With Parents as Our Allies

By nature, I consider myself an introvert, so when our daughter was born, I happily stepped into the role of stay-at-home parent. Of course, I looked forward to the "parenting" part, but I equally, and a bit secretly, embraced the "stay-at-home" aspect of the job title. As I held my newborn, I imagined our cozy life, snuggling, puttering around the house, eating snacks, reading storybooks, and playing in the garden. My homebody self imagined a kind of utopia effectively walled-off from the rest of the world where my wife, the extravert, would go off into the world to slay the dragons, while the two of us nested, unmolested, at least for a time, by the stresses of being out in the world.

And it was something like that at first, but among her first sentences were, "Let's go somewhere" and "Let's do something," a clear indication that she was her mother's daughter. I took this to mean that she was asking me for preschool, but when I ran the idea by my wife, she said, "No. She has a stay-at-home parent. Why would we send her off to be raised by strangers if we don't have to?" She had a point, but just in case, I ran the idea of preschool by my mother, who said, "Why would you do that? She has you. Besides, once their gone they're gone. Keep her at home as long as you can." Another compelling argument, but I there was still my mother-in-law, but she too gave it a thumbs down and no wise person defies the three most important women in their life, so it was on me, the introvert, to cobble together the social life our 18-month-old clearly craved.

This primarily involved going to lots of neighborhood playgrounds and other places where young children gathered. One day, I got to chatting with the mother of a son who was only a little older, and I shared my story. She said, "I know how you feel. I'm a stay-at-home parent, but we've enrolled in a cooperative preschool two mornings a week." It turned out that instead of dropping him off, she attended preschool with him. That's all I needed to hear. When I ran this idea by my triumvirate of beloved women, they approved, just so long as we both went.

And so I discovered cooperative schools, places where the families own the school and serve as assistant teachers. For the next three years, we went to school together, and where I got to work alongside a master teacher by the name of Chris David. When it came time for our daughter to move onto kindergarten, Chris urged me to consider staying behind and become a cooperative preschool teacher, and that's when Teacher Tom was born and where I've been for the better part of the past two decades.

Every preschool becomes a community of children, but a cooperative, in a very real sense, becomes a kind of "village" organized around the all-important project of raising children, including parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and caretakers brought together in the context of community. It reminds me as much as anything in the modern world possibly can of the neighborhood in which I grew up, a place where parents sent their children outside to play, confident that they would create their own social lives simply by living amongst the people, both old and young, that we found there. The kind of place where we learn to teach, care for, support, and love all the children, and to, in turn, trust the other adults in that role with our own children. It's not an accident that the parents at Woodland Park are refer to it as "the community" more often than as a school.

As a teacher, I might have valued my cooperative community more than I did as a parent. At any given moment there were 5-10 of these "amateur" teachers with me, bound together by a culture of learning and care that we were creating together day-after-day. I cannot imagine doing this preschool thing any other way, surrounded by parents who are my colleagues, supporters, and allies: a village raising children.

This isn't the experience of most educators. Indeed, too often parents show up in preschool settings as adversaries instead of allies. They show up as "customers" and critics, mettlesome dilettantes, and people whose phone message, "We need to talk," sends our hearts into our throats. Others come off as disinterested and dismissive. This is not how it should be. Parents and educators are natural allies in that we all want what is best for the children, yet we too often find ourselves feeling that parents, at least some of the parents, are in the way or behaving in ways that undermine our good work. They challenge us about such bedrock things like play-based education, discipline, risky play, mess, and a host of other aspects of our professional work, often demanding we do things that we know are not in the best interest of children.

For the past 20 years, I've been working in a place that puts this tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. I'm proud to announce that I've assembled what I've learned into a 6-part course called Partnering With Parents in which I share my best thinking on how to make allies of the parents of the children we teach. (Click this link to learn more.)

Most of us don't live in the kind of villages envisioned by the proverb, but that doesn't mean our children don't need them. We may never again be free to send our children out into the neighborhood to play, but we can do the next best thing by making our preschools into places not just for children, but for families. This is how we make the villages our children need. 

******

It takes a village to raise a child. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For 20 years, I worked in a place that put the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. I've assembled what I've learned into a 6-part called Partnering With Parents in which I share my best thinking on how educators can and should make allies of the parents of the children we teach. The 2024 cohort for this course begins next week. Click this link to register and to learn more. Discounts are available for groups.

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!

Election Day

It's Election Day here in the US. 

It should be a national holiday, although not necessarily to give every working person the time and space to go to the polling place to cast their ballot. Early and mail in voting has given most of us the flexibility to vote from home on our own schedule. It should be a holiday because it's a day to celebrate.

When I was in college, one of my summer jobs was working for the Oregon State Public Interest Group (OSPIRG), a consumer rights organization founded by the political activist Ralph Nader. We were paid minimum wage (which was under $4 at the time) to go door-to-door, canvassing for donations and memberships. We travelled around the central part of the state and I found myself knocking on the doors of all shapes and flavors of my fellow Americans. If you know anything about the Reagan era and/or Ralph Nader, you might think that I tended to do better with so-call "liberals," and I did, but I signed up plenty of "conservatives" as well. Most of my conversations on people's doorsteps were civil, friendly even. Our big initiative at the time was passing what we called "The Lemon Law," meaning that if the new car you bought had to be repaired more than a certain number of times (I think it was three) in the first year it could be labeled a "lemon" and the buyer was due a full refund. Everyone liked that idea.

This period of my life greatly shaped my political values. This is when I learned that democracy was neither easy nor tidy, and, to be honest, no one has ever suggested it should be. I learned that very few of us are purely dogmatic in our ideas, values, and beliefs; there are always, if you get curious, nuances. This is when I learned that most of us are frustrated with the flaws in our political system, wish we had "better" choices, and hope that we can somehow get to a place of peace and prosperity. I learned that when it comes to community (and also, interestingly, persuading strangers to part with their money) listening is far more important than opining. 

Every now and then, I was invited in for a sit and a deeper conversation. This put a crimp in my productivity, but I never declined. At a ranch house outside of Bend, Oregon, I ate sponge cake and drank tea with a tough-as-nails widow who told me I was the same age, and "just as misguided," as her beloved son. I left with her signature on my $1 donation list and a promise that she would pray for me. In Coos Bay, an aging hippie musician whose claim to fame was that he had played with Country Joe and the Fish, gave me a tumbler of straight rye whiskey, then called his wife in to perform a set of original songs. I left, quite tipsy and done for the day, with $30 (the price of membership for the couple) and his new CD full of pro-union songs.

One of the most significant changes since the early 80's when it comes to politics is the advent of the internet. The ability to find like-minded people, no matter how few or far between, is both a blessing and a curse. Of course, it's wonderful for connecting and organizing marginalized groups, but at the same time, it also traps too many of us inside self-contained bubbles, targets for misinformation, and rarely interacting with those outside. Humans have always had a tendency toward tribalism, and the internet has accelerated that to the point that far too many of us see our neighbors, our actual neighbors, the people who live next door to us, as enemies. 

This is the real tragedy of this era. We may disagree with our neighbors, but we can't allow ourselves to see them as enemies. We fight enemies. We create community with neighbors, even if we disagree with them. And creating community, like any form of self-governance, is messy and difficult. That doesn't mean it's not worthwhile. It doesn't mean we can stop listening. Indeed, listening is the superpower that allows even the least among us to change the world.

My time working for OSPIRG was impactful, but even more so was my two decades working in the Woodland Park Cooperative Preschool. For those who are unfamiliar, a cooperative school is one that is owned and operated by the parents who enroll their children. This means that the parent community is responsible for everything that goes into making a school operate, from the administrative to the janitorial. The parents even worked with me as assistant teachers. Whenever there were important decisions to be made or challenges to be addressed, it required all of us, as equal owners, talking and listening. We gathered together at least once a month, often more, to hash things out. It was often emotional, messy, and fraught. Every now and then, someone would storm off, but for the most part, we just kept talking and listening, talking and listening, talking and listening. This is what self-governance looks like.

I'm aware that we live in divided times and I'm not above getting sucked into it. I've done plenty of ranting (sometimes even here on the blog) over this or that plan, policy, or pronouncement. But the reason that this is a day for celebration is that despite its messiness and difficulty, despite the fear and anxiety, this is a day upon which we attempt, yet again, the outrageous experiment in self-governance. 

Yes, there are bad actors in this process, people who lie, manipulate, and propagandize. Yes, it would be tidier and "easier" if we just had a strongman dictator to get those damned trains running on time. Yes, the internet has divided us up into warring tribes. And yes, this time, like every time we go to the voting booth, might be the last time, but so far, no matter how messy and difficult, we've come through.

But today is a holiday for me because it is the only day truly devoted to the collective us. When the dust settles, we will have winners and losers, but today we are striving, one vote at a time, to figure out this historically brave experiment in self-governance. 

In many ways, this is why I work with children the way I do. I want them, even as young as two and three, to experience what it means to take part in the talking and listening that characterizes any strong community. It's why I have always had an open door for parents and siblings and friends and others to join us. It's why I insist that the children make their own, not rules, but agreements with one another. It's why I strive to not command children like a dictator, but rather offer informational statements, statements of fact, that allow them to think for themselves. It's why I want them to know that it is not just their right, but their responsibility to question authority and speak up about their opinions and beliefs. And it's why I value listening even more than talking. This is the promise of community and, in a larger sense, democracy.

We're going through a tough time right now as a nation. My wife and I have a joke that we tell one another whenever the going gets rough: "This is the critical phase." It always makes us laugh because it's always true. Life with the other people is always messy and difficult. It's always a tough time. As the 17th century philosopher, physicists, and inventor Blaise Pascal wrote, "All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." Indeed.

Election Day is the day we celebrate the blessing and the curse that none of us can sit quietly in a room alone. It is a celebration of the messy and difficulty, of the outrageous, pie-in-the-sky proposal that we the people can govern ourselves.

******

Our preschools can be models of what it means to be self-governing, especially when we expand our idea of our community of children to include their families. If you're interested in learning about what you can do, right now, to create a learning village that parents not just support, but help create, I've developed this 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the over 20 years, I've worked in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. How would it be to have parents show up as allies? Click this link to register and to learn more. Discounts are available for groups.

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!

Changing the World One Preschool at a Time

Polar bear cubs stay with their mothers until they're two and half years old. Dolphin calves need maternal care for 2-3 years. Orangutan infants continue nursing for six years, the longest period of dependence of any species other than humans.

For us, this period during which our survival depends on care and attention from adults is, at minimum 10 years, although in modern society we set the legal age at 18, and for many of us, it extends even longer. 

Some scientists theorize that this is because our species has so much to learn in order to function, but I'm suspicious of that. One of our great prejudices is that we are somehow more intelligent, or that human social life is so much more complex than other species. The more I learn about other species, however -- not just mammals, but reptiles, birds, mollusks, and even plants -- the more I'm convinced that there is no hierarchy when it comes to intelligence or social complexity.

Another theory is that we have a longer period of dependence because we have longer lives: the process of growing up is just stretched out proportionally because we're going to, on average, live seven or eight decades. And it's true that, say, orangutans tend to only live to be 50, but elephants have a similar lifespan to humans and their young only have a 2-3 year period of dependence. There are several species that live for hundreds of years (whales, sharks, clams) with much shorter childhoods, while there are many more that can live for thousands of years (trees, sponges, fungi) with no childhood to speak of. There's even a jellyfish that is biologically immortal, reverting to its polyp state once it reproduces in order to do it all over again. Most of the longest lived species actually have no apparent period of dependence.

Our own period of dependence hasn't always been as long as we make it today. Our daughter was bat mitzvahed at 13, which is the traditional Jewish age of adulthood. Indeed, throughout traditional cultures, 12 or 13 is a common marker between childhood and adulthood, although few of us would think it wise to really stick to that in our modern world. There's no reason that children this age wouldn't be capable of functioning as adults, except for the fact that modern human culture is simply too dangerous to leave them on their own. There are just too many broken adults who want to prey on them. Other species don't have to worry about the predator from within. 

On the other hand, looked at another way, in other long-lived social species, like elephants, whales, and orangutans, one could argue that the period of dependence is never over. They rally to one another's aid throughout their lives. They protect, feed, and care for one another, not because they are parents, but because it's the most important thing their species does: care for one another.

I'm going to assert (without complete knowledge) that humans are the only social species that has forgotten that. As psychologist and researcher Alison Gopnik says, caring for the young is the principle purpose of every civilization. I would extend that to all people, not just the young. And with humans, as with other species, even those with relatively short lifespans, the responsibility is too much for one or two adults. It truly does, as the African proverb has it, "take a village to raise a child."

Over the past couple of centuries, humans, and especially those of us living in Eurocentric cultures have moved young children farther and farther from the center of society, until we today find them growing up in virtual isolation from the rest of the world. From a young age, we wall them off into "pink collar ghettos" to spend their days in crowds of like-aged colleagues in the care of professional caretakers and educators. And because most people outside those walls have little or no regular interaction with young people, their needs are rarely considered. Indeed, young children are forbidden or frowned upon in much of the modern world. As a corrective for this, I've always been an advocate for "place based learning," which means taking children out into their world: walking the neighborhood, visiting local businesses and institutions, traveling around by bus and other forms of mass transit.

I'm always struck by how work-a-day adults react to finding children in their lives. Make no mistake, many are delighted to suddenly find themselves, say, surrounded by excited four-year-olds on their morning commute. But many more move away. They draw their shoulders to their ears and scowl in judgement. These children, these young humans, these fellow humans, are viewed as loud, disgusting, ignorant intruders.

I can't help but compare this situation to that of other "outsider" populations who have historically been ghettoized. They have a right to exist, just not where I am. Am I exaggerating? Maybe a little, but it's something we need to think about. When we isolate children from society, we are likewise isolating society from children, which means we are robbing ourselves of the caring-and-being-cared-for give-and-take that characterizes every other long-lived animal culture. I can think of no better explanation for the breakdown of our "village." I can think of no better explanation for the intensity of our political divisions, for school shootings, for our mental health crisis, for the general rudeness and incivility that is making cynics of us all.

On one preschool field trip, we were transferring onto Seattle's Link Light Rail at the Westlake station in the heart of downtown, a place where children are rare during the workweek. As we entered the station, a man stood leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. One of the kids said, loudly enough for the man to hear, "Look Teacher Tom, that man is making a bad choice!" The smoker stopped mid-puff, dropped his cigarette onto the pavement, and crushed it out with his heel, saying, "You're right. It is a bad choice." And then, when he noticed the kids were all now peering at the butt he'd dropped, he picked it up and tossed it in a trash can. Then the man said, "Thank you."

I've always known that being with young children makes me a better person, if only because I feel compelled to role model the behaviors that I want them to see as normal. I imagine that this man, in the presence of children, found it not just easier, but imperative to make "good choices."

Being in the company of young children tends to make adults more creative, more likely to try new things, more accepting of others, more playful, and less selfish. These are all things we could use more of in the world. This too is part of the power of the village.

We might not be able to change the world, but we can, today, begin changing it for the children in our care by opening the doors of our "ghettos." By both getting out there in the world and also by bringing others into our settings, especially their parents and extended families. Our world may never be the village we need, but our preschools can be exactly that, communities based on the knowledge of every other long-lived species: it takes a village. 

It might sound like a stretch, it might sound neigh impossible to engage the parents of the children we teach in this way, but not only do I know it's possible, I know it's the only antidote to cynicism. It takes a village to raise a child. It also takes children to raise a village. 

If this sounds like something you want to pursue more deeply, consider registering for my 6-week course, The Empowered Educator: Partnering with Parents (see below). Perhaps we can change the world on preschool at a time.

******

If you're interested in learning about what you can do, right now, to create a learning village that parents will wholeheartedly support, I've developed this 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the over 20 years, I've worked in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. How would it be to have parents show up as allies? Click this link to register and to learn more. Discounts are available for groups.

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!

Joy is the Purpose Behind Learning

One of the big ideas behind play-based learning is that humans, and young children in particular, are learning all the time. 

When an infant lies in its crib watching shadows on a wall, for instance, we assume they are learning. We see their gaze, we witness changes in the movement of their appendages and we take that as evidence that they are learning. They don't need an adult to hang over them making silly sounds or to dangle a woodland animal mobile over their face in order for learning to happen. By virtue of the fact that the shadows are holding the infant's attention, we can surmise that the baby's curiosity is aroused, which is how the human learning instinct manifests. When the sun goes behind a cloud and the shadows momentarily disappear, we observe changes in the infant, their arms and legs stop moving, their eyes search, their gurgling momentarily stops as they try to understand, to find what is lost. And when the sun remerges, we once more see the changes, the evidence that learning is happening.

What exactly any individual infant is learning from those shadows on the wall is anyone's guess, and we would probably guess wrong anyway because the moment we try, we must put our guesses into words, and language is something a newborn hasn't yet acquired. There are no words for what that baby is thinking, so it is impossible for us to know what they are learning, and frankly, it's none of our business.

We waste everyone's time when we try to put a pin in learning, to assign a purpose to it. This is a concept that we adults often have a hard time comprehending, I think, this idea that not only is all learning deeply personal and individual, but it is also ultimately unknowable to anyone but the person whose curiosity and, therefore, thought is engaged. They may be able to tell us what they have learned or are learning, but most of the time, like with our infant, learning has no purpose other than joy and that cannot be turned into data.

We are born to seek joy and learning brings us joy, thinking brings us joy, understanding brings us joy. To the degree that we've made learning hard work is the degree to which we cheat our children. 

That learning, in an evolutionary sense, makes survival more likely, is a happy accident, just as our opposable thumbs and capacity to cooperate with one another are a happy accidents. We don't possess these traits as a species for the purpose of survival, but rather they are traits that have survived within us. Survival itself is a happy accident.

We have evolved curiosity and the capacity to pursue the satisfaction of our curiosity, like we evolved hunger and the capacity to pursue the satisfaction of our hunger. And just as we don't survive without hunger we don't survive without curiosity. But in both cases, the urge, the instinct, is about pursuit and satisfaction, not survival; not utilitarian purpose, but rather the one purpose that really matters to any of us, which is to experience joy.

As adults we might make a decision to learn something for what appear to be utilitarian reasons. For instance, I might learn Spanish in preparation for a trip to Mexico. I make that decision to learn Spanish because I believe, based on what I've learned so far in life, that doing so will increase the odds of a satisfying trip. I am learning Spanish, therefore, because it is about my self-selected pursuit and the satisfaction of that pursuit. Even if the immediate satisfaction I pursue is a greasy buck, I must, at some level anticipate that this money will, somehow, some day, lead to joy. 

Otherwise, there is no point, and that is the path to depression. 

Should I presume to teach Spanish to a young child who has not chosen to learn it, I take curiosity, and therefore joy, out of the equation. I distract them from the shadows on the wall and force them to attend to my silly sounds and dangling woodland animal mobiles. When I do this, I cheat the child of their own, self-selected pursuit, which means, no matter how well-intended I am, leading them away from joy.

Curiosity is an imperative. It is one of the few universal purposes. It makes survival more likely, but survival itself is not a purpose. 

When we leave our babies to contemplate shadows on the wall we free them to play, to pursue their own thoughts, and to create their own understanding. The purpose of all learning, at bottom, is nothing less than joy.

******

If you're interested in learning about what you can do, right now, to create a learning village that parents will wholeheartedly support, I've developed this 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the over 20 years, I've worked in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. How would it be to have parents show up as allies? Click this link to register and to learn more. Discounts are available for groups.

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

The Power of Many Hands

Many hands make light work. ~John Heywood

This how the Woodland Park Cooperative School does Halloween, the highest of our high holidays, the others, in calendrical order being MLK Day, Chinese New Year, and Valentine's Day.

Our morning school becomes a night (okay, early evening) school. We spend the two weeks leading up to the big night discussing our costumes and making decorations. We then all dress up in those costumes, gather at the school in the evening with tons of food, including too many sweets, and when I say "we all," I mean our entire community that grows to 100 or more children when one includes older siblings and alumni, and at least as many adults. It's an event that grew bigger each year. The center of the festivities took place in what we call the Cloud Room, the Fremont Baptist Church's social hall, a room with a stage and one whole wall lined with mirrors. I set up the classroom simply, with crayons, play dough, what we call "the crazy floor" (large foam blocks interspersed randomly under gym mats), and corn starch packing pellets in the sensory table. The outdoor classroom is open as well.

The parents are a big part of making this evening work, pitching in with their creativity and zeal. One year, for instance, Elijah's mom Unique put together a Halloween themed photo "booth," with small straw bales and a spooky back drop. Devrim's mom Funda set up a jack-o-lantern vomiting guacamole. Elizabeth's mom Susan organized a silent auction that evolved over the years into an important fundraiser for our school: local businesses, sports teams, and other organizations donated nice items, but the highlights were always the handmade, personal items and one-of-a-kind experiences that can only come from our community. Henry's family, for instance, would always offer an airport shuttle service complete with coffee. Every family contributes something.

Grandmas, grandpas and close family friends join us. More rarely seen spouses turn up, most in costume. And I must say that this is one of the coolest aspects of our annual party: there is a lot of friendly peer pressure to get the adults to at least make a gesture toward a costume. The kids definitely appreciate this. It raises the importance of this night for them when even the adults who never dress up are in costume. 

What do we do? We arrive, talk about our costumes, eat food, trash the classroom, take a lot of pictures, get a little overwhelmed, calm down outside, plunge back in, sneak an extra cupcake, and generally get carried away by the night. And we go home exhausted. You know, like what always happens at a good party. In the following days, children tell me, conspiratorially, "I had four sweets," or earnestly, "It was too loud," or eagerly, "Let's do it again." We spend the week after rehashing the event, talking about the moments when we were excited or frightened or sad or angry. We discuss what the "big kids" did or what the "little kids" did and, inspired, begin to plan our costumes for next year.

The highlight for me, the moment I live for, my absolutely most shining moment, is leading circle time for our entire community. I typically wore my pink bunny costume, a beautifully sewn thing, with gray "fir" around the cuffs and the paisley ears. I'm very fond of that costume, but it's hot in the best of times, a feature that is compounded by being in a tightly packed room. I sit on the stage and call the children together. I can't describe how magnificent it is to look into the faces of these children I know and, raising my gaze to look just beyond them, the faces of the families who make up the totality of who we are.

We sing "Roll That Pumpkin Down to Town," and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." We do a few of our anthemic felt board songs and chants, altered to honor the holiday. We sing "If You're Happy and You Know It" using the jack-o-lanterns we carved during the week to represent "happy," "sad," "angry," "surprised," "silly," and "pirate" (a recognized emotion in our school) as props. I love nothing more than catching the eyes of alumni students who are now first or second graders, singing lustily along.

I am, by the end, in a full-on sweat, red-faced and wishing I were wearing something more lightweight.

After the "show," the place is, as previously mentioned, trashed. My first thought is always that this was going to take hours to set back in order.

I want the families to feel free to pack their tired kids off to bed, so think of tidying up as my job, but the rest of the community doesn't see it that way. As the party winds down, I start by picking up one thing and putting it back where it belongs. Then another. Soon, without anything being said, a parent will join me, scooping corn starch pellets from the floor back into the sensory table, for instance. In another corner of the room another parent will put away the play dough. Another tidies up the art table. Grandparents and friends pitch in. Before five minutes has passed, a dozen adults and at least as many kids are, again without comment or instruction, putting things away, sweeping, organizing. Those hours of work are compressed into 10 minutes through the power of many hands.

When I return to the Cloud Room, a similar thing has happened in there: the decorations are down, the tables and chairs are stashed away, the floor is swept, and the garbage bags are carried to the dumpster. Same with the kitchen where we held the silent auction and the kindergarten room. Even the outdoor classroom is re-set and ready for the following day.

I'm always the last to leave. As I stand in our empty space, lights off, it's hard to believe that the evening has happened, that only moments before we were laughing, feasting, posing, sweating, singing, and dancing together, all of us, celebrating the magic of many hands. And, as I stand there, dressed in street clothes for my bus ride home, I realize that this is what we celebrate every day at our little cooperative preschool.

This is the power of true partnership with parents.

******

If you're interested in learning more about creating a learning village that parents will wholeheartedly support, I've developed this 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the past 20 years, I've been working in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. How would it be to have parents show up as allies? (Click this link to register and to learn more.) Discounts are available for groups.

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!

Partnering With Parents

Based on my informal and unscientific surveys of early childhood educators, one of the biggest hurdles to fully realizing play-based education is "the parents." Not all the parents, of course, but there are apparently a lot who might like the idea of their children playing, but who have bought into the "fall behind" snake oil. This leads them to apply pressure to us to become "more academic" in defiance of the science behind how young children learn.

I've found that one of the best things one can do for your play-based program is to consciously manage those expectations, right from the start. For us, the process of getting parents on our bandwagon starts with our spring orientation.

I use this opportunity to tell the assembled parents that I will not be teaching their children literacy, although they will be laying the foundations for literacy through their play, their dramatic play in particular; every time we read to them or tell them stories, or when they tell stories to us; each time they get excited and say, "Hey that's my letter!" or "That's your letter!" I won't be teaching them, but they'll be doing exactly what they need to do to read when their brains are ready.

I tell them that I will not be teaching their children math, although they will be practicing their math skills every time they count something out, put things in order, arrange things in groups, worked a puzzle, make or identify a pattern.

I tell them I am particularly uninterested in teaching STEM (science, technology, engineering, math) skills so they would be ready for those "jobs of tomorrow," although again, through their play they will be engaged in teaching these things to themselves. When one studies children at play, it's impossible to not see them as scientists or engineers, asking and answering their own questions, engaging in experiments, figuring out fundamental truths about our world and the other people. 

I tell these parents that I'm singularly uninterested in vocational training. The proper career aspiration for a preschooler is princess or superhero. The jobs for which their children will be applying two decades from now do not yet exist and anyone who tells you they can predict the employment landscape that far into the future is blowing smoke. The jobs my daughter is doing did not exist when she was in preschool. The careers my high school counselors suggested that I pursue would have left me unemployable today. But more importantly, we don't educate our children so that they can take their role in the economy, but rather so that they can perform their role as citizens.

We then talk a lot about "community" at our parent meeting. In fact, nearly everyone who speaks finds that word in their mouth, not because it's part of a coordinated effort, but because it is the real foundation of what we do at our school. We're a cooperative which means that we are owned and operated by the parents who enroll their children and these parents will attend school with their children, serving as assistant teachers. We are not just a community of children, but in a real sense, on a day-to-day basis, a community of families, assembled together around the common goal of supporting our children as they learn the foundational skills of citizenship.

At it's most basic, this means that we strive to form a community in which our children can practice living in a world with other people, learning how to get their own needs met while also leaving space for others to meet theirs. Nothing is more important, not just for individuals, but for our larger society. A good citizen is someone who thinks critically, who thinks for herself; a good citizen is someone who asks a lot of questions and who questions authority; a good citizen knows that it is not just their right, but their responsibility, to speak their mind, even when others disagree; a good citizen likewise knows that they must listen, especially when they disagree; a good citizen knows that they contribute to society in ways far more vital and varied than as a worker bee. It is from citizens with these traits that strong communities, strong democracies, are made.

I tell our assembled parent community that their children will be learning these things as they play together, creating their own community, and that it wouldn't always be pretty. Their children will come home covered in water, mud, paint, snot, and even upon occasion, blood. Their children will find themselves embroiled in conflict. They will be learning through joy, yes, but also tears. They will, as they must, mix it up with the other children, sort things out, make agreements, and help one another. They will teach themselves to be self-motivated, to work well with others, and begin to understand the importance of being personable, all of which are, not accidentally, the most important "vocational" skills of all.

I tell the assembled adults that our job is not to teach them anything, but rather to love and support them as they perform their inquiries, test their theories, and figure out what works for them and what doesn't. We're not there to push or command or mold, but rather to create a safe space in which the children can play, together, in the context of their community.

If this sounds like the kind of community you want to create for the families that bring their children to you, please check out my 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. It takes a village to raise a child and this is where it starts.

******

If you're interested in learning more about creating a learning village that parents will wholeheartedly support, I've developed this 6-part course called The Empowered Educator: Partnering With Parents. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the past 20 years, I've been working in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. How would it be to have parents show up as allies? (Click this link to register and to learn more.) Discounts are available for groups.

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

"We Need to Talk"

"We need to talk."

It's a message from the parent of one of your students -- an email, text, voice mail, or quick word at pickup time. Your heart rises into your throat.

"We need to talk" almost always means that something has gone wrong, and it's going to get worse before it gets better. This parent is angry, sad, or confused. They object to your curriculum. They are worried their child is "falling behind." They want to demand that you do something about this, that, or the other.

We've all been there. Parents and educators are natural allies, but all too often we find ourselves at odds, even though we all want the same thing: happy, well-adjusted children.

Over the years, I've found that the struggle to get on the same page with parents might not be the top-of-mind concern for educators, but when we get down to the bottom line, that's often the real challenge, whether it's over things like learning through play, discipline, risky play, or messy play.

 

“The parents would never let us do that!”

 

“The parents want more academics.”

 

“The parents complain whenever their child gets messy.”

 

“The parents just don’t understand!”

 

My own experience of parents is as colleagues rather than people who demand a “quick meeting.” I’ve spent my entire teaching career in cooperative preschools, where the parents are right there with me in the classroom, serving as assistant teachers. This is the great strength of the cooperative model and through this experience of working shoulder-to-shoulder with parents, day-after-day, I discovered the incredible power of a true partnership with parents.

 

As parents and educators, we both are the children’s “first teachers” (to use the nomenclature of the Reggio-Emilia model), but in our modern world, too often we find ourselves on opposite sides of the table across the divide of “we need to talk.” 

 

How would it change your life as an educator to have a parent community that really understands what play is all about? Where parents fully support your curriculum? Where parents are on the same page about mess, risk, and self-directed learning? How would it change your attitude if the parents in your school always had your back? If you could say one thing to the parents of the children you teach, what would it be? What would you want them to know?

I recently asked my newsletter readers these questions.

Jenny S., the director of a large center, wishes that parents could walk in an educator's shoes for a day. "Have you tried caring for five children under two for even two hours?"

Ramona M wishes that parents understood "normal human development."

"I would really like to see parents understand how the power of connection and attachment that can shape their child's relationships, and how powerful play is their child's life," writes Mary J. "Slow down and be present and you start to see and understand who they are and what is really important to them."

Several educators expressed frustration that parent concerns stand in the way of introducing developmentally appropriate "risky play." As Leslie D. asked, "Is there something I could say to them that allows us to have more freedom with the children and have the parents on board?"

Almost everyone who responded expressed frustrations with unrealistic academic expectations, communication, wishes that parents understood more about early childhood development, and a hope for a better educator-parent-child partnership.

As Ramona M. put it, "It takes a village."

That is the idea behind my 6-week course The Empowered Educator -- Partnering With Parents. If any of this rings true for you, if you're interested in transforming your relationship with the parents of the children in your care, then you might want to check it out. To learn more and to register for the 2024 cohort, click here.

When we work to bring parents closer to the center of what we do, when we communicate clearly, honestly, and in a timely manner, we begin to form the kind of partnerships that help us begin to approach the promise of a village.

******

It takes a village to raise a child. As preschool educators, we don't just educate children, but their families as well. For the past 20+ years, I've been working in a place that puts the tri-cornered relationship of child-parent-educator at the center, and over that time I've learned a great deal about how to work with families to create the kind of village every child needs and deserves. I'm proud to announce that I've assembled what I've learned into a 6-part course called Partnering With Parents in which I share my best thinking on how educators can and should make allies of the parents of the children we teach. Click this link to register and to learn more. Discounts are available for groups. This is the one and only 2024 cohort. Please join us!

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!