Talking About A Pretend Real Bad Guy Trap

There was a "bad guy trap" being built on the corner of the rug. The builder commanded, "Teacher Tom, watch me!" so I watched him. I said, "I'm watching you."

He explained how the trap worked which involved the bad guy following a complicated, yet deviously enticing, obstacle course, which ultimately brought him to a room in which saws cut him in half.

I said, "That's would be a bad thing for a bad guy."

He answered, "Yes."

I was lying on my stomach, the box of plastic farm animals at my shoulder. There was a rather fierce looking bull right on top so I grabbed it, saying, "This bull is also watching you," positioning it appropriately.

"I'll show you." He picked up a small cow figurine and walked it through the obstacle course right through being sawed in half.

I said, "That must have hurt the cow."

He answered, "Yes."

I shook my head, "I don't like to get hurt."

There was a long pause as we both sat with our thoughts. Then he perked up, "But bad guys like to get hurt!"

"Oh! So they like it when they're cut in half?"

He answered, "Yes."

"Well then I guess that's not so bad, although I don't really like the idea of anyone getting cut in half."

He answered, "It's not a person, it's a cow."

Bam! He had me. I said, "Yeah, I guess you're right, cows have to get cut in half if we're going to eat hamburgers."

He answered, "Yes." Then, "And they're bad guy cows, so they like to get ate."

I took a model sheep from the farm animal box. I said, "This sheep is also watching you," placing it beside the bull.

"Teacher Tom," he said, "But we can't play yet because my bad guy trap isn't finished."

I told him that we (referring to both the plastic farm animals as well as the small clutch of kids who had become interested bystanders to our conversation) would have to wait until the trap was finished, adding, "And now this pig is watching you," as I put it alongside the other animals. He answered, "Yes."

As we waited, the other children began adding farm animals. By the time he declared the trap finished, we had recruited a formidable line-up of livestock to watch him.

He said, "Watch me, Teacher Tom!"

I said, "We are all watching you," gesturing toward both the animals and the gathered children.

He then showed us how the bad guy trap worked, a more elaborate version of the original, still ending in a room full of saws.

I said, "I sure hope there aren't any bad guys around here because if there are that trap would sure hurt them!"

He answered, "Yes."

I said, "We're good guys. Everybody here's a good guy, right?" There was general agreement that all present fell into the more virtuous camp. "Good thing there aren't any bad guys around," another comment that was greeted with general consent.

Then our trap builder said, "But there are real bad guys! Like zombies and ghosts."

I said, "Zombies and ghosts aren't real."

He said, "Yes," adding for clarification, "but they're pretend real."

The expression delighted me, so I repeated it, "Pretend real!" Several of the other children then echoed me, "Pretend real!"  I said, "The animals are pretend real watching you."

"But you're real real watching me, right?" When I answered yes, he replied, "Then watch what happens when this pretend real bad guy cow goes in my pretend real bad guy trap."

I said, "We're all watching," to which he replied, "Yes."

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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The Greatest Honor A Teacher Can Receive

Most of the kids in our 4-5's class went to school together last year and so they fell in together readily yesterday on their first day back at school. Of those new to the school this year, many of them had attended one or more of our summer sessions, so the place and Teacher Tom were at least familiar even if the other children were not. There were only a couple for whom this was truly a first day.

Of course, they felt a bit shy at first, but one girl in particular didn't want her parents to leave. She didn't cry, but she clung to them, unwilling to let go. But they did leave. They chose a moment when I happened to have ducked indoors to handle a bit of housekeeping. My head was down, but when I looked up I spied her. She had come inside looking for me.

I said, "I was just coming outside." As I approached her she reached out for my hand and we walked hand-in-hand down the hallway, through the mud room, and out the door.

I had a few things to do out there as well, so we did them together, hand-in-hand. When I sat to chat with and observe the kids, I patted the seat next to me, indicating it was for her. Instead, she cuddled into to me, holding, alternatively, my arm or my leg. Finally, I just encircled her with both arms, lightly, then spoke with the other children with her head just below mine, a little like she was a joey in her kangaroo mama's pouch.

Up to then, she had mostly communicated with me non-verbally, occasionally making vocal sounds to get my attention, but as we sat like this she began to talk to me, remarking on things she noticed on the playground. She was particularly interested in the small items on the ground, like bits of wire, wine corks, bottle caps.

Whenever I had to move from one place to another, we moved together, her tiny hand in mine. When I sat she became my joey again. Slowly, she began to roam away from my pouch to get a closer look at the objects on the ground, bringing them back to me. Soon my hands were full.

One of the other children needed something that caused me to zip inside for a moment, I said to her, "I'll just be gone for a few seconds. I'll be right back." When I returned to the playground she was waiting for me at the door where she took my hand again.

Most children take days, if not weeks, to learn to trust me like this. I went home feeling as full of love as I've felt in a long time. I am fully aware of the honor this girl has bestowed upon me, the greatest honor a teacher can receive.

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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The Pursuit Of Happiness

Every now and then someone will refer to my "teaching theories" or "pedagogy" or something. They tell me that they are striving to implement my "philosophy" at their school or that they are having trouble convincing the powers that be to embrace my "style." It feels good to know that I've inspired someone, but in all honesty I really don't know what they're talking about, even if I believe they do.

My "philosophy," if you can call it that, is to wake up in the morning, get to school a couple hours before the kids to get things ready, then to spend the rest of the day listening to children, talking to them, keeping them safe enough, and otherwise just being available should they need me. The other part of my "philosophy" is to help their parents perform their cooperative school role as assistant teachers, listen to them, talk to them, and otherwise just be around should they need me. I am not anyone's superior, nor am I anyone's servant. I'm the guy they pay to get things ready, talk, listen, and otherwise be available. We're trying to create a community together, one in which we each are free to pursue our own happiness. Everything else people see as a "philosophy" or "theory" or "pedagogy" emerges from that.

When our daughter was little and I was just dipping my toe into teaching, everyone was talking about "learning styles." People suggested I read articles about learning styles, they told us that we should try to find schools and teachers that matched our child's learning style, they said we should attempt to tailor our lives to take best advantage of their learning style. I didn't do that. It sounded like a lot of unnecessary work. I had already been living intimately with this person for her entire life; no system of categories was going to give me better information because my child was a unique, stand-alone entity that simply could not be standardized. I wasn't interested in figuring out how to plug her in like a learning machine, I was only interested in her happiness.

And if there is any one thing the parents of my students most often tell me they want for their child it's that: happiness. Of course, we all know that that's a tricky thing. I've been told that Aristotle said something like this, but even if he didn't, it seems like it's true: "Happiness is the only emotion that when we recognize it in ourselves, it goes away." When I'm mad and I think about my anger, I tend to stay mad: indeed, I often get more angry. Sadness is similar. Frustration? Envy? Shyness? However, whenever we genuinely think, "I'm happy!" it disappears. Poof! That's probably because pure happiness is really only an idea. It's like light, it only exists because of darkness, and the very mention of happiness evokes the darkness. So when I'm talking about my child's happiness I'm doing so as kind of stand-in for an equation that goes something like:

general contentment+overall satisfaction+healthy relationships = happiness

As Candide famously concluded, "This is the best of all possible worlds." No truer words were ever written and it means that if we're going to find happiness it can only be within the dark medium of unhappiness.

My wife and I made the kind of study of our child over the course of years that comes from pure love and followed that up by figuring out what would most likely put her on a path toward happiness. We didn't force her into things because they were "good for her," but instead followed her lead as she discovered how to pursue happiness on her own through her passions, interests, and relationships. It isn't always good times, there are false starts and dead ends. We weren't concerned about her learning style, but rather her pursuit of happiness, the lifelong challenge that stands above all others. That this pursuit invariably becomes a pursuit of knowledge as well is merely a by-product.

So maybe that's my philosophy: wake up in the morning, get things ready, then listen to children, talk to them, keep them safe enough, and otherwise just be available should they need you. And while you're at it, make a study of the kids that comes from pure love, then follow that up by helping them figure out what would most likely put them on the path toward happiness.

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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Doubt, As Far As Possible, All Things

If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life, you doubt, as far as possible, all things. ~Rene Descartes

I've seen the photos popping up on my Facebook feed this week, those first day of school pictures featuring freshly scrubbed children wearing expressions of nervous excitement. Of course, I'm delighted by those of the more recent graduates, alumni entering kindergarten or first grade, children I still know intimately. I will get first hand reports from many of them over the coming months as they drop by for visits. But I have especially enjoyed seeing the older kids, those heading off to middle and high school, and even college. I still occasionally see one or two of them in real life, so I've actually observed them become who they are today, but these photos is all I get from most of these adolescents and young adults who have grown beyond their memories of me.

There are those who will insist that this is the purpose of preschool, to begin preparing children for the "careers" that lie ahead. For most of the children I teach, that means public school followed by college followed by a professional career of some kind, steps along a well-trodden path. That's the future tense story the children are told, not by me, never by me, and probably not even by most of their parents, but it's one they've nevertheless heard told around them and about them to the point that most, at least sometimes, see themselves in it.

But I know without knowing, that this is not the story they are living. No one ever has. And if by some chance there are those who have lived that tedious fairytale, I fear that they are to wind up like the protagonist from Henry James' short story The Beast in the Jungle "to whom nothing on earth was to have happened."

Several years ago, I found myself in a one-on-one conversation with a middle schooler, a former student who last week moved across the country to attend university. When I asked her about school, I was treated to a full-on venting. School was stupid. They were making her learn irrelevant crap. It was a hollow, soulless, hoop jumping game, one foisted upon them by people who obviously hated children. It was just an assembly line, pressing out children like manufactured products, meaningless and hypocritical. No one, I think, is better at doubting all things than a 12-year-old, which is why I always like to have one or two in my life.

She was right, of course: that story we tell children is really a kind of Stepford-like dystopia and to try to live it a nightmare. Fortunately, despite the telling and re-telling of the story few humans I've ever met have actually lived it, except perhaps in the broadest of terms. Perhaps these children brimming and beaming at me in their first day of school poses don't know it yet, but they will: they will come to doubt and it's in those doubts that their real life takes shape.

People talk about life as a journey, a useful metaphor that I've often employed myself, but this morning as I think about all those children out there in the midst of it, I'm rejecting it. No, right now it looks more like a puzzle or a woodworking project or a piece of performance art. As school wrapped up last spring, parents thanked me for giving their children a "great start," but I was just playing with them, keeping them safe, and listening. And the kids were living, day-after-day, not starting anything at all. If they were getting ready for anything it was to wrestle this day into shape, to laugh or cry or stew about it, then come back tomorrow and wrestle the new one into shape.

That's what I've found life to be, after all, when well-lived. A story or journey, at one level, always becomes a kind race to the end and who wants that? We all know how it ends. Our individual lives can only be shaped into a proper narrative in hindsight: in this moment it demands to be lived and truly living means to frequently doubt all things, especially those things are the expectations of others. It's for this that I hope I'm preparing them.

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Mutually Caring Relationships

From Mister Rogers:

"Mutually caring relationships require kindness and patience, tolerance, optimism, joy in the other's achievements, confidence in oneself, and the ability to give without undue thought of gain. We need to accept the fact that it's not in the power of any human being to provide all these things all the time. For any of us, mutually caring relationships will also always include some measure of unkindness and impatience, intolerance, pessimism, envy, self-doubt, and disappointment."

"As parents, we need to try to find the security within ourselves to accept the fact that children and parents won't always like each other's actions, that there will be times when parents and children won't be able to be friends, and that there will be times of real anger in families. But we need to know, at the same time, that moments of conflict have nothing to do with whether parents and children really love one another. It's our continuing love for our children that makes us want them to become all they can be, capable of making sound choices."

"Forgiveness is a strange thing. It can sometimes be easier to forgive our enemies than our friends. It can be hardest of all to forgive people we love. Like all of life's important coping skills, the ability to forgive and the capacity to let go of resentments most likely take root very early in our lives."

"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."

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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Even If I Don't Wear Nylons And Heels

At a backyard barbecue one afternoon an older woman, her own children close to my age, not knowing anything about me or my profession, launched into a well-practiced monologue on what's wrong with kids these days, the centerpiece being that they are no longer taught to respect anything or anyone. We've probably all heard this one before. One of the examples she gave of how we're letting the kids down was how sloppily teachers dress for school. In her day, the young women wore skirts or dresses, "nylons," and heels ("clunky heels, but heels"). 

I let her finish most of her piece, although stopped her from going into a full-on diatribe about how horrible teachers are by admitting that I'm a teacher myself, one who works in torn jeans and t-shirts. I then agreed that children aren't as respectful now as they were back in the olden days. This, I've learned, is one of the keys to "winning" these sorts of cocktail party disagreements: start by finding something with which you can agree, then give them something with which they can agree right back. Humans might like to disagree with one another when we're all sort of anonymous, but when we're face-to-face most of us crave agreement. So I said, "Of course, respect is something you have to earn no matter how you dress."

"Oh yes,: she agreed with that wholeheartedly, echoing, "You have to earn respect." This was our starting point, then: kids aren't as respectful as they used to be and that respect has to be earned. 

I'd earlier learned that she had, that morning, been driven by one of her sons up to Seattle from Vancouver, Washington, three hours to the south, where she had lived in the same house for over 40 years, so I figured what I was about to say next would be something else with which she would readily identify: "I think one of the biggest problems is that too many kids are being raised without their grandparents around."  

"When we were growing up," I continued, including her as a peer, "our parents could count on grandparents to help them out, or even aunts and uncles, but families today are so spread out. I think it leads to a lot of parents feeling isolated and alone with their kids, especially when they live in a suburb." I waved my hand to indicate the backyard in which we were sitting, "And then their spouses head off to work in the city each morning leaving them all alone with the kids.

"What are they going to do? It's mom and children all day long. The kids grow up as the center of mommy's universe, so why wouldn't they grow up to believe everything revolves around them?" We then chatted back and forth about the value of multi-generational families, of how grandparents are always ready to jump in, of how 12-year-old girls (cousins and older siblings) once served as mommy's helpers, and how vitally important it is for kids to be loved by as many people as possible.

We were nodding and agreeing by this time, kindred spirits. That's when I said, "I feel sorry for these moms who don't have their extended families around. So many of them don't have a proper support system. They never get time for themselves and many of them don't even realize how much they deserve it. They think that's what being a parent has to be: always putting their needs after their children's. Kids notice everything. They come to believe that this is the way it's supposed to be. It's hard to learn to respect others when you've learned that your needs always come first."

She got it. "Exactly!"

"My wife and I were lucky to have two sets of grandparents within 20 minutes of our home. They were always willing to watch their grandkid for a few hours or a weekend or a week. Not only is it great for the kids to spend time with other adults who love them, but it shows them that sometimes mommy comes first. I think that's what we're talking about. We want kids to learn respect, but it's a two-way street. When we were young, we tended err too much on the side of respecting the adults. Now maybe we err too much on the side of respecting the kids. We're all human beings here: we're all worthy of respect and it starts with respecting ourselves.  

"At school the kids know that sometimes their needs come first, but just as often mine do. I respect them and they respect me. Sometimes we do what they want to do and sometimes we do what I want to do. I think that's the only way anyone has ever earned respect."

"Exactly!" she said again. By now, she was entirely on my bandwagon, so I huddled up with her, we two thoughtful people out there in lawn chairs, and in a conspiratorial tone, said, "You know what drives me crazy? Obedient kids, because they grow into obedient adults."

She chuckled with me, "Don't I know it."

"I want kids to question my authority. I want them to challenge me." I was now talking about the opposite of the kind of "respect" about which she had originally spoken. I told her about how I teach kids to think for themselves, how I don't want them to take my word for anything I can't prove, how our school trusts kids to make their own rules, how our whole democracy would be better off if we raised our kids to be rabble rousers. By the time we were done, she had, at least for the purposes of our backyard party conversation, always been an advocate for a progressive, play-based education, and a parenting style of mutual respect.

As we wound up our conversation, I said, "I guess if you want kids to show respect, you have to respect them." Then I left her with my favorite James Baldwin quote: "Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them." 

She said, "I'm glad to know there are still teachers like you. It gives me hope for the future." 

She laughed when I replied, "Even if I don't wear nylons and heels?"

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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A Song We Sing Together

Parents are forever trying to get their kids to say things to me.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

I get it, of course, parents want their children to be courteous, or at least responsive, and when they aren't they coax them. Naturally, most of the kids don't yet know or have simply forgotten that a response is called for. When we say "Good morning" to someone, the convention is to respond in kind. It's part of the ebb and flow of social intercourse, one of those niceties that lubricate social interaction. There is a rhythm to the choruses and duets we sing with our fellow humans that many young children, being inexperienced in dealing with people outside their family, still have not learned.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

Our day-to-day life is full of these simple, friendly interactions. For most adults, we engage in them without thinking, a kind of call-and-response routine.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome!"

I've thought a lot about this, and I can only come up with three categories of things about which adults are truly more knowledgable than young children, safety, schedules, and courtesy, and this is all part and parcel with the later. Learning to engage in these ritualized indications of goodwill is essential: we find adults who don't do it to be off-putting at best, but more likely we consider them rude or even suspicious. Learning about these simple day-to-day courtesies is one of the first things we must do when visiting another country, especially one where we are just learning the language. Indeed, these give-and-take courtesies are so important that they are typically covered on the first day of language class or the first chapter of the language book.

So, I get why parents prompt their children this way, it's important stuff, even if most of us haven't really even thought much about it. When our children don't play their part in this sort of dialog it hits our ears as strange, out of rhythm, or even off-key, and we react almost instinctively, directing our children to do their part.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

The problem with phrasing things as commands, however, is that humans are notoriously resistant to being told what to do. I can't tell you how often I've seen a child who may well have been inclined to respond to me suddenly clam up when ordered to do so. No one likes to be told what to do at any stage in life, it's part of our evolutionary heritage, and it's why, when we want another person to do something, commanding them is possibly the worst way to go about it.

No, I'd rather see parents strive for informational statements. For instance, a simple statement of fact like, "Teacher Tom said 'Good morning' to you," creates a space in which a child can do her own thinking, rather than simply obey or disobey. She may still not say "Good morning," but the odds go way up that she will, upon reflection.

"When people do nice things for me, I say 'Thank you'."

"Teacher Tom told you his name."

But, of course, the best way to learn these things is the way we learn all language: through role modeling and practice. Language is more than a tool for communication: it's a song we sing together, a way of connecting beyond the meagerness of words alone. Virtually all neurotypical children will learn it simply by living in and around it, the way they learn our preschool songs after a few weeks of repetition. The prompts might help speed things along a little, but in the end, our children will learn these basic courtesies as long as they live in a world in which they experience them.

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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Why I Celebrate Labor Day

It's odd celebrating Labor Day in this country given the war being waged against labor by many of the most powerful members of our society, and the outright vitriol coming from elected representatives who malign working men and women as nothing more than selfish, lazy, union thugs. At the beginning of summer, on Memorial Day, you will find no shortage of people stepping to the front to wave their flags in honor of soldiers who gave their lives. But at the end of summer, on Labor Day, these very people actually become the "selfish, lazy, thugs" they condemn, enjoying a three-day weekend of picnics and family time, ignoring the thousands who gave their lives so that they can enjoy a middle-class privilege, brought to them by unions.

Indeed the middle class exists because of the Labor Movement, although it's not surprising that so many Americans are unaware of this fact, and can be so easily manipulated by politicians with anti-union agendas, because most public schools have relegated this vital piece of our civic history to a few paragraphs in text books, if it's taught at all.

And just because you don't belong to a union, don't think that your life is not better because of the long fight in which labor has been engaged on your behalf.

The very weekend you are currently enjoying has indeed been brought to you by people who fought and even died because of the radical notion that families should have time to be together, that children should not burn up their tragically short lives in sweat shops and coal mines, that mothers and fathers should expect workplaces where they won't be maimed and killed, that they should not be beaten, have their wages arbitrarily withheld, or be forced to work 61 hour weeks (the average in 1870, meaning many worked far more hours than that) with no hope of a day off. Oh, these were great times for business owners, but they were hell for everyone else.

You can thank labor for your employer-based health care coverage, your living wage, your paid sick leave, vacations, and holidays. Without a Labor Movement you would not have workers compensation for on the job injuries, unemployment insurance, pensions, anti-discrimination laws, or family medical leave. You would have no "due process," living at the mercy of your employer, who may well be a good guy, but just as likely is not.

Wages and the standard of living, even for non-union workers, in states with laws that support unions are higher; states with union-busting laws have lower wages and lower standards of living. That is a simple fact.

I've heard people argue that unions are somehow anti-capitalism (as if that's an inherently bad thing). Of course, I see how a strong union might cut into corporate profits (which are currently, even in this rocky economy, among the highest in the history of the world, in real dollars) but from where I sit unions are pure capitalism. Why can't individuals with a service to sell, be it teaching or steel working, ally themselves together to negotiate the best deal possible? I mean, it's certainly democratic. And isn't that what corporations do all the time with their mergers, acquisitions and strategic partnerships? If capitalism is just for those with capital, then it's clearly and fundamentally anti-democratic and should have no place in our society.

I've heard people argue that unions are somehow selfish. I find that a singularly silly assertion. Really? Selfish? People getting together for the common good, sticking together, sticking up for one another, acting in the best interests of "we" instead of "me." That's selfish? Yet somehow a corporation seeking to  squeeze every nickel out of the hide of it's most lowly worker isn't selfish? Please.

I've heard people use anecdotal arguments that union workers are somehow lazy. I have no doubt that there are actually lazy union workers, just like there is laziness in every aspect of life. But you've got to do better than anecdotes to convince me. The actual research shows that unionized businesses are made more productive through reduced worker turnover which leads to lower training costs and more seasoned workers, which results in not only higher productivity, but better quality. Actual research shows that higher paid workers forces managers to actually do their jobs of more effective and efficient planning.  Actual research shows that employers who involve union workers in their decision-making process see an almost 10 percent increase in productivity. Companies like Costco with a high percentage of its workforce unionized enjoy 20 percent higher profits per worker hour than anti-union bottom feeders like Sam's Club. Productivity statistics put the lie to the claim of laziness.

And as for the argument that union workers are thugs. Look at the history of the Labor Movement and tell me who the real thugs are.

I'm writing about this on my education blog because of the hits teacher's unions have been taking in places like Wisconsin, Florida, Ohio, and Michigan, but really right across the country. In fact, more than just hits, they are under full-on assault, and not just from politicians, but by the corporate "education reformers," who seem to find, without any evidence, that those rotten union teachers are the cause of our "educational crisis" (which in itself is a myth made up solely to serve their agenda of high-stakes testing, privatization and the de-professionalization of the teaching profession).

I am not a union member, nor have I ever been, but I'm waving my flag today not only for abused and hard working teachers, but for all of my brothers and sisters who work for a living, who continue to fight for their fair share of this democracy, and who envision a better more egalitarian and democratic future for our children.

Union!

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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Observing Huddles

One of our youngest children really wanted my attention. He said, "Over there," pointing. I thought he was trying to show me something, but there was nothing of note in that vicinity, not even any kids, so I asked, "What are you showing me?"

With that he began to walk, still pointing, stopping after a few steps, looking over his shoulder to let me know I was to follow. We made our way down to the bottom of the play yard where he pointed at the base a parent made us many, many years ago to hold the umbrella we put over the workbench on especially rainy days.

I said, "That's for holding the big umbrella," but when he pointed inside the stand I realized what he was getting at without even looking into the hole. Whenever we use the stand we adults have to first empty the tube of all the bits and baubles that children, as they play, have dropped in there. In this case there were several florist marble "jewels" that he wanted.

I said, "You want those out of there," to which he nodded vigorously, before attempting, and failing, to reach his hand in after them.

Another child happened upon our scene, "What are you doing?"

I said, "He's trying to get some jewels out of that tube."

She dropped to her knees. Being older and naturally inclined toward taking the lead, she peered into the hole, then after trying to squeeze her hand into the small space, said, "We need a stick."

Another boy who had been drawn to the action, scavenged one up for her. It was a short, thin, brittle thing that immediately broke off in the hole. But no worries because by now there were four kids huddled about the umbrella base, all with sticks in hand, prodding at the hole.

Yesterday, I wrote about a pair of girls huddled together over their mud puddle. In that case, I'd already been more or less quietly sitting against a tree when they began to play together nearby, so was in a position to eavesdrop without disturbing their play. Most of the time, I spy the huddles from across the way, children with their heads together over something: an insect, a collection of rocks, a broken toy they are trying to repair, a story they are telling together. And most of the time, in my approach, I ruin it. For instance, one of them, upon noticing me, will call out, "Teacher Tom! Look what we're doing!" Or maybe my presence will attract extra kids to the huddle, wrecking the delicate balance of the original huddlers. There's usually a limit to how big a huddle can get -- I'd say five or six -- before it is not longer an intimate place in which to share, discuss, and grow a little knowledge from the soil of one another.

In this case, however, I had been present from the start of the huddle around the umbrella base, not a distraction, but rather a part of it. As the children tried their various methods for removing those jewels, I stopped talking and moved away, still able to hear their words, but no longer an intimate part of the huddle. These are the moments I feel most like a researcher, as if I've hidden myself in some underbrush to study red tail deer in the wild. This is why most "research" into how children learn becomes so flawed: our adult presence turns it from a "wild" place into a domesticated one. To be honest, as I sit like this, listening in on these huddles, I always think of the stories I've heard about how the great clinical psychologist, one of the pioneers in early childhood, Jean Piaget would observe children at play. I'm reminded of one of my university professors, an expert on what was called "leisure studies," who one told us that he had spent his entire career just watching people play.

Most of the research we see on education today is done without this kind of silent, unobtrusive observation, but rather relies on the collection and interpretation of data in the style of businesses producing consumer products, like software or canned soup. We may learn a lot about how individual children react to data collection (e.g., via standardized testing, formalized evaluation) and nothing at all about how they learn in the "wild." For that we need the sort of observation that teachers ought to be doing instead of forever instructing, directing, and managing children.

The children in the huddle around the umbrella stand never did figure out how to get those jewels out. Instead, they wound up working together to "build a campfire" by stuffing the tube full of sticks and leaves, the boy who had wanted those jewels among them, happily toasting his pretend marshmallow, accepting that the wood chip offered him was a piece of chocolate and that another was a graham cracker. This is the natural habitat of children.

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