The Best Educated People on Earth

Several of the kids were taking turns boasting about how strong they were.

"I can pick up this whole table!"

"I can pick up this whole school!"

"I can pick up this whole world!"

As their claims escalated ludicrously, some of their classmates called them out.

"No you can't!"

"You can't even pick up a piece of paper!"

"You can't even pick up a piece of toilet paper!"

It was all fun and games, of course, no one was serious. Then one of them said, "I can pick up the whole loft." The loft is a two level piece of furniture that stands in the corner of the room. I recall that when it arrived, decades ago, it came, ready-to-assemble, in cartons weighing a little over 250 pounds. I tossed this information out there, like a loose part, "The loft weighs more than 250 pounds."

The boaster paused, looked astonished, then said, "I guess I can't lift 250 pounds by myself."

A fellow boaster said, "Maybe we can lift it together."

The tone had suddenly changed from one of one-upsmanship to serious consideration of a job at hand. They agreed to try, approaching the loft with their muscles flexed, but they were unable to budge it.

Not stymied, they called out, "Hey guys! We need help!" and "We're going to lift up the whole loft!" As more and more children gathered, I began to get the idea that this might really happen. One or two of them could never manage it, but dozens, working together, likely could. What was the worst thing that could happen? It could topple over and land on the kids. They could succeed in lifting it, then drop in on their toes. I moved closer. As the children assembled, I called a couple of other adults over and we quietly strategized how we could make it safe enough, just in case.

At first, even with nearly twenty children, nothing happened. Their efforts were individual and uncoordinated. But they were still working on it. 

"We have to lift at the same time!" 

"We have to spread out!" 

"We need more people under the low part!" 

"I'll count to three!" "No, I'll count to three!" "Let's all count to three, then lift!" "Okay, guys, ready?"

They indicated their readiness with a sudden silence, then together they chanted, "One! Two! Three! Lift!" And the loft began to rise, all 250 pounds of it, hovering one then two inches off the ground. As agreed, the adults then stepped in and took much of weight as we helped them slowly lower it to the ground, cautioning about toes and fingers.

Sadly, this type of experience is all too rare in American schools, especially the farther one gets from the preschool years. Grades and scores and other assessments are individual things. Indeed, to achieve school-ish success in any way other than on your own is labeled as cheating and punished. Oh sure, there may be one or two tick boxes that rate a child's ability to cooperate with others, but no one takes those seriously. Teachers might assign a group project here and there, but we all know that the "smart" kids resent the "stupid" ones, concerned they will "hold them back" or not do enough of the work, taking relief in knowing that the grading, at least, will be individual. Working together to lift a loft, write a report, or solve a problem might be praised in the abstract, but every school child comes to know that at the end of of the day they will be judged not by what they have accomplished together, but rather by how well they compete against their classmates.

In school, to boast of one's prowess is no joke: it is the point.

People often try to make the argument that school must be this way because life is this way, but is it really? Yes, perhaps we do compete for jobs and promotions. There are some professions, like high-pressure sales jobs, in which employees find themselves pitted against one another, but even professional sports teams, like most employers, value teamwork above individual accomplishment. 

But even if we stipulate that the work-a-day world has certain competitive elements, that hardly comprises most of what makes life worth living. Most of what we do in our homes, communities, churches, and with our friends involves coming together around common problems, opportunities, or projects. Democracy itself, if it is to work, is far more akin to lifting a loft than competing for grades. This is what school, if it is to truly prepare children for life, should be about: people coming together to lift the loft.

One of the great American myths is this idea of a solitary hero who single-handedly saves the day, but it has never happened outside of a Hollywood movie. No doctor saves a life on their own. No engineer builds a bridge without the support of thousands. No community has ever been kept safe except by the actions of the community itself. No one has ever lived a joyful life unless they have spent it accomplishing meaningful things, shoulder-to-shoulder with others. That is what I wish for the children I teach -- a life in community.

The moment the loft's long legs touched the ground, the children cheered. Spontaneously. For themselves. Together they had done something that had at first seemed like an hyperbolic boast. They hugged and jumped up and down, saying things like, "We did it!" These are the best educated people on earth.

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I've been writing about play-based learning almost every day for the past 15 years. I've recently gone back through the 4000+ blog posts(!) I've written since 2009. Here are my 10 favorite in a nifty free download. Click here to get yours.

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!

As If They've Never Before Seen a Human Ready and Eager to Learn

Jean-Michel Basquiat (Luna Luna)

Over my decades as a play-based preschool teacher, I've never had to deal with a bored child. I've worked with sad and angry children, frightened and frustrated children, and even children who were experiencing emotions that our language cannot fully describe, but never a bored one . . . or at least not for long.

In our play-based program, children engage with an object or a game or a person of their choosing for a time. They are attracted by the novelty of whatever it is, drawn in by the questions they have about it. They put their hands on it, their minds to it. What is it? What can I do with it? What will it do with me? In other words, they play with it. Then, as their questions get answered, they start to lose interest and something like boredom creeps in, which is the brain's signal to move on to the next novelty. This is how humans have evolved to educate themselves.

From the perspective of neuroscience, the neural network that makes up our brain is, as most of us know by now, initially very plastic which allows it to absorb new information, but over time, and as the information becomes repetitive, it starts to solidify. We can actually feel this happening: we start with the thrill of novelty, followed by the satisfaction of mastery, and then comes the restlessness, the boredom, that draws us into new challenges. And in a play-based program there is always a new challenge, which is why I've never had to deal with a bored child: in a varied and beautiful environment, free people are always learning.

For a long time, we believed that this plasticity naturally solidifies as we age, achieving its "final" form in young adulthood, but we now know that our brains can remain plastic throughout life if only we continue to find ourselves in the presence of novelty. This is one of the reasons I read books, both fiction and nonfiction, history, mysteries, science, politics, psychology, classic novels, and especially books written by people who are not middle-aged, middle-class, American males because, being one of those, I'm a bit bored by that singular perspective. My day-to-day life may not always present me with all the novelty I need, but books are entire worlds I can access from within my current life. Of course, I also seek novelty in travel, in trying new things, in meeting new people. It takes more effort than it did when I was a child and everything was new, but I'm committed to not aging into a calcified old man.

In recent years, it's become an expression of common wisdom to say something like, Let your children be bored; that's how they learn to be creative. The idea is that kids will naturally overcome the lethargy and discomfort of their boredom by finding something to do and, bingo, the boredom is over. This is of course true, as we see every day in play-based preschool. But in the world beyond our playground, children are increasingly feeling trapped in a life in which they see little novelty and, perhaps more importantly, they have no permission to seek novelty.

As a boy, I recall experiencing boredom on days when I was stuck at home. Mom was busy, my brother irritating, and the toys were all played out. In other words, I'd mastered what there was to master, draining my self-contained world of novelty. I'd have watched TV, but back then, there was very little to interest children outside of Saturday mornings. If I complained, mom suggested chores. I would typically solve the problem by picking up a book, picking a fight with my brother, or going outside. In other words, I would escape to where the novelty was.

Today's children still have the escapes of books and bickering, although the habit of reading is on the wane and adults usually don't tolerate bickering. The sure fire option of going outside has pretty much been replaced by video games and an internet that provides 24/7 children's programming. However, we adults have, rightly or wrongly, determined that screen-based activities must be restricted in the name of health and safety, so we cut off that escape route. We buy them more toys than ever before, but the novelty of manufactured toys is, by design, always short-lived. We sign them up for classes and sports teams and whatnot. Sometimes that works, especially if a child discovers an art or pursuit or activity that inspires them, but since most of these types of things are offered on a schedule and at a remote location, they aren't options for long afternoons during which "There's nothing to do." These pre-planned activities require boredom to happen on a schedule, which isn't the way it works.

Standard schooling is even worse than being at home. Children are literally confined to rooms, to desks, to mandated curricula. They are made to memorize material in which they have no interest and learn skills for which they see no applicability. When they try to connect with the other children, they are told "no socializing." When novelty accidentally occurs -- a flooded playground, new toilets being installed, a raccoon family wanders past -- the children are shooed away. In many standard schools novelty is so rare that on those days in which it is consciously introduced -- an assembly, a visit from firefighters, a pizza party -- the adults are frightened by the children's excitement. It feels like things are on the verge of being out-of-control. 

It's as if they've never before seen a human ready and eager to learn.

And here's the point, boredom is meant to be a short-lived thing, fixed by going outside or reading a book or engaging with friends. It's nature's way to telling us that it's time to move on to something else. The kind of chronic boredom that characterizes standard schooling is not a benign thing. Extended periods of boredom damage the mind (see what happens to prisoners in isolation). It affects mental health. It leads to rage, depression, and worse. This is why I worry every time an adult dismisses a child's boredom as "a good thing." A little bit is necessary. A lot, like the degree to which many experience boredom in standard schools, can be deadly.

Our brains cannot tolerate ongoing, inescapable boredom, but it needs those small doses that let it know it's time to move on. We have evolved to keep ourselves, as science journalist George Musser puts it, "on the cusp between frustration and boredom," in that wonder-filled space between What is this and what can I do with it? and I'm ready for something new. This is what we see when children are uncaged, when they know they have permission to play in a varied and beautiful environment.

******

I've been writing about play-based learning almost every day for the past 15 years. I've recently gone back through the 4000+ blog posts(!) I've written since 2009. Here are my 10 favorite in a nifty free download. Click here to get yours.

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!

Microscopic Utopias

The boy was on his knees, sobbing. I don't know why, but I also did nothing because there was already someone caring for him. Two people, in fact: girls, his classmates, children who rarely played with him, but down there with him nonetheless, hands lovingly across his shoulder, on his knee, talking soothingly into his ear.

When I first started writing this blog, I did it for myself, but as people started reading and responding, as I began to see my words and ideas impact people, and especially as I began to see that the profession of early childhood education is full of people who see the world, or the prospects of a world, the way I do, I got the idea that maybe I could make a difference in how children everywhere experience childhood.

Yes, I'm a utopian. Yes, I've experienced the reformer's zeal. Call me naive, but even as I look around and see that there have been as many steps back as there have been forward, I remain convinced that a more beautiful world is possible. The news discourages me, but my job, the time I spend amongst the newest humans, convinces me that utopia is possible.

In her memoir Recollections of My Non-Existence, Rebecca Solnit, writes of "that microscopic utopia that is a moment of kindness." People use the word "childish" to refer to adults who behave in petulant, self-centered ways, but these microscopic utopias are also, even mostly, what I've discovered during my decades on my knees with children. Another book by Solnit is A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster, in which she shines a spotlight on the countless examples of temporary, but real, utopias that predictably emerge in the aftermath of earthquakes, fires, floods, and other traumatic events. While we focus on the pain and suffering, we too often miss the kindness that is our greatest and most childish glory.

The utopias, heavens, and nirvanas of our imaginations are perfected places, impossible in a world in which our fellow humans so often find themselves on their knees, sobbing. But what I've learned from my years with children is that utopia is not a destination, but rather an act of one human caring for another in their time of need. Actual utopia is created in moments of kindness.

******

Even the most thriving play-based environments can grow stale at times. I've created this collection of my favorite free (or nearly free) resources for educators, parents, and others who work with young children. It's my gift to you! Click here to download your own copy and never run out of ideas again!

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!

How I Think About "Disruptive" Behavior

On Tuesday, I paraphrased John Dewey, writing, "Two children together can sustain behavior or a project that neither would maintain alone. And that behavior or project might well be mischief." And sometimes that mischief rises to the level that it impacts the rest of the community as disruptive, frightening, or even hazardous.

The example I used is of two or more children allied in this way, goading one another into shoving classmates then running off, while giggling. It could be snatching toys. It could be name calling. It could be pulling hair. Whatever the case, it leaves classmates feeling targeted, violated, and even in danger. 

When two or more children start feeding each other's behavior in this way, more often than not they are doing one of three things: 1) seeking intensity, 2) seeking collaboration, 3) testing the boundaries of the community, all of which represent healthy developmental impulses. Our job is to help them pursue those impulses in ways that work for everyone.

The standard way of dealing with this, however, is to punish the offenders. Punishment might stem the behavior in the moment, but ultimately what it teaches children is that those with power get to tell them what to do, obedience to authority, a fundamentally anti-democratic concept. Furthermore, research into the mechanics of punishment finds that it's really only effective as long as the punisher remains present, not ending the behavior, but rather pushing the behavior underground. The only time that punishment produces lasting behavioral change is when it is so debilitating that the child would never dare risk it again. I hope no one reading here thinks it's okay to inflict that kind of severe punishments on a child.

Keeping in mind that this kind of disruptive collaborative behavior is based in a developmentally healthy impulse, the more thoughtful among us seek alternatives. Often, our first instinct is to reason with the collaborators, pointing out the impact of their behaviors. "She's crying because you took that from her." "When you shove people it isn't safe. My job is to keep everyone safe, so I can't let you do that." This is sometimes useful. Some very young children are not clear about their impact on others, but when children are feeding off one another in this way, no matter how gently and matter-of-factly we speak with them, it will, at best come off as scolding that must be endured before getting back to their important game in which they are deeply connected with another human. That's why they often continue giggling together, frustrating our attempts to talk them into behaving in less disruptive ways.

Often the simplest intervention is re-direction. We might casually say something like "I need your help over here," or "Can you bring those blocks to the table?" The goal is to temporarily interrupt the feedback loop and channel their urge to seek intensity and collaboration into something more appropriate

"You two are on fire today. Wanna help me build a bike ramp?"

"Alright, so I see you guys want to wrestle. How about you help me lay down some gym mats and have a real match?"

I once set up a "throwing station" with targets and projectiles as a way to divert a couple of kids who were winging things all over the playground. When "dinosaurs" were stomping on the blocks with which other children were trying to play, I brought out a box of scrap bubble wrap.

The goal isn't to stop their energy, but rather to help them find a legitimate outlet.

When confronted with disruptive behaviors I find myself asking the question, What is it about the environment that invites this behavior? Maybe it's too little space for rough-and-tumble play, maybe there aren't enough loose parts, maybe kids are having to wait too long for their turn, maybe the furniture needs to be rearranged. Adding materials, redefining the play area, or opening a new activity can dissolve the problem.

In Tuesday's post I mentioned that sometimes the only way to get beyond a problem is through it. By that I mean, that instead of trying to control their play from the outside, I like to join them with an eye toward gently shifting it in more acceptable ways. There was once a pair of kids goading one another to throw sand randomly into the air, aggravating other children in the process. Instead of trying to make them stop, I joined them, saying, "I'll bet I can make my sand land in that bucket over there." We kept throwing sand, but now it was targeted. We eventually moved the game into an out-of-the-way corner because "the other kids keep getting in the way." 

The goal here is to subtly change the narrative without kiboshing the whole thing.

Of course, the most powerful tool is to rely on our democratic classroom. When we sit down at circle time, I'll start things off by saying, without pointing to any individuals, "People are throwing sand and it's getting in people's eyes. What should we do?" Children often propose solutions that adults would never consider. Indeed, the best ideas often come from the children who were throwing the sand in the first place. It's powerful because what emerges is a democratically arrived at "agreement" rather than an adult imposed rule.

Sometimes the discussion alone stems the behavior even if no agreement is reached. A girl named Francis once told us that she was "scared" of some boys who playing a game they called "bad guys." The fierceness of the game made her nervous, even though she admitted that they had never hurt her. A few other kids joined her in her concern, but the "bad guys" insisted they liked their game. Two days later, the mother of the lead baddie pulled me aside, "When I went to tuck him in last night, he told me he wasn't going to play 'bad guys' any more because Francis didn't like it." That day, and for the days going forward, they played "good guys," the same game, but this change satisfied Francis' fears.

Of course, often the best approach is the one that is the hardest for many of us, and that is that we must learn to accept a certain level of chaos. Sometimes that burst of chaotic play strikes  us as disruptive, or it's not yet disruptive, but we think that if left unchecked it will become disruptive so we step in "before things get out of hand." And maybe that's the right move, but it's vital to keep in mind that what they are doing -- seeking intensity, seeking collaboration, testing boundaries -- are healthy impulses. 

Before stepping in, I like to pause long enough to ask myself, Is anyone getting hurt? Is anything important being destroyed? Is this truly harmful or just loud and messy?

If the answer is no, you might still want to remain close to the action, but the best move might be to sit with your discomfort and let the play run its course, which is to say, let the children fully engage the social experiment they've begun.

******

Even the most thriving play-based environments can grow stale at times. I've created this collection of my favorite free (or nearly free) resources for educators, parents, and others who work with young children. It's my gift to you! Click here to download your own copy and never run out of ideas again!

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!

"I'm Batman!"

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, "(A)action is character." 

As has often been the case, this artists was just asserting something that modern scientists are now confirming: not only do our actions reveal who we are, they also become who we are. In other words, neuroscience and sociological research are finding that when we act kindly (even if we don't feel kind), when we act courageously (even if we don't feel courageous), when we act generously (even if we don't feel generous), the more habitual and natural those behaviors become until, before we know it, we are the kind, courageous, generous person we aspire to be.

Of course, we don't need scientists to tell us that this is true when it comes to negative habits, so why wouldn't it work with virtuous ones?

Young children don't worry about what kind of person they are, let alone what kind of person they will become, even as we adults worry about it on their behalf. Indeed, much of what passes for parenting or teaching falls into this category. We worry that the child who hits another child will grow up to be violent. We worry that a child who snatches toys from another child will grow up to be selfish. We worry that a child who climbs too high, runs too fast, or hurls their body into the fray willy nilly, will grow up to be foolhardy. We scold or punish or forbid or otherwise seek to teach them the right habits. By the same token, when a child is gentle with their friends or thoughtful or generous, we reward or praise them all the while crossing our fingers that the cruel world doesn't victimize them.

When a child puts on a cape and says they are Batman, they are not aspiring: they are Batman. They stand in their power pose, strong, brave, heroic and a champion of those in need. In the very next moment they may crumple to the ground in tears, a baby who needs its mommy. We're all this way throughout our lives. The idea that character is fixed is a myth. Oh sure, we may have been shy or anxious or melancholy for a long time, we may need a therapist or even medications to help us, but in the end, the way to something better will not begin with feeling or thinking differently, but rather with acting like Batman. Of course, as adults, we may not be able to become Batman all at once. But if we can, each day, starting small, engage in a small act of heroism (or whatever), then do it again and again, the more natural it becomes. We will slowly become capable of bigger and bigger acts of heroism, until . . . Well, no one is Batman all day long, not even Batman, but the more we will feel and think like Batman. We do this through action.

I'm not saying this is an easy thing to do, but becoming the person we want to be will never happen if we wait until we feel like that person. Action is character. The rest will follow.

We worry too much about the children, I think, and not enough about ourselves. There is a tendency to see ourselves, both individually and as a society, as too far gone to be saved, our character is already set, but maybe this child or this generation will be the one that finally gets it right. Too many of us seem to think that if we do our parenting and teaching jobs just so, according to this method, or with this or that attitude, then we will be able to produce future humans who are kind, courageous, and generous. We see it all the time in public policy when we turn to schools to fix the poverty, bigotry, ignorance, and violence that pervade our society, when the problem isn't with the kids, it's with us. It's us that have to change. It's us that have to act even if we don't feel like it.

As Gandhi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." It's a truth that is being confirmed by science. It applies to individuals as well as the world at large. We can't do it for other people because no one can self-actualize for anyone other than themself. We can provide for basic needs and safety, we can love them and let them know they belong, we can even support them in feeling good about themselves. And a just society would provide all those things for all people. But when it comes to character, when it comes to becoming, that is the part that each of us must do for ourselves. That's what a child is doing when they declare, "I'm Batman!" We can all do it and it starts today, right now, with one small act of heroism, even if we don't feel like it.

******

Even the most thriving play-based environments can grow stale at times. I've created this collection of my favorite free (or nearly free) resources for educators, parents, and others who work with young children. It's my gift to you! Click here to download your own copy and never run out of ideas again!

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 Two Knucklehead Theory

The boys were giggling amongst themselves, huddled together like conspirators. Earlier, I had tried to approach them, but when I got near they clammed up, not exactly feigning innocence, but they definitely had something going on between them that they wanted kept to themselves. Young children today have so little opportunity to exist in unsupervised spaces that I tend to leave them to their impish secrets. I imagined they were cracking each other up over butts or poop or something else that adults might label "naughty" or "inappropriate." They shut up because they didn't want me ruining their fun. Respect.

I knew the two boys as solid citizens within our community: curious, engaged, friendly, and eager to cooperate. What had interested me more than their secretiveness was that I'd never seen them play together before, not like this. They had often been part of the same play groups, but this was the first time I'd noticed a one-to-one social connection. Being present for these moments is one of the joys of being a preschool teacher. 

After a while, they included another boy, then another, sharing their naughty joke. The four of them were feeding off one another. The volume was rising, but we were outside so it was nothing out of the ordinary. I was thrilled by how their conspiracy was spreading. They all seemed so delighted, even a little wild. Every now and then they would all fall to the ground, roaring with laughter. They were so absorbed with one another that I could now move nearer without being noticed. That's when I heard what it was that had them all in stitches.

The boy chanted:

Big fat baby walkin' down the road

Big fat baby hoppin' like a toad

Big fat baby about to explode

BOOM!

Big fat baby everywhere!

Then they all fell to the ground, red faced, united in their naughtiness. 

Businessman and professional basketball team owner Mark Cuban once said, "A team can have one knucklehead. You can't have two. One knucklehead adapts; two hang out together."

It's an idea that's been around for quite some time in basketball circles and is often referred to as the "two knucklehead theory."

Of course, the idea isn't original to basketball coaches. We've all heard the 17th century proverb One bad apple spoils the barrel, which expresses a similar idea. Although more often than not, in the modern world, it's left to dangle, "One bad apple . . ." Police chiefs and other apologists tend to use it this way when talking about a rogue cop. Formulated this way, it tends to imply that the bad behavior is an isolated incident . . . In other words, just one knucklehead . . . But we know there's always at least two.

"Mutiny needs at least two men."

"One man may start a quarrel; two keep it going."

In the language of modern organization psychology it's often phrased as: defiance becomes stable when it becomes social.

In the early years, we're are all familiar with this phenomenon. One disruptive child can be absorbed into the group, but when two or more start connecting with one another around a project, disruptive or otherwise, a new social center of gravity is created. Of course, this phenomenon isn't limited to disruptive behavior. It's what happens in any society. It's the driving force behind trends, fads, cults, and social movements. One person doing something is just behavior; two makes a movement. 

I imagine that a lot of educators would have scuttled the boy's chanting game. I mean, it was insulting, crude, and its punchline was violent. (Kind of like my use of the word "knucklehead.") And they knew that. That's why they kept it amongst themselves. I let it ride without comment, however, because, firstly, they weren't hurting or insulting anyone in particular. But secondly, one of the foundational principles of play based learning is that children must be free to explore all aspects of the things and concepts that are in their lives. How can you understand light without knowing about dark?

But even in a play based program, this phenomenon can lead to disruptive behavior.

The philosopher and godfather of modern educational theory John Dewey argued that behavior isn't just individual, it's social, a product of the group. When a child finds a partner in disruption, the behavior stops being a momentary impulse and instead becomes a shared activity. "Children's behavior is shaped through the social life of the classroom, not just through individual discipline." In other words, "misbehavior" becomes more stable and sustainable when a child (knucklehead one) recruits another (knucklehead two) into it.

In standard classrooms, "misbehavior" is a relatively low bar. Talking too much with a friend gets labeled that way. The way to deal with the two knucklehead phenomenon in these settings is to "separate" the troublemakers. When I was in elementary school, we were always disappointed in the seating chart: our teachers never put us next to our best friends. I now know, of course, it was their way of nipping the knucklehead phenomenon in the bud.

On the other hand, in a play based setting, we don't see this as something to scuttle. After all, we don't see "socializing" as a problem. Indeed, it is one of the key aspects of why our work is so powerful. Two children together can sustain behavior or a project that neither would maintain alone. And that behavior or project might well be mischief.

The boys mischievous chant was approaching the edge of acceptable, and that's a fascinating place to explore with your friends. How far do we dare go? Sometimes the knuckleheads go over the line. For instance, when the game becomes shoving other people to the ground and running away giggling, it's clearly time for the adult to step in to show them where the line is, to let them know that in the name of safety, we "can't let you do that." It's a line that we walk with children every day. How far is too far? Scolds often insist that "children crave boundaries." That's true. But they also crave experimenting with the limits. Every child in a two parent household knows which parent to go to when they want to stretch, say, the limits of bedtime or cookies. They also know that if they can get their sibling on board, the boundaries are more likely to expand.

Going too far isn't the goal, but rather a way to answer the question, "What happens when we do?"

The boys were still giddy with their shared naughtiness when we came indoors and gathered on our rug for circle time. One of the original boys immediately raised his hand, "I have a song we can sing!" He looked around at his cohort, who were assembled around him, grinning like Cheshire Cats. 

I knew what was coming. As a cooperative, the room was full of parents, some of whom I knew would be appalled by the song. But I knew that very often the only way to get beyond the knucklehead phenomenon is through it, so I said, "Let's hear it!"

He began robustly. A few of the other boys joined him at first, but dropped out after the first couple lines, leaving this boy alone to finish "BOOM! Big fat baby everywhere!"

The children were all looking at me. What would I, the adult, do or say?

I said, "You made that up yourself."

"We did."

Then I said to the group, "Should we sing it?"

There was a general consensus that we should give it a go. I had the boy repeat it one more time, then we went together, creating hand gestures to illustrate it. We chant-sang it again and again until our enthusiasm was sated.

When we were quiet, a girl said, "I don't like that song. I don't like exploding a baby."

Other children shared their own thoughts. "It's mean to call somebody fat." "Babies can't even walk." "It would kill the baby!" Some of the boys who had been part of it on the playground shared their own reservations. In the end, even the two boys who started it all agreed that it wasn't "a nice song." Although, one of them insisted, "I still think it's funny." 

But by now this particular boundary had been established, as determined by the children themselves, acting together in a way that no one of them could have sustained on their own, not arbitrarily as adult imposed boundaries often are, but for real, considered reasons that everyone now understood.

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Even the most thriving play-based environments can grow stale at times. I've created this collection of my favorite free (or nearly free) resources for educators, parents, and others who work with young children. It's my gift to you! Click here to download your own copy and never run out of ideas again!

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!

This is Personal: Your Help Needed!

Most of what I've written here over the past 17 years is grounded in my experience as both a parent and teacher at the Woodland Park Cooperative Preschool which is affiliated with North Seattle College through its parent education program. That program is now in jeopardy and I'm writing today to ask you to help if you can.

I would have never become an early childhood educator if it wasn't for the parent educators at North Seattle. Val Donato, who oversaw the program for many years, was the educator assigned to the Latona Cooperative Preschool during our daughter's years there. I give her much of the credit for the kind of parent I became. Beyond that, Val and classroom teacher Chris David were the one's who urged me to become an early childhood educator. It was a career I'd never considered. They saw it in me. They didn't just plant the seed, but watered it, and tended it.

Over my decades in the North Seattle system I had the great fortune of working with dozens of parent educators. As a cooperative preschool, parents work in the classroom as assistant teachers, and the parent educators are right there in the room with them, supporting them, teaching them, serving as wise women in a world of young parents. They offered their brains to pick and shoulders to cry on, while role modeling best practices. As families moved on to other kindergartens, the thing they reported missing most was the parent education -- not me, not the play based curriculum, not our state-of-the-art playground -- it was the parent education that was missing from their lives.

A new interpretation of the state funding model claims that parent education experience and college credit do not translate into "workforce value" and so will not receive state funding starting July 1. As the parent ed team writes, "We know this is not true. Parent Education programs build leadership, strengthen families, and create real workforce skills that benefit our entire community." I'm living proof. That three years as a parent ed student was life-changing.

This program has served families for 88 years, underpinning one of the largest and most successful cooperative preschool systems in the world. Thirteen colleges across the state will lose their programs if this cut happens, leaving thousands of families without the kind of support they count on to not just raise their children, but to do so within the context of the kind of village that every child deserves.

Parents would sometimes grumble about our monthly parent education meetings. It was a pain to come to the school on a weekday evening after a long day's work, to sit in tiny chairs. But the grumbling always stopped once the meeting began. We would then talk about our children, both individually and as a community. The parent educators would provide resources and offer counsel, but most powerfully they lead discussions in which parents shared their concerns and challenges, then supported one another as only a true village can.

It's shockingly short-sighted to judge this program based on "workforce value" even though it clearly provides that for working parents who must constantly juggle parenting with their jobs. Psychologist and author Alison Gopnik points out that the "central project" of every civilization is to care for the children. The economy is here to serve that project, not the other way around. Cutting programs that serve families will just make their lives more difficult. If we were really focused on workforce value, we would be expanding these types of programs, not cutting them.

I'm especially reaching out to readers in Washington state, but even if you're from elsewhere, your help is needed. Please click this link. There you will find 6 specific ways that you can take action. This is personal to me. Please help us save parent education for the next generation of families.

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Even the most thriving play-based environments can grow stale at times. I've created this collection of my favorite free (or nearly free) resources for educators, parents, and others who work with young children. It's my gift to you! Click here to download your own copy and never run out of ideas again!

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!