If Our Goal Is Well-Adjusted, "Successful" Citizens

We don't have a huge set of big wooden blocks, which is okay because we don't really have enough space for more and besides, if the kids are going to play with them, they generally need to find a way to play with them together, which is what our school is all about.

The kids in our 4-5's class had been playing a lot of "super heroes." It was mostly boys, but they hadn't been particularly exclusionary, with several of the girls regularly joining them, often making up their own hero names like "Super Cat" due to the lack of female characters of the type in our popular culture. This in turn inspired some of the boys to make up their own hero names like "Super Dog" and "Falcon," along with their own super powers. And although there had been a few instances of someone declaring, "We already have enough super heroes," in an attempt to close the door behind them, most of the time, the prerequisite for joining the play was to simply declare yourself a super hero, pick a super hero name, and then hang around with them boasting about your great might, creating hideouts, and bickering over nuance.

At one point, however, a break-away group began playing, alternatively, Paw Patrol and Pokemon, which looked to me like essentially the same game with new characters. One day, some boys playing Paw Patrol used all of the big wooden blocks to create their "house," complete with beds and blankets. A girl who was often right in the middle of the super hero play wanted to join them, but when they asked, "Who are you?" she objected to being a Paw Patrol character at all. Indeed, she wanted to play with them and with the blocks they were using, but the rub was that she didn't want to play their game.

After some back and forth during which the Paw Patrol kids tried to find a way for her to be included, they offered her a few of their blocks to play with on her own, then went back to the game.

She arranged her blocks, then sat on them, glaring at the boys. They ignored her. I was sitting nearby watching as her face slowly dissolved from one of anger to tears. An adult tried to console her, but was more or less told to back off. I waited a few minutes, then sat on the floor beside her, saying, "You're crying."

She answered, "I need more blocks." I nodded. She added, "They have all the blocks."

I replied, "They are using most of the blocks and you have a few of the blocks."

"They won't give me any more blocks."

I asked, "Have you asked them for more blocks?"

Wiping at her tears she shook her head, "No."

"They probably don't know you want more blocks."

She called out, "Can I have some more blocks?"

The boys stopped playing briefly, one of them saying, "We're using them!" then another added, "You can have them when we're done," which is our classroom mantra around "sharing."

She went back to crying, looking at me as if to say, See?

I said, "They said you can use them when they're done . . . Earlier I heard them say you could play Paw Patrol with them."

"I don't want to play Paw Patrol. I just want to build."

I sat with her as the boys leapt and laughed and lurched. I pointed out that there was a small building set that wasn't being used in another part of the room, but she rejected that, saying, "I want to build with these blocks."

I nodded, saying, "I guess we'll just have to wait until they're done." That made her cry some more.

This is hard stuff we're working on here in preschool. And, for the most part, that's pretty much all we do at Woodland Park: figuring out how to get along with the other people. Most days aren't so hard, but there are moments in every day when things don't go the way we want or expect them to and then, on top of getting along with the other people, there are our own emotions with which we must deal. Academic types call it something like "social-emotional functioning," but I think of it as the work of creating a community.

It's a tragedy that policymakers are pushing more and more "academics" into the early years because it's getting in the way of this very real, very important work the children need to do if they are going to lead satisfying, successful lives. In our ignorant fearfulness about Johnny "falling behind" we are increasingly neglecting what the research tells us about early learning. From a CNN.com story about a study conducted by researchers from Penn State and Duke Universities:

Teachers evaluated the kids based on factors such as whether they listened to others, shared materials, resolved problems with their peers and were helpful. Each student was then given an overall score to rate their positive skills and behavior, with zero representing the lowest level and four for students who demonstrated the highest level of social skill and behavior . . . Researchers then analyzed what happened to the children in young adulthood, taking a look at whether they completed high school and college and held a full-time job, and whether they had any criminal justice, substance abuse or mental problems . . . For every one-point increase in a child's social competency score in kindergarten, they were twice as likely to obtain a college degree and 46% more likely to have a full-time job by age 25 . . . For every one-point decrease in a child's social skill score in kindergarten, he or she had a 67% higher chance of having been arrested in early adulthood, a 52% higher rate of binge drinking and an 82% higher chance of being in or on a waiting list for public housing.

Here is a link to the actual study. And this is far from the only research that has produced these and similar results, just the most recent one.

If our goal is well-adjusted, "successful" citizens, we know what we need to do. In the early years, it isn't about reading or math. It's not about learning to sit in desks or filling out work sheets or queuing up for this or that. If we are really committed to our children, we will recognize that their futures are not dependent upon any of that stuff, but rather this really hard, messy, emotional work we do every day as we play with our fellow citizens.

Hey friends! I'm currently in Australia where I'll be presenting in venues around the country. I'd love to meet you! A few of the events are sold out, but there is still room in others. If you're interested, click here for details about my "tour."

Also . . .

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Finding Balance

My father was athletic in his youth and has continued to maintain his fitness throughout his adult life. He has never "exercised," but he did do all of his own yard work. He would take the stairs instead of the elevator. He would park the car in the farthest corner of the parking lot and walk briskly to the store. His theory, one that seems to have worked well for him, is that there are plenty of opportunities for fitness in the course of one's day-to-day life, if only one makes the extra effort, and most of that effort involved avoiding modern conveniences.

Life today is more convenient than ever before. There are times at the supermarket when I realize that most of my fellow shoppers are shopping on behalf of someone else, putting together bags for delivery or pick up. Indeed there are professionals poised to perform just about any of our day-to-day tasks, from housekeeping and yard work, to filling out forms and folding laundry. Of course, these conveniences have always existed for those possessing the wherewithal, but they are increasingly becoming available to the rest of us.

Indeed, that's the purpose of most technology, to make life more convenient. For the lion's share of human history, for instance, if one wanted to convey information to another person, it had to happen face-to-face, then came letter writing, then telephones, and now texting. For most of human history, if one wanted to go somewhere, one had to walk, then came horseback riding, then trains, then individually owned automobiles. We all take advantage of these conveniences, of course. Right now, as I write this, I'm employing a convenience that replaced handwriting, by way of typewriting. When I hit the "publish" button, I'll be using a convenience that replaced calligraphy, which replaced the printing press. And to get this to you, my reader, I've used a convenience that is replacing book stores and news stands.

But as convenient as these conveniences are, there is, as my father recognized, a dark side. We are becoming increasingly sedentary people, so much so that many find that the only way to maintain their fitness is to set aside parts of their day to be not sedentary, to go for a run or a bike ride or head to the gym for an hour on, literally, a treadmill. And for every one person who does this, I think it's safe to say there are two who feel like they should be doing it, not to mention the millions who don't see the problem with their conveniences, many of whom are young children.

It's not uncommon to spy children old enough to be in elementary school still being pushed in those tank-like strollers, sucking on sippy cups, munching on "wholesome" crackers or fortified "food" bars, and playing games on mom's (or perhaps even their own) smart phones, everything they could ever want conveniently at their finger tips, without having to rise from the seat of their mobile lounge chair. They wear shoes fastened with the convenience of velcro instead of laces, their parents arrange their playdates for them, and their favorite TV show is on demand. It's become cliche to moan about childhood obesity, and our culture of convenience certainly feeds it, but it's about more than just physical fitness. Being sedentary is as bad for the brain as it is the body, but I'm not telling anyone reading this anything they don't already know, which is why our kids are also on soccer teams and enrolled in dance classes, the childhood version of exercising on treadmills.

One of the most uplifting things about humanity is how interconnected we are. There is no other species as reliant upon one another as modern humans. If other species are thirsty, for instance, they must individually go to the source for a drink, while we just turn on the tap, which is only possible because of the work of hundreds, if not thousands of other humans. If other species are hungry they must go on a hunt, whereas we need only step into the nearest restaurant which only exists because of the work of hundreds, if not thousands of other humans. Nearly everything we do is only possible because of our fellow humans, working together, perhaps without even knowing it: harvesting the raw materials, manufacturing, shipping, refining, discovering, adapting, delivering, serving, inventing, selling, re-inventing. We are a global network operating in many respects as a single being. It's awe-inspiring. It's beautiful.

And it all tends toward making life more convenient. That is the yin and yang of it. It's what we humans do, we continually make life more convenient for ourselves and others. It's been our greatest adaptive advantage, far more important than our opposable thumbs, and it threatens, always, to be the source of our undoing. Practitioners of the Tao have long understood that it is always about finding a balance. I cannot tell you, nor you me, where that is. Each of us must come to our own understanding of that balance. For me, I find myself increasingly joining my father in avoiding some of the modern conveniences that the rest of you provide for me, those that negatively impact my physical or mental well-being, but your balance point will not only be different than mine, but also change, as will mine, over time.

There are no right or wrong answers here, just a reminder to remain conscious and to make that consciousness visible to the children in your life so that they will grow up knowing that they too must find their balance.

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The Opposite Of Addiction

Not long ago, I cited research that raises compelling questions over the "common knowledge" about addiction. These studies suggest that addiction likely has more to do with the environment in which we live, our "cages," rather than something inherent in addicts (e.g., moral failings, addictive personalities) or the "addictive" substances themselves. It's a controversial idea, especially here in the US where the 12-step model (via Alcoholics Anonymous) is considered the gold standard, but other countries, notably in Europe, are finding greater success by using approaches that acknowledge, as the research shows, that the opposite of addiction isn't sobriety, it's human connection.

The Atlantic recently published an article entitled "German Kindergartens Ban Toys to Curb Future Addiction." The idea is that by removing toys young children between the ages of 3 to 6 will be motivated to learn to connect with other children rather than to simply sooth themselves with toys:

"Without any toys, children have the time to develop their own ideas," said Elisabeth Seifert, the managing director of Aktion Jugendshutz, a Munich-based youth nonprofit that promotes this project. "In toy-free time, they don't play with finished toys. They develop their own games. They play more together, so they can better develop psychosocial competencies."

It's an idea that is worth considering and while there is evidence, both anecdotal and empirical, that there are benefits in the short term, we have no idea whether or not it works in the long run, especially when it comes to preventing addiction. I'm inclined to a belief that fewer of what I call "scripted toys" would be a boon to children, and for me the short term impact of increased social interaction, creativity, empathy, and communication skills is good enough, but I'm skeptical about it's influence on adult addiction, at least when it come to children in the US.

Indeed, I'm not even sure that what we call addiction is a problem, or at least the problem. It's a symptom for sure, but until we fix society, until we fix the cage in which we live, a high level of addiction will be a fact of American life. In fact, one could argue that addiction is a kind of solution to a culture in which we tend to blame the victims. From Henry Rollins (formerly of the seminal punk act Black Flag) writing in LA Weekly:

There is no existential threat to America that rivals what America inflicts upon itself. Centuries of this is one of the reasons Americans are such rugged individuals. I say this with no irony. I have been all over the world and have witnessed some rough scenes, but . . . America is still one of the harshest places I have ever been to. For a large fraction of the American population, this country is a coast-to-coast school of hard knocks and sucker punches. It has always been this way, and that's one of the reasons why "Obamacare" was met with such opposition. The Affordable Care Act, like the president, threatened too many long-standing ways of the road . . . The new bill, a version of which could very likely become law, will be back to business as usual. The "safety net" is more pretty talk than anything else. The real safety net is drugs, tobacco, alcohol, cheap food, free porn and other ways to cheaply distract oneself from the pain . . . There's no safety in any of it, just something to get you through for a little while.

Having lived in German for a number of years, a place where they have a real social safety net, one that guarantees its citizens the essentials of food, clothing, shelter, and medical care, where the poor, sick, elderly, and young are not punished simply for being poor, sick, elderly or young, I can imagine that their kindergarten experiment might well work to curb addiction, but here in America? No way, at least not until we fix the cage in which we live. Rollins is spot on, even if, unlike him, I blame Democrats equally with Republicans. We offer the most inadequate safety net in the civilized world, then condemn those who fashion their own from drugs, tobacco, alcohol, cheap food and free porn. For too many Americans, addiction is not a problem, but rather a solution, and in many ways it's the only one we as a nation offer.

I know this sounds like a harsh assessment, but we live in a harsh culture, one that is becoming increasingly so. We will not solve the problem of addiction through our children any more than we will solve poverty, sexism, or racism through them. We, the adults, not the kids, created the cages in which we live and to think that we can change them, or be rid of them, simply by the way we teach children is just more pretty talk designed to distract us from the pain.

No, if we are serious about solving these big problems we must start with ourselves, not with the kids, whose job is not to change the world, but rather to make sense of it. If things are to get better, if we are going to break out of our cages, we must be the ones to first put away the toys that we use to distract ourselves and make a conscious effort, daily, hourly, to connect with our fellow humans, to look them in the eye, to listen to them, to understand them, to play with them. Until we are ready to take out the earbuds, turn off our screens, and get out of our cars, the cage in which we are raising our children will remain one of hard knocks and sucker punches.

Why not start today? Leave the seat next to you on the bus empty and strike up a conversation with the stranger who sits there. Take a plate of cookies to your neighbor. Come out from behind Facebook and actually follow through with that coffee date you've been promising an old friend. This is how we do it, without toys, but with one another. We are all addicts and the opposite of addiction isn't sobriety, it's connection.

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"Have Fun!"

When my wife or daughter leave to head off to work or school or whatever, I habitually say, "Have fun!" From a strictly denotative standpoint I guess I'm wishing them enjoyable, light-hearted experiences, my version, I guess of "Have a nice day!" But I also mean it more as a reminder because they, like me, like most of us, can become so absorbed in the challenges of the day that we forget about the joy that is possible, even if we are struggling, stressing, or sad. I guess I'm offering it as an alternative to despair: a short-hand for, Don't give up, there will also be fun.

Years ago my wife Jennifer's employer took the entire management team and their significant others on a retreat to a British Columbia ski resort during the summer. Instead of skiing, they had converted the lifts to carry bicycles and the runs into rugged downhill tracks complete with steep inclines, jumps, obstacles, and precarious corners. Jennifer had opted out well in advance, leaving me to represent her. I had never done anything so physically grueling in my life, nor have I since: when I arrived at the bottom after our second run, every muscle in my body was screaming, especially those in my forearms, what with all the braking. Sweat flowed freely from every pore, dust covered my skin, and I had acquired an untold number of scrapes and bruises. Indeed, I was experiencing what cyclists often call "bonking," which is the sudden, extreme fatigue that comes from having depleted every last bit of glycogen (carbohydrates) from my muscles. I went straight to the lodge and downed three huge tubs of full-sugar cola in a matter of minutes.

By then I had lost my "team." Some had called it a day, while others had gone back to the mountain for more. In other words, I was not subject to any social pressure to do it again and my body was clearly telling me that I'd had enough, but I remounted anyway, finishing my day with a solo run. When I finally arrived back in our hotel room, Jennifer asked, "Did you have fun?" I was exhausted, sore, limp, and filthy, the natural state of someone who has just had fun, so I replied, "Yes!" before stopping myself, realizing that I was also experiencing the natural state of someone who has just suffered. I corrected my response, "Actually, I don't know if I can call it fun. It was really hard and painful. I guess it would be more accurate to say, I'm happy I did it." And she deadpanned, "You mean, you're happy it's over."

Joking aside, my big take-away from the weekend, which had been billed as a "team-building get away," was that often the only difference between fun and suffering is the element of choice. Had some slave-master (real or metaphorical) driven me to it, what I'd just gone through would have been the kind of hell one wouldn't wish on one's worst enemies. Because I had chosen it, however, because I had opted in and was free to opt out at any moment, I could legitimately call it fun.

When I think of all those children hunched over desks in schools, being forced to learn specific trivia on a specific timetable, I see mostly suffering. Sure, there are moments of levity, of enjoyment, of reprieve, but it shouldn't be surprising when kids come to hate school: they are being compelled, day after day, by the state, teachers, and parents, to mount that bike and even if they have the courage to opt out, they're labeled failures and subjected to shame or even punishment. Is it any wonder that kids goof around, behave as bullies, do the minimum necessary, and yearn for weekends and holidays?

In contrast, every day, I watch the children at the Woodland Park Cooperative School opt, as they play, to learn what they want to learn, what they most need to learn, on their own schedule: asking and answering their own questions, rather than the always irrelevant ones imposed by command-and-control adults. It is often really hard and painful, but also, often simultaneously, pleasurable and light-hearted. They go home exhausted, sore, limp, and filthy. Yet when their parents arrive to take them home and ask, "Did you have fun?" the answer is always and legitimately, "Yes."

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Listening, Negotiating, And Agreeing

Last week we mixed up a large batch of cornstarch and water, resulting in a substance that is often referred to as "oobleck," a term invented by Dr. Suess (Bartholomew and the Oobleck). I don't usually share that coinage with the kids, however, because I want them to name it themselves. That's part of the fun of playing with something new.

Anyhow, I thought maybe we would want to play with it again, so I saved it. I know from experience that if you leave an open tub of the stuff out for a time, the water evaporates, leaving you with a nice, thick slab of cornstarch, which is fun to crumble between your fingers. I also know that after you do that, you can reconstitute the goo by simply re-introducing water. So that's what we did.

The group that chose to play with it, named it "lava." Some thought lava is red, some thought orange. After a bit of discussion, the decision was made to add both red and orange paint to the lava to make it more realistic. We wound up with a pale pink lava, which, apparently, met with everyone's approval because no one objected.

Not long ago, a team of parents showed up on a weekend and built us an outdoor stage. Part of that process involved a bit of excavating. The dirt we removed was unceremoniously piled adjacent to the stage. Within a few days, the kids had turned that pile into a mud volcano. Over the intervening months, this mound of soil with a hole in the top has been packed down by hundreds of little feet until it has become a semi-permanent part of the playground. One of the boys playing with the goo thought, logically, that the lava belonged in the volcano.

He said to me, "I want to put the lava in the volcano."

I answered, "There are a lot of people playing with it right now. You'll probably have to talk to them."

He polled his playmates, most of whom ignored him, although he found one who agreed to his plan while another stood opposed. He reported the results to me, "He wants to put the lava in the volcano, but that boy won't let us." I answered, "What are you going to do?" And he shrugged resignedly, "I guess we'll wait for him to be done." Within minutes, the boy to whom the majority had deferred, knowing that others were patiently waiting for him, stepped aside, which is what typically happens when adults don't intervene with our grown-up ideas of fairness.

The two boys who had been in favor of dumping the lava then wrangled the tub over to the edge of the volcano where they sat it on the ground. One of them threw a fist full of sand into the mixture before asking his partner, "Let's put sand in it, that will make it cooler, right?"

I could tell that his instinct was to disagree, but after a pause, he replied, "Sure," so his friend tossed in a bit more sand, limiting his original idea, I think, in deference to the lukewarm response. Their minds were alive with their own ideas, yet also finely tuned into the needs and desires of one another. Then, with the sudden enthusiasm that is generally accompanied by a lightbulb over the head in cartoons, he said, "I've got an idea, let's put it in the bathtub!"

I knew that he was referring to our little red wagon, which he had earlier named "the bathtub" after manoeuvering it under a pipe some other children had placed to direct the flow of water from the cast iron water pump. His playmate, however, had no idea what he was talking about. After some explanation, they came to an agreement. Most of it would go in the volcano, but they would save some for the bathtub.

And that's what they did.

(I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!)

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Serving One Another

Our school has a number of mantras, one of the most useful being, "I'll be the boss of me and you be the boss of you," typically spoken by me when a kid is trying to tell me what to do. I say it reflexively when anyone attempts to command me and I just happen to spend most of my time with kids. A few parents curse me for teaching it to their kids, but most have gratefully adopted it for use in their own families.

Yesterday, one of my old buddies spent the morning with us, a guy who is on is way to third grade. One of the things I'll always remember about him is that he was the only kid to have ever responded to our mantra by saying, "No, my mom is the boss of me." As we were messing around with preschoolers in the sandpit boat, I used the expression, then reminded him of what he had once told me.

"Did I really say that?"

"You did."

He responded thoughtfully, "I was a good kid." Then after a few seconds, added, "Now I'm the boss of me."

We are all, always, the boss of ourselves because if we're not, we're someone's slaves. This is why you'll never see me darkening the hallways of some corporate hierarchy. This is why I cringe whenever someone refers to elected officials, even the President, as "leaders: the proper way to refer to them is "representatives." This is why I won't say "Yes, sir" or "Yes, ma'am" to anyone, nor will I tolerate anyone saying those kinds of subservient things to me. I might be your servant, but I'll never be your slave. I might do what you want me to do, but not out of obedience.

It's easy, I think, in our society in which we revere economic competition as a kind of religion and treat tycoons as royalty, to forget that just because we are responsible it doesn't mean we're somehow the superior of those for whom we're responsible. I'm responsible for keeping children safe, but that doesn't mean I get to boss the kids around. I'm responsible for adhering (at least loosely) to a schedule, but that doesn't mean I get to boss the kids around. I'm responsible for their social-emotional well-being while they're under my care, but that doesn't mean I get to boss them around. Because I'm responsible there are some things that I "can't" let them do, but that is a function of my responsibility, not my authority. Authority is a kind of power over others and the proper thing to do with power is to give it away; responsibility is a kind of service to others and the proper thing to do is to serve them to the fullness of my ability, even if it is painful, even if it makes them mad at me.

It pains me that my friend defined his former obedience as "good," but it heartens me to know that he has come to understand that it is better to be the boss of himself, even if his mother continues to be responsible for safety, schedules and courtesy, things we only learn through experience.

To paraphrase the late, great Utah Phillips, I will not obey, but I am always ready to agree. That is how I try to live in this world and that is what I expect of my fellow humans as well. I'll be the boss of me and you be the boss of you and together we will make a place where we can stand together, eye-to-eye or shoulder-to-shoulder, serving one another.

(I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!)

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Not Irrelevant

Over the weekend I attended a friend's birthday celebration where I fell into conversation with a woman who I see about once a year at events like this party. We were catching up on each other's children which lead her to a well-practiced rant about the irrelevance of Shakespeare: she didn't see the point, her 16-year-old hated it, weren't there more contemporary playwrights to study? She was seeking agreement, but didn't get it from me, at least not about Shakespeare. After all, my father-in-law was once considered a top Shakespearean scholar, my daughter is studying to become a Shakespearean actor, and I consider him to be a part of my family.

It's not the first time I've heard her argument, so I gave her, in turn, my rather practiced response. I conceded that Shakespearean studies can indeed be dry and tedious when taught as words printed on the page, but that I disagreed about his significance. After all, more than 400 years later, not only is he the most produced playwright in the history of the world, he continues to be, in any given year, including this one, the most produced playwright on earth, by far. At any given moment, A Midsummer Night's Dream or Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth is being performed on a stage somewhere, in fact, probably on multiple stages, by actors of all ages and abilities. It's not a stretch to assert that he's the most influential artist of all time, inspiring generation after generation over the centuries. We quote him daily without knowing it; we've built the entire Western canon around his plots and characters. There was no such thing as a "teenager" until Shakespeare gave us Hamlet and the sentimental sensualist Falstaff was the first of a type that now regularly populates both stage and life. Leopold Bloom, the great critic, even argues, convincingly, that Shakespeare invented the modern human, a case that I find myself embracing. 

And yet, as central as I find the works of Shakespeare, I don't disagree with this woman. Forcing 16-year-olds to slog through those histories, tragedies and comedies written in Elizabethan verse is a sure-fire way to guarantee that most of them find it a complete waste of their time, or worse, an abuse of their time. Shakespeare was writing plays, they are meant to be seen on stage, to be acted with those words in one's mouth, to be enjoyed without the pressure of academia. That's how his work was meant to be experienced, not while being lectured or slumped over a desk. But beyond that, Shakespeare isn't for everyone. In fact, it probably isn't even for most people, even if his work is inextricably woven through our daily lives. I mean, computer programming isn't for me, even though I've come to rely on those computer programs to live my life. There is an infinity of important things that any one of us find uninteresting.

So I agree with the woman at my friend's birthday party. Her son should not be made to "study" Shakespeare, even if it's probably a good idea for everyone to at least be exposed to it -- on stages where it was meant to be enjoyed, just as I've been exposed to computer programming. Our job as adults is simply to make things available. Beyond that, it's up to the kids.

When our daughter was eight, we enrolled her in a two week summer program offered by the Seattle Shakespeare Company called "Camp Bill." She wasn't sure she wanted to do it, but two of her best friends were also enrolled. At the end of those two weeks, during which she acted scenes from Shakespeare in the company of friends, she fell in love while her friends went on to find other things to do with themselves. That's how it ought to work: we surround our children with beautiful, interesting, and useful things then leave them to pick their own path.

I will say, however, that I continue to disagree with that woman on one key point, Shakespeare may be many things, but he is not, nor will he ever be, irrelevant.

(I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!)

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Interdependence Day

We must hang together gentlemen . . . else we shall most assuredly hang separately. ~Benjamin Franklin

Happy Independence Day! And “happy” is the appropriate greeting for today. The Declaration of Independence was the first historical instance of the word "happiness" appearing in the founding documents of any nation.

Today in 1776, 56 men signed their names to this radical document. As a result they were, without trial, proclaimed traitors by the government and sentenced to death. These were middle class people. John Hancock was the wealthiest among them and he was not even a millionaire by today's standards. The wealthy sided with the king. Most of the signers were working people -- farmers and tradesmen primarily. None of them left behind a family fortune, or a foundation, or any other kind of financial memorial of their lives. Our nation is their legacy.

Their average age was 33 (Thomas Jefferson's age at the time). The youngest was only 20-years-old. The oldest was Benjamin Franklin, who was 83.

As a result of having signed the Declaration of Independence, all 56 of the signers were forced to flee their homes. Twelve returned to find only rubble.

As a result of having signed the Declaration of Independence, 17 of them were wiped out financially by the British government.

As a result of having signed the Declaration of Independence, many of them were captured and tortured, or their families were imprisoned, or their children were taken from them. Nine of them died and 4 of them lost their children.

As I read the Declaration of Independence, as I do each July 4, I find myself in awe of their courage. They were all aware of the likely consequences, but they did what they knew must be done. Two centuries later, I still feel the outrage they must have felt as I read through the specific governmental abuses that lead them to that critical moment.

Even more than our Constitution, the Declaration of Independence is the beginning point for the United States of America. I find it both educational and inspirational to return to the source before heading out for fireworks.

When Franklin was asked what kind of nation they were forming, he answered, "A republic, madam, if you can keep it."

I worry at times that we won't be able to keep it, that, in fact, we've already lost it. I worry that too many of us have declared our independence not from tyrants, but from one another, not understanding that in creating a constitutional government of, by, and for we the people, we were also declaring our interdependence.

At the signing to the Declaration of Independence in 1776, Franklin famously said, "We must hang together gentlemen . . . else we shall most assuredly hang separately." 

And while we come together today to commemorate our independence from tyranny, this is also a day for embracing our fellow countrymen, for celebrating our interdependence. In that direction lies happiness.

(I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!)

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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No "Please" Or "Thank You"

Perhaps it's unfair that we have wagons on our playground. They're indispensable childhood toys, of course, but not every landscape is built to accommodate them, and ours -- compact and densely populated, reflecting the city in which we're choosing to raise our kids -- is among them.

Essentially, there is one long, relatively impediment free slope that runs from the top of the hill to the bottom, but any deviation from that leads to an obstacle course of narrow gaps and ups and downs.

We're currently down to just one full-sized wagon. Our "new" wagon is still around, half buried in the sand pit, having given up the ghost a couple of years ago when the front wheels came off along with the pull handle, which is also still around the place. We're left with the classic little red Radio Flyer rust bucket that I played with when I was a boy, the one I festooned with a bumper sticker from a local Chevrolet dealership. That's right, the 50 year old wagon is still going strong, having served a family of three kids and all of their friends, followed by grandkids, and is now a decade into its life with us at Woodland Park, still fulfilling its destiny of hauling loads and offering rides.

Despite the incompatibility between our playground and wagons, children nevertheless attempt to maneuver ours around the place. I don't always spot it in use, but I'm forever finding it where it's been abandoned, usually with wheels caught on something, or halfway up a step. 

Last week I was sitting on a stump in the shade just watching kids, when a two-year-old found the wagon where I tend to park it when I "put it away." He wrestled it into position then took the pull handle that was turned back against the side of the wagon bed, which naturally caused the whole thing to fall on its side. It's a heavy vehicle, too heavy for a two-year-old to right on his own, but I have a policy of not helping kids unless they ask for it, so I just stayed where I was on my stump, watching. As he struggled, a team of bigger kids on their way to somewhere else raced past, but not before one of them paused to give the wagon the boost it needed. There was no "please" or "thank you" involved, just one kid helping another because a need and an ability were present in the same place at the same time.

The boy, however, was still left with the challenge of how to get the wagon going in the right direction. He started again with the handle, but slowly this time, stopping the moment he noticed the wheels lifting off the ground. He let go and tried again with the same results. After one more test, he went around to rear of the wagon and pushed. Our playground is covered in wood chips and that particular spot is thick with them, preventing the wheels from turning freely. He pushed with all his might, uphill. The wagon moved forward a few inches, but rolled back when he let go. He pushed again, then again, each time going no where. As he pushed for a fourth time, an older girl passing by with a watering can stopped to watch him. Without a word, she put her watering can in the bed of the wagon and used her superior physical strength to turn the wagon bed so that it was in line with the steering apparatus, then retrieved her watering can and went about her business.

The boy then took the wagon handle and began pulling it in a straight line toward where I sat on my stump in the shade. He was navigating through a narrow channel between a concrete slope and the raised beds of our playground garden. The rear wheels almost immediately got caught on a table we use for potting plants, upsetting the table and tangling the wagon. By now I was only a few feet away from him. He didn't appeal to me as I'd expected, but rather made a study of his situation, squatting down to get a closer look. As he considered his next move, another two-year-old came upon the scene who reflexively squatted beside him. They stayed there in stillness and silence for some time, not talking, just looking. The boy then rose and began to wrangle the table, which his fellow toddler took as an invitation and together they righted the table which simultaneously freed the wheel. There was no "please" or "thank you" exchanged.

Pull handle back in hand, the boy continued forward. By now he was pretty much right on top of me. In front of him was a line of stumps; to the left, a sharp concrete rise. He chose to turn right, to pass directly in front of me, but he cut the turn too close and a rear wheel once more got caught, this time on the corner of one of the raised garden beds. He pulled with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. He said something to me that I didn't understand. I replied, pointing at the rear wheel, "You're stuck." 

He dropped the pull handle to check it out. Grabbing the edge of the wagon bed he pulled it, hard, several times, finally wiggling the wheel free. Satisfied, he took the handle once more, pulling the wagon forward about a ten inches before deciding he would now attempt to take the turn between the raised beds and into the the midst of the garden itself. The wheel instantly got stuck again.

He struggled with this for a long time. Many children stopped to help without any "please" or "thank you." In the end, after a journey of 20 minutes and ten feet, that's where the wagon was abandoned.

(I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!)

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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