Playing Our Way to Culture

"Octograbbers" was a Woodland Park fad for a time. To become an Octograbber, you had to have two of our playground shovels, one in each hand, which, of course, limited your ability to use your hands. If you wanted to pick something up, and that was a big part of the fad, you had to use your shovels like a pair of tongs in order to "grab" things. I have no idea where the "octo-" part came from, except to guess that it had something to do with octopuses. 

It started with a couple boys, spread to a wider group, and grew to include an ever-evolving collection of children to the point that there was daily bickering over shovels. It then ebbed and flowed, only dying out completely when the school year ended and the children scattered to their separate lives. 

Play theorists tell us that human culture is, at least in part, a product of play -- music, dance, art, fashion, and fads, but also social norms, customs, beliefs, values, and symbolic systems like language and communication. These are not instincts we are born with, but rather behaviors that we learn, which is why culture traditionally varies so much from place to place. We're likely the only preschool on earth to have played our way to a the specific cultural phenomenon of Octograbbers, but I reckon that every preschool has experienced its own unique cultural trends, for a week, a month, or a year . . . Or longer, as returning children revive certain games or themes year after year.

Culture emerges wherever humans come together, but it's not just humans.

I've written before about the resident orca pods in the Pacific Northwest that have been observed swimming with dead salmon on their heads. They were first noticed in the 1980's. The behavior seemed to then disappear for time before reemerging again recently, like a retro fad. The leading theory is that it's a form of social fad, one that is not shared by other orca pods around the world.

Bottlenose dolphins in Shark Bay, Australia carry sea sponges on their snouts as protective tools for foraging on the seafloor in order to prevent injuries from the sharp rocks and corals. This behavior is mostly found in females and is passed on by dolphin mothers to their daughters, in what researchers point to as evidence of a cultural tradition being passed along through the generations. Again, other populations of bottlenose dolphins don't engage in this specific behavior, although they likely have their own, unique cultural practices.

Cultural behaviors begin in play. Humans and marine mammals aren't the only ones. Ravens, chimpanzees, and other species have played been observed playing their way to unique manifestations of culture. We spend a lot of energy in the play based world trying to "defend" play by pointing out the "academic" learning that happens, but most of what is learned through play is cultural.

I'm currently re-reading George Eliot's Middlemarch. In some ways it's a typical Victorian novel, set in an inward-looking rural county. There are occasional references to the king and parliament and London and the wider world in general, but mostly what occupies the people is what's happening amongst themselves, their unique Middlemarch culture. This is how humans have lived for most of our existence. This is what we're evolved to attend to: our immediate world of fellow humans. The modern world, however, is increasing destroying these unique, local cultures, homogenizing it, and putting it online. Of course, there are unique, online communities, but they lack the physical proximity that characterizes the cultures of play based preschools and orca pods. This is not to dismiss the experiences of those who thought they were all alone, only to find their community online, but at the end of the day, if that doesn't ultimately lead to physical proximity, the opportunity to actually "play" together in a daily, consistent, give-and-take way, the culture that emerges, I fear, will be impoverished.

Maybe this is just an old man's perspective, but I grew during the emergence of TV and mass media in general. I still remember local newspapers and radio programs that were all about my own unique pod or county or preschool, where everyone knew one another, or at least knew someone who knew someone, but today culture is increasingly global. I think half our stress comes from the fact that we haven't evolved to attend to the whole world: we've evolved to attend to what we can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch, and that includes actual, embodied human beings with who we can create meaningful culture on a local level.

The mother of one of the core Octograbbers told me that her son was at first upset to find that his new kindergarten didn't have full sized shovels, just little spades. She told me that she knew he was going to be okay, however, when he came home a few days later talking about playing "Baby Snow Leopards." At the end of the day, creating culture together is a central aspect of how humans have evolved to connect. It gives us the sense that we belong. And it begins with play.

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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!

I Always Believe the Children

Yesterday, I responded to a jury summons, showing up at the courthouse along with 160 other potential jurors to sit and wait. I've done this before, so I knew to bring reading material.

Most people I know do whatever they can to get out of jury service. I won't say they lie, because that would be a crime, but I know they often stretch the truth in order to avoid spending a day -- or potentially many days -- performing this civic responsibility. Thomas Jefferson felt that showing up for jury duty was more important than voting. I know this because that's what the judge who welcomed us told us just before sending us to another set of chairs where we again waited.

The last time I was called I was excused because the assault and battery case was going to take place during a week I was scheduled to keynote a conference. This time I was genuinely hoping that it would work out for me. Everyone I know, including my wife, who has actually sat for a trial has told me they found it a rewarding experience, which was exactly what the presiding judge told this mass of potential jurors. (There was a lot of salesmanship in the process yesterday; a lot of praising us for showing up, and a lot of inspirational talk about how vital jury trials are to our democracy.)

I immediately knew, however, that I was going to request to be excused when we were told that this criminal trial was expected to take the entire month of March, requiring the jury's all day presence Monday-Thursdays. I just can't afford that kind of commitment. After a long, detailed description of how the county's court process works, including introducing us to the prosecuting and defense attorneys, we were told that the defendant was charged with six counts of molestation of a child under six years old.

My gut clenched.

Every eye the courtroom went to the young man in the defendant's chair. This was going to be a long, brutal month for everyone involved. 

You can't follow the news at all these days without being confronted by gut-wrenching stories about the abuse of girls and young women. It's horrifying, yet I hope it's ultimately a good thing that light is finally being shone on this hidden, rotten part of our culture. It's estimated that fewer than 10 percent of sexual abuse cases are ever even reported. I'm guessing that this percentage is much lower for abuse involving children, if only because, as a society, we tend to dismiss, ignore, excuse, and generally sideline children, especially those under six. Especially because pedophilloic abusers are so often trusted, even beloved, friends or family members. Especially because we still don't value or trust girls and women as we should.

The judge had previously cautioned us about the foundational legal principle of "innocent until proven guilty," but as I considered this defendant, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him, I felt a surge of anger and revulsion toward him. I recognized it as a cumulative feeling, one that has been building slowly for decades, then far more rapidly in recent months as many of the world's most powerful men are now credibly suspected of committing this, the most unforgivable of crimes.

I am a man who has spent much of his adult life in the company of young children. People in our profession often wonder why more young men don't choose it. We wonder if it's the low pay or low prestige, but as a man in the profession, I can tell you that this is something you have to think about every day. In my decades as an educator, I never allowed myself to be alone with a child. I know that we're all supposed to do that whatever our gender, but as a man, it's crucial. For some, the very fact that I chose this profession places me under suspicion. 

It's not pleasant, but at the same time, I understand it. The vast majority of abusers are male. I've always known that if I was going to work with young children I could never give anyone any reason for doubt. It's part of the reason I value the cooperative model: I spent my days with children and their parents, 5-12 of whom were in the room with me at any given time as a community. I never took children to the toilet or changed diapers. I kept myself on display at all times, which, of course, creates its own kind of stress. When educators complain about cameras being installed in their places of work, I understand their objections, but also, you know, welcome to my world. We fantasize about returning to the village. A key feature of a small, tightly knit community is that everyone is in your business all the time, which may feel intrusive, but it makes it much harder to get away with evil acts. That's something to consider.

Before accepting my teaching position at Woodland Park Cooperative Preschool, I sat down with my mentor, Tom Drummond, an instructor at North Seattle College. I asked him point blank, "What do I do if someone accuses me of molesting a child." His answer: "You'll have to move to Bimini." There is no coming back from an accusation, even a spurious one. So, I've lived with that on my shoulder for my entire career.

Please don't think I'm complaining. My own difficulties are nothing compared to the crimes committed by abusers. The extra scrutiny is necessary to keeping young children safe. I'm sharing this because this is what was going through my mind as I considered the criminal case before me.

I was excused from jury duty. I don't know if I would have been capable of being an impartial juror, although I suspect that my background would have made me attractive to the defense: a man who works with young children. Maybe I'd have even been acceptable to the prosecution. I mean, a preschool teacher is likely to be incredibly empathetic and compassionate toward the victim(s). Of course, my background may well have disqualified me for both sides.

There's a part of me that feels like I have betrayed the young victim(s) by not trying to be seated on that jury, despite the hardship it would have caused me. My instinct is to believe children and I had the opportunity to be their champion. But, of course, that's not the job of a juror. The job is to be impartial, to determine the facts, and to otherwise presume innocence. 

Being honest with myself this morning, I cannot presume that man's innocence, even as I know that there is a chance that he isn't guilty. I could never in good conscience be his juror because in my heart, I always believe the children.

Trust children. Nothing could be more simple, or more difficult. Difficult because to trust children we must first learn to trust ourselves, and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted.   ~John Holt

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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!

The Boy Told Me, "There's Going to Be a Lot of Fighting This Year"

On the first day of school he told me, "There's going to be a lot of fighting this year." It was an interesting comment, funny even, coming from this particular boy. I'd known him since he was a two-year-old and he had never shown any inclination toward violence, real or imaginary. On the contrary, tough guy bluster, even of the comical variety, had in the past often seemed to intimidate and confuse him. He was regularly reduced to tears by dramatic play that struck him as threatening, often retreating under our classroom loft for "safety."

Jousting with swings standing in for steeds

His mother explained that he had over the summer become fascinated with knights, including their armor, shields, and other weaponry, items he had taught himself to create using paper, scissors, tape, and staples. And that is how his "fighting" first showed up in the classroom, with him not only arming himself, but also others. He had mastered the fierce pose and when he found another kid inclined toward "fighting," he might threaten something like, "You better watch out, I'm going to fight you." The fighting itself was quite tame by the standards of Woodland Park play fighting, most often involving "swords," but sometimes featuring "jousting." He was clearly thrilled when someone engaged with him, although the moment actual contact was made, even when of the light and incidental variety, he usually called it off, often crying loudly. But once the tears were over, he was back at it, once more trying to lure others into his game of fighting knights.

This knight has been unseated

I hope this description doesn't make him seem like a problem child in any way, because he was not. No one who knew him was worried that he would grow up to be actually violent. This was clearly an intellectual pursuit, one full of questions to which he was seeking answers. Even months into the school year there was still obvious uncertainty as he approached others with his knight game, as he tested the others to see how they would respond. He was delighted by his successes: his face flushed with excitement when it was going as he expected, combatants committed to both ferocity and a kind of chivalry that included not really hurting one another. He was overwhelmed when others surpassed him in intensity or more extreme physicality. He was often disappointed by those who were neither impressed, nor attracted by this knight who was threaten-asking them to fight with him. He had made his knight studies at home as a self-selected "academic" pursuit and was now attempting to apply what he had learned in real life.

One of his classmates did a similar thing with his own animal studies. Earlier in the year, he could be found prowling the playground as a dinosaur, usually as a T-rex, his favorite, roaring and stalking about with his arms draw up to mimic the short forearms associated with the species. Then his interests turned to invertebrates, like his pet snails, but also slugs, worms, and insects. One day, he put shoes on his hands so that he could practice moving like an insect, developing a fuller understanding of how they crawl by studying it with his whole body, in the same way that my knight-loving friend sought to embody a knight in order to more fully understand.

Neither of these boys would be described as particularly physical, at least not in comparison to many of their classmates who spend their days racing around the place. In fact, when they moved on to public kindergartens the following year, they both adapted to desk work better than most. They will never show up as a "problem child" because they possess the sort of self-control and temperaments that will allow them to adapt more easily than will those "active" kids whose teachers will chase them around the classroom, scolding, punishing, and otherwise correcting them for moving their bodies at the wrong time and in the wrong way, perhaps even going so far as to recommend drugs.

It's a pity because it's clear that all children, even not obviously active ones, learn most naturally when allowed to engage their full selves, including their bodies, not in adult-proscribed ways and at adult-proscribed times, but as their own questioning and exploration dictates. Standard schools are notoriously bad at allowing this because so much of what happens in them is about crowd control rather than learning. We can't have knights and insects anywhere but in the form of words, read or listened to, then regurgitated in their approved form, with bodies in their proper places, doing their proper things. It's a pity because all children learn best when allowed to explore with their full-selves, teaching themselves. And they must use their full bodies to do it.

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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!

If You Really Want to Understand Something

Two preschoolers were in an intellectual debate over the size of elephants.

"They're huge!" one insisted. "As big as those trees."

"No they aren't," the other responded, "Dinosaurs are the biggest animals."

"Some dinosaurs are tiny!" He held his fingers together to indicate the size of an ant.

"T-Rexes are giant." He threw his arms into the air to indicate infinite size.

"Elephants are giant." He threw his arms into the air, while lifting up on his toes to indicate a size beyond infinity.

As the adult, I had information that would have helped settled the argument, if only by virtue of the natural authority an adult has in the presence of children. I knew that if they were going to sort things out, they would have to discuss concepts like relative sizes and living v. extinct. They would need to agree upon what was meant by "huge" and "giant." And then, finally, they would need some sort of agreed upon authority or reference to confirm their assertions. As a "teacher" in a standard school, I imagine I might have felt an obligation to make this moment "educational" by walking them through a process with the goal of finding the "right answer."

But being a teacher in a play based preschool, right answers aren't necessarily the goal: thinking is. I'd moved nearby because I knew both of these boys quite well. I knew they were both passionate about the natural world. Their parents had read many of the same books to them and they watched some of the same shows. This abiding interest was what attracted them to one another as playmates. I also knew that both boys sometimes let their passion could get the best of them and it wouldn't be the first time their disagreements resulted in a physical altercation. I was close so that I was in position to step in should violence emerge, but as far as the content of their debate, I remained neutral even if what I heard wasn't entirely accurate.

"(I)f you really want to understand something," wrote Douglas Adams, "the best way is to try to explain it to someone else. That forces you to sort it out in your mind."

"Dinosaurs have cold blood!"

"Elephants are mammals!"

The Ancient Greeks understood this phenomenon very well. Most of what we know about Socrates was through his "dialogs." Indeed, the Socratic Method isn't one of direct instruction, but rather of asking probing, open-ended questions intended to help students sort it out in their minds. I considered interjecting myself in this way, but at the same time, I wasn't entirely sure where this dialog was headed. When I'd arrived on the scene it had been about relative size, but now it felt like they were feeling their way toward something else. Their apparent non-sequiturs were perhaps not non-sequiturs at all, but rather steps along a path to understanding . . . something.

"Dinosaurs are reptiles!"

"Yeah, dinosaurs are reptiles."

The heat suddenly went out of their dialog.

"Some dinosaurs are huge."

"Like T-Rexes."

"And some dinosaurs are small."

"Yeah, and elephants are huge . . . But not the babies. They're small."

"Babies are small. Grown-ups are big." He then turned to me, "Teacher Tom, did you know you're big?"

I nodded, "I'm pretty big."

"Yeah, but not as big as an elephant . . . Not even a baby!

The boys laughed at the absurdity of me, a grown up, being smaller than a baby. The dialog was far from over as the boys continued to share their knowledge with one another, but I have no idea where their collaborative thinking, their cobbling together of understanding, ultimately took them because with the heat dissipated, I was no longer necessary.

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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!

The Hive Mind Switch

Several years ago, while walking in downtown Seattle, I turned a corner to find a group of people looking up. I looked up too. We seemed to be looking at the rows of balconies of the Warwick Hotel. I couldn't figure out why we were looking up, so I looked again at the people with me on the sidewalk. That's when I noticed that they weren't just looking up. They were looking up, then back to the street, where an ambulance with flashing lights blocked the roadway as paramedics were preparing to lift a stretcher with a covered body into its open doors. 

We were all alternating between looking up, then at the body, but we also just as frequently looked at one another. If we didn't make eye-contact, we followed the gaze of our fellow onlooker. If we did make eye contact, we widened our eyes at one another. We pointed. We shared observations, thoughts, feelings. Together, we were assembling the story of someone who and fallen or jumped and, at the same time, we were creating a kind of impromptu community of compassion around a stranger's calamity. In that moment, none of our differences mattered as much as this exclusive club of which we had all just become members. 

Normally, we can only guess what the strangers around us are thinking or feeling, but in that moment we were thinking and feeling as one. There were no barriers between us. I suppose you could argue that this was just me, but I was there. I know that this random collection of strangers -- business executives, street people, and preschool teachers -- were there together, thinking and feeling as one.

I've had similar experiences in my life. I've been on sports teams that were capable of acting as one. I've been at concerts or political rallies in which the crowd was thinking and feeling as one.

Most often, this phenomenon comes to our attention when a "mob" goes on a rampage. We tsk and tut over human nature in these cases. We accuse "them" of being sheep, of turning off their brains, of giving in to their worst instincts, and we aren't entirely wrong. 

But just because the uplifting version of this phenomenon doesn't typically make the news, that doesn't mean it isn't real and isn't important. It happens in churches, in workplaces, in stadiums, and on street corners, every day, all the time.

The greatness of our species, the reason we have survived, even thrived, is that we have evolved to think, feel, and act collectively.

As Annie Murphy Paul writes in her book The Extended Mind, "By one year of age, a baby will reliably look in the direction of an adult’s gaze, even absent the turning of the adult’s head. Such gaze-following is made easier by the fact that people have visible whites of the eye. Humans are the only primates so outfitted, an exceptional status that has led scientists to propose the “cooperative eye hypothesis” — the theory that our eyes evolved to support cooperative social interactions . . . “Our eyes see, but they are also meant to be seen,” notes science writer Ker Than . . . We feel compelled to continuously monitor what our peers are paying attention to, and to direct our own attention to those same objects. (When the face of everyone on the street is turned skyward, we look up too.) In this way, our mental models of the world remain in sync with those of the people around us."

Paul goes on to point out,  "Membership in a group can be a potent source of motivation — if we feel a genuine sense of belonging to a group, and if our personal identity feels firmly tied to the group and its success. When these conditions are met, group membership acts as a form of intrinsic motivation: that is, our behavior becomes driven by factors internal to the task, such as the satisfaction we get from contributing to a collective effort, rather than by external rewards such as money or public recognition. And as psychologists have amply documented, intrinsic motivation is more powerful, more enduring, and more easily maintained than the extrinsic sort; it leads us to experience the work as more enjoyable, and to perform it more capably."

The place where I'm most aware of this phenomenon is during preschool "circle time." The rest of our days are about children freely choosing what they will do and with whom, but once a day, we gather together around whatever the children want to talk about. Some days, of course, it's just every child for themself, but on others the children come together on a topic or idea or challenge. 

I had one group, for instance, that got into giving one another "compliments." We had, collectively, defined compliments as anything you can say to another person to "make them feel good." At least once a week, someone would say, "Let's do compliments!" and then the group would spend twenty minutes or so taking turns giving and receiving good feelings. In practice, what this meant was children saying "I love you" to one another, then hugging. At some point we began keeping track of how many "compliments" we had given. We did this by using a set of plastic chain-links, adding a link for each compliment. This was called "the compliment chain," which we hung from the ceiling, adding to it over the course of weeks and months.

One day, the kids decided to no longer take turns, but rather leapt to their feet as one in a frenzy of hugging amidst a flurry of "I love you." Every child participated, not just for this day, but every day for weeks on end. 

"A host of laboratory experiments," writes Paul, "as well as countless instances of real-world rituals, show that it's possible to activate the group mind -- to flip the hive switch, as it were -- by "hacking" behavioral synchrony and physiological arousal. The key lies in creating a certain kind of group experience: real-time encounters in which people act and feel together in close physical proximity. Yet our schools and companies are increasingly doing just the opposite. Aided by technology, we are creating individual, asynchronous, atomized experiences for students and employees -- from personalized "playlists" of academic lessons to go-at-your-own-pace online training models. Then we wonder why our groups don't cohere, why group work is frustrating and disappointing, and why thinking with groups doesn't extend our intelligence."

It begins with "shared attention," which is what happens when we focus on the same objects or information at the same time as others, in the way that my "club" of onlookers did outside the Warwick Hotel. And that's what happens at our circle time as well. I don't come in with a plan, but rather open the floor with "What should we talk about?" A child might tell us, for instance, that their grandma is visiting, and we're off as we bond over grandparents or relatives in general or sleepovers or wherever it leads. A child might say that someone hit them earlier in the day, that they didn't like it, and we bond over that. A child might want to teach us a song or ask a question or do a silly dance. Sometimes, as I said, it leads nowhere, this is not an exact science, but often, and increasingly as a group gets to know each other, as the habit of flicking the hive mind switch develops, it happens more and more.

Of course, the "shared attention" occurs at other times as well. There was the time we all, and I mean all, watched for 15 minutes as a raccoon cautiously climbed out on a skinny branch in quest of a bird's nest, which, we all guessed, had eggs, or even baby birds in it. We all stopped to reflect together on a photograph of civil rights protesters being dispersed with fire hoses. We all race to the parking lot when the local fire station brings their engine by for us to inspect. The French philosopher, Michel Foucault saw this phenomenon in terms of power, a form he called "normalization," in which, he asserted, our souls are imprisoned by the expectations and standards of the group, but looked at from the perspective of an "extended mind" as Paul does, we can see it clearly as a form of intrinsic motivation: when we think together, we become larger and smarter than ourselves.

This human superpower emerges when we share attention, when we are all securely part of the club, when we all turn our heads to look up together. And yes, it's often abused. Charlatans and other evildoers, dictators and cult leaders, have managed to flip the hive switch toward nefarious ends. But the media only reports on the riots. The historians falsely conclude that our ancestors were savages because only their forts and weapons have survived. Our educational system fears children in groups making their own decisions because we forget that The Lord of the Flies is a work of fiction. But research demonstrates that most of the time our behavioral synchrony primes the pump for cognitive synchrony in which a group, thinking together, does so at a higher level than any one human can ever hope to achieve on their own.

Together we're a genius. Our eyes see, but they are also meant to be seen. 

I often find myself wondering how so many people, so often, can be misled by charismatic leaders. Maybe it's because we've not had the chance to practice, in school or at work, the habit of flipping the hive switch. We've been taught that competition is a virtue and that we must rely on our own minds, and only our own minds ("No looking at your neighbor's paper!"), rather than tapping into the network of minds that is the real power of human thought. We worry that the charlatans will usurp our common sense, but that can only happen to people who have not enjoyed a lifetime of coming alive together.

In many ways, this is all we do in our play-based preschools. When we set the children free we find them turning their heads together, attending together, thinking together. It doesn't always go well, of course, sometimes the hive mind buzzes into a mess, but I'm beginning to think that this might be the only way to inoculate ourselves against would be dictators. 

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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!

Indoctrinating Our Children

I recently heard an elected representative complaining that our schools need to "get back" to teaching "math, English, science, and history," and "stop indoctrinating our children."

Novelist Doris Lessing believed that every school child should be told this:

"You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself -- educating your own judgements. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being molded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society."

I understand when a parent or politician is upset about "indoctrination." The word has come to be an epithet for whatever it is we don't want our children to know or think. But Lessing is right: it's all indoctrination.

Math might be an outlier, but English, science, and history -- especially history -- are all amalgams "of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture." The choices made about what we will teach children are inherently selective, political, and beholden to the status quo. What we are going to teach children about, say, the Civil War, and (more importantly) what we are to leave out, means eliminating an infinite number of perspectives. The result of an institution (or any power for that matter) choosing what to "teach" is always an attempt at "indoctrination" if only because there isn't time in the day to offer every perspective on every subject. Even deciding what is foundational and what isn't is an act of indoctrination.

Humans have always been indoctrinated, even if doing it through mandatory schooling is relatively new. Every child has always been indoctrinated into the ways of their family, their village, and even their wider culture, although for most of our existence this happened via the process of life itself. Much of what was learned by children was through example. There was little need for direct instruction because they grew up in a world in which their culture was something they could see, touch, and take part in. It emerged before their eyes as their elders foraged, hunted, cooked, procreated, and played. Of course, all bets were off if they found themselves in the next culture over . . . where things were done differently . . . For better or worse.

Lessing advocates for self-education as a counter to, or bulwark against, indoctrination. I talk about play based preschool as self-directed learning. In public discussions about indoctrination, you can be sure that someone will, often in frustration, say something like, "Educate yourself. Don't just swallow what the media feeds you." Good advice, although, sadly most of what passes for educating oneself involves scrolling social media feeds until something tells you what you already believe. I'm not saying that the internet can't be a good way to educate yourself, only that social media isn't the proper medium: it's algorithms essentially silo users by selectively feeding them a perspective that more or less jibes with what they already think they know, sprinkled with "outrageous" examples of the opposite. I'm not cynical enough to think that there is some cultural mastermind intentionally trying to indoctrinate me, but it is in the nature of algorithms, created by humans, to coalesce around one status quo or another. If I'm to use the internet for self-education, I must go out of my way to find a variety of trustworthy sources, which is hard to do, but not impossible. 

Perhaps the worst way to educate yourself on the internet is to rely on so-called artificial intelligence. AI is a fantastic tool for getting certain things done, but when it comes to education it cannot help but indoctrinate us, even as it creates the cheery illusion that its responses are comprehensive. It will invariably eliminate results that don't fit the status quo, it will always round the corners, and sand down the parts that stick out . . . Unless, you know enough to ask it to do otherwise. And even then, it remains a relentless servant of current prejudices and choices. People insist that there is a future in which this isn't true, but I don't have a lot of faith in that.

Lessing's suggestion is to read literature: "People who love literature have at least part of their minds immune from indoctrination. If you read, you can learn to think for yourself." She's not entirely wrong. I say that as a devoted reader of literature. Sadly, I'm likewise aware that the gatekeepers of literature -- publishers, critics, professors, and so on -- choose what is available to me. We only know about Doris Lessing because she was one of the lucky few who were deemed worthy to have her work on the shelves of libraries.

As an educator, I don't want to indoctrinate children. I am genuinely motivated to allow them to educate themselves, even as I know that at some level I am taking part in molding them to "fit into the narrow and particular needs of a particular society." We all are.

The important thing, as Lessing cautions, is to always remember that this is what we are doing. I want the children in my life to know that I'm sorry, but this is the best I can do. And I want them to always be aware of the prejudices and choices that have created the culture in which they live. I will never tell them "Because I said so!" Doubt is healthy. Pushing back is the right thing to do. I want them to know that they should not blindly trust the status quo, especially when it doesn't serve them or those they care about. And I hope that when they find themselves at odds with society, they are capable of educating themselves in ways that help them self-actualize. 

This is why I choose play over direct instruction. At least the kids get to choose what they will learn from the culture that surrounds them, and they will know that it's always on them to become educated, not the institution or the "teacher."

To indoctrinate is human. To know we are being indoctrinated is how we set ourselves free.

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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!

It's My Birthday . . . Again

I went back last night to take a look at what I wrote here on my birthday last year (which was based on a post from 14 years ago when I turned 50). I'm happy to report that I still stand by (almost) every word, so I'm sharing it again today with a few edits to account for the passage of time.

Now I'm 64. It's not exactly a milestone birthday, but I nevertheless think that permits me the indulgence to offer a little unsolicited advice.

"Ninety percent of life is just showing up." ~George P. Atkins

That's a long time to have shown up, don't you think? Sixty-four years? I've seen well over half a century. I've lived in historic times. I should by now know most of what I'm ever going to know about life. I've still got my health, despite a few well-earned aches and pains. I love my work. This should be my time, baby!

"Boldness has genius, power and magic in it." ~Goethe

Here's one thing I know: Goethe was right, there is magic in boldness. If 90 percent of life is just showing up, then I'd say another 9 percent is boldness.

"Experience is the name we give our mistakes." ~Oscar Wilde

Of course, boldness must be formed from something; otherwise it's just brashness. I've found one does need at least a little genuine, deep-down confidence to credibly pull off boldness, and that can only come from experience or out-of-this-world innate talent. Since I never discovered my world class innate talent, I'm left to rely on experience. I'd say that 90 percent of boldness comes from that confidence. And 90 percent of that confidence comes from experience. And experience is the name we give our mistakes.

So, you know, the secret to life is to boldly show up and make some mistakes. The days may be long and the decades short, but there's always time to show up.

******

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!