrelevancy. As a junior, our daughter Josephine was on the staff of her school's annual art and poetry publication. She and another student were responsible for tracking submissions and managing the process of acceptance or rejection. As their deadline loomed, she regaled my wife and me with tales of their challenges, debates and resolutions, calling the final week "the most stressful week of my life." She had gone in early on a couple of mornings to get a running start. She had stayed late. They'd developed their own process that involved the prolific use of post-it notes, anguished over the language in their rejection letters, and drank too much coffee. As she told us about her week, I couldn't help but reflect on how incredibly relevant it all was. This is what the great John Dewey talked about when he wrote:

Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.

Josephine also said about the most stressful week of her life, "It was fun." That's what relevancy will do for you.

Instead of teaching children about the world, abstracting it into lectures, worksheets, textbooks or iPad screens, a progressive play-based eduction places children in the actual current of the stream of life, putting them where they engage directly with life itself instead of one step removed. 

That's how to make education relevant, which in this case means building a cabin with your friends at the top of the concrete slope among the lilacs.

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!

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As Common As Life Itself

If there is one thing I'd like everyone reading this blog to understand, it's that play is the natural way for humans to learn. We emerge from the womb prepared to begin testing our world through self-directed  exploration. Our instinct to play is how our urge to educate ourselves manifests.

And indeed, it's not just humans who ask and answer their own questions through play. We've all seen mammals doing it. It's part of why we identify with our furry pets so much; when we see a puppy romp with a ball or a kitten pounce on imaginary prey, not only do we see them educating themselves for their futures, but we see ourselves in their frolicking.

We've also seen birds at play, exploring their world in the air, studying those air currents, discovering a world more vertical than our human one.

I've even seen examples of reptiles at play, turtles and lizards chasing, wrestling, and testing themselves against the physical world.

Heck, even invertebrates like snails seem to figure out their world through play:




I expect if we study them carefully enough, we'll find that even insects play; worms, even amoeba. In fact, it seems that play is as prevalent as eating, as respiration. As we encounter life on other planets, I have no doubt that we'll also encounter extraterrestrials at play. That's because play is as common as life itself.

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!

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