Reflections On This Last Day Of 2021

When our daughter was little and frightening news of the world got to her, I would try to put things in perspective: "Most people, most of the time are having a fine day." That this has been true throughout all of history, even when great tragedy is unfolding in one part of it. (And indeed when is it not?)

Maybe it's not a great day, although someone is also always having one of those as well, but a fine one, because most things involving humans are like that -- a little high a little low, a little hot a little cold, a little smooth a little rough. Both the optimists and the pessimists are right: it could always get better and it could always get worse. 

I suspect that most of us are pro-optimism, even if we're pessimistic by nature. It's hard not to be when you're working with young children, who themselves are generally having fine days. Their youth shines for us like a metaphorical light into the certainty of a better future. And even if we can't help but regret in advance the equal assurance that they will suffer, it just seems that optimism is the proper stance when it comes to the young so we pull ourselves together and say, "It will heal," "The light will return," "The worst is behind us."

Around the time of the Winter Solstice, I tried this out on the grown-ups, saying things like, "This is as dark as it gets, now we can look forward to more light," or "It all gets better from here!" Most thanked me, accepting my invitation to look forward with hope, but many drew back in mock defensiveness, bubbling back, "I love the dark! I love the long night!" denying my assertion that there could be anything wrong. I understand that they were looking into the dark with the certainty of their optimism, wearing it like a shield against doubt.

Hope and fear are the two sides of this coin and both are legal currency in the marketplace of the future. There are those that claim that we create reality through our attitude, that if we anticipate success we make it more certain, while the same goes for failure. And I expect there is some truth to that, although probably a lot less than the pop philosophies would lead us to believe. In her book Bright Sided: How Positive Thinking Is Undermining America, inspired by her struggle with breast cancer, Barbara Ehrenreich, calls this faith in the determinism of attitude "the new Calvinism," seeing a world in which we are all ultimately and personally responsible for the evils that befall us, be it cancer or unemployment, casting every set-back as a personal failure, having nothing to do with the pernicious randomness of disease or outgoing tide of economic recession.

Optimism is a magnificent thing. I hardly think I'd want to go on living without it. Living hopefully does not call for optimism of the blind variety, but rather the eyes-wide-open knowledge that this sure as hell can work given what I know to be true about the world and myself. Optimism backed up by thoughtfulness, experience, and confidence is always justified, but when worn merely as a prophylactic against fear, it sets us at the roulette wheel feverishly spinning away, doomed to go bust no matter what our attitude.

Pessimism gets a bad rap and I understand that. Relentlessly pessimistic people are hard to be around unless they're able to temper it with a cynic's humor, and even that wears thin after awhile. But that doesn't mean that the fear at the heart of the pessimist isn't justified. It could always go wrong. The future is full of pitfalls: we count on our wary pessimists to point them out. Whose investment advice would you be more likely to take: the optimist or the pessimist? The pessimist's, of course, after all if they're willing to place a bet on the future, you can be darned sure they've done their homework and are not relying on the vagaries of "good thoughts."

Young children don't think in terms of optimism and pessimism, especially the very young for whom the future really doesn't exist, let alone with enough concreteness to evoke hope or fear. And sure, as they get older they quite reasonably adopt the cloak most appropriate for the occasion; dressing for instance in eager anticipation of the holidays or in fearful anticipation of the doctor's needles. Rational responses both, ones that belie the reality that the presents are rarely as incredible as one hopes nor the pain as bad as one fears: our attitude, be it hope or fear, not altering reality, but rather helping to temper our experience with reality in a way to prevent the highs from being too high and the lows from being too low.

I'm thinking of all this today on the last day of 2021 because as I reflect back on the ill-reputed year now past with all it's obvious downs and surprising ups, I can't help but think of the "curse" that is usually attributed to the ancient Chinese: "May you live in interesting times."

And indeed, I have been cursed; we have been cursed. The brilliance of this curse, of course, is that it can just as easily be a blessing, because really, who would want to live in boring times? And indeed, I have been blessed; we have been blessed.

I'm going to try this year, as a resolution, to approach the future more like a child, setting aside the dogmatism of optimism and pessimism. I will let my feelings flourish, learn what I can from them, then wearing them on my sleeve. I'll seize the day while worrying about tomorrow when it comes.

When I succeed, I will credit those who hugged me when it was dark. When I fail, I will shrug and not heap all the blame on myself, knowing that I have no control over weather or plagues.

There is a companion curse that goes along with the famous one. It's one we habitually evoke for one another this time of year as a blessing, so take it as you will: "May your wishes be granted."

And in the meantime, however, I wish you a fine year.

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

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"There's Everything Right About It"

I can't remember the last time I fell down. The last fall I definitely recall was more than 30 years ago when I slipped on a patch of black ice while visiting Schloss Neuschwanstein, a castle in Bavaria. But there was, of course, a time when I fell a lot, several times a day, perhaps even several times per hour. I know this is true because I've spent the last couple decades around children learning who are to walk and falling is an indispensable part of that process.

When I slipped on the ice, I bounced right back up, ashamed for anyone to see me sitting on the ground, not wanting to admit that it hurt, but very young children learning to walk are never embarrassed by their falls. If they are hurt they cry. If they need helping getting up, they ask for it. But most of the time, they bounce right back up as if it never happened.

"If we grow up fearing mistakes," writes Mister Rogers, "we may become afraid to try new things. Making mistakes is a natural part of being human and a natural part of the way we learn. It's an important lesson at any time of life, but certainly the earlier the better. We all make mistakes as we grow, and not only is there nothing wrong with that, there's everything right about it." 

I know older preschoolers who have already learned to be ashamed of their mistakes. They are embarrassed when they fall, bouncing back to their feet the way I did in Bavaria, saying, "I'm okay" too quickly and through gritted teeth. The very word "mistake" is so full of negative connotations that even speaking the word aloud can feel wrong. We couch it in cuteness, calling a bloody knee a "Boo boo" or spilled milk an "Uh oh," in our attempt to minimize it. We are loath to admit our own mistakes, often irrationally defending them or seeking to lay the blame at the feet of others. 

When we leave children alone to learn in their own way, however, we see that they know there is nothing wrong with their mistakes. Indeed, much of what we call "play" can be viewed as the making of mistakes. The process of building a block tower "all the way to the ceiling" is one of many failures. We fail at somersaults until we succeed. We turn the puzzle piece around and around until we finally fit it into place. We often make our friends cry before we figure out what makes them want to play with us. 

We are a mistake-averse society so it's no surprise that our schools tend to be mistake-averse places, which is a real shame because, as Mister Rogers says, making mistakes is a natural part of how we learn. When mistakes are viewed as wrong, we make learning itself shameful. When success is all we celebrate, we are focused more on winning than learning. We grow afraid of making mistakes and therefore afraid to try new things.

Several years ago, I watched an interview with a young woman who was the CEO and founder of a successful small business. When asked for the secret of her success, she answered, "Failure." She then went on to tell the interviewer that every night as her family sat down to dinner her father would ask her and her siblings, "So, what mistakes did you make today?" And then they would celebrate their mistakes because they were evidence of having tried something new. 

Trying something new, not success, should be our highest educational goal.

As theoretical physicists Richard Feynman, a man with an unquenchable curiosity summed up his life "You only live one life, and you make all your mistakes, and learn what not to do, and that's the end of you."

What a change it would be if our children could grow up in environments in which mistakes were seen for what they are. What if we all understood that we're here on this earth for this and only this: to learn from our mistakes? What if we all knew there was "everything right about" that?

******

 

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

"Ready for a book that makes you want to underline and highlight? One that makes you draw arrows and write 'THIS!!!!!' in the margin? Then you are in for a treat." ~Lisa Murphy, M.Ed., author and Early Childhood Specialist, Ooey Gooey, Inc.

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!

"Thinking Itself is Dangerous"

Several years ago, our school community took part in a book drive fundraiser. The idea had been to collect children's books, but many people took the opportunity to empty their shelves which meant we wound up with dozens of "adult" books in our collection box. 

One morning, a child brought me a paperback edition of William Faulkner's novel The Sound and the Fury, asking me to read it to him. I told him it was a book for grown-ups, adding, "But some day you'll read it in school. It's a great book." This made him even more adamant. 

We were on our way outdoors, so I agreed to read him a few pages on the playground. For those who don't know this book, the first quarter is notoriously difficult to understand, so I figured he would quickly grow bored the way most college students do, but I was wrong. In fact, we attracted other children, who crowded around to listen. It was slow going because of all the questions, many of which I had to answer with "I don't know," although it was a process that helped me better understand the book. The kids approached it like a kind of puzzle, figuring it out together, discussing, debating, and thinking. It was a process that continued for the better part of an hour. We then continued it every day for a week. 

I think it's pretty safe to say that we are the only preschool that has ever spent a week studying Faulkner. Most would say his work is too dense, too dark, too adult, but for these kids, for this week, it was where their curiosity took them. It was only later that I learned that this book had been banned by many high schools in the US.

Since the advent of books, there have always been those who would ban them. Indeed, the novels that have been banned in my lifetime reads like a greatest hits list of the last 100 years: Huckleberry Finn, Brave New World, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, Beloved, Ulysses, Animal Farm, The Great Gatsby. 

In the last couple of years, the focus of book banning as been on those that address issues of racial justice or that feature Black, Indigenous, people of color or LGBTQIA+ characters: George (Gino), Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You (Kendi), All American Boys (Reynolds & Kiely), Speak (Anderson), The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (Alexie), Something Happened in our Town (Celano, et. al.), The Hate You Give (Thomas).

The rationale for banning varies, but it always boils down to the idea that some information, some perspectives, or some ideas are simply too dangerous for young minds. But as political philosopher Hannah Arendt wrote, "There are no dangerous thoughts: thinking itself is dangerous."

To me, this is the real dividing line in education. On one side are those committed to curating and delivering a standardized orthodoxy made up of approved "truth." They might give lip-service to curiosity and play, but only insofar as it can be made to serve to keep the children on track. The curious child may be indulged to a point, but the moment they begin asking questions that the curriculum is not designed to answer, they are lured back into line with the carrots and sticks we call grades or the threat of punishment we call failure. These educators might recoil at being associated with book banners, but by trying to confine learning to pre-approved boundaries, no matter how well-meant, the result is nothing less than the murder of curiosity. Banned books at least have the lure of being forbidden fruit, which is why so many of them become best sellers.

On the other side are those of us who are committed to thinking as the highest goal. And thinking is always dangerous to orthodoxy. It is the process of learning, unlearning, and relearning. It is the quest after truth wherever it takes us. It is not, as with orthodoxy, the simple memorization of approved truth, but rather the practice of asking questions even when the answers make us uncomfortable or continue to elude us. Indeed, the function of education should never be the mere recitation of answers, but rather the posing of new questions. And, fueled by curiosity, it is the pursuit of knowledge that matters far more than orthodoxy.

As we read The Sound and the Fury together on our playground, we pursued our questions wherever they took us. We played together amongst Faulkner's dense, dark themes, making sense of them in places, but mostly just posing questions. Were the children in danger? I think so. They were thinking and thinking itself is dangerous.

******

 

"Teacher Tom, our caped hero of all things righteous in the early childhood world, inspires us to be heroic in our own work with young children, and reminds us that it is the children who are the heroes of the story as they embark on adventures of discovery, wonder, democracy, and play." ~Rusty Keeler

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

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!

Bald-Faced Lies; Bald-Faced Truth

We teach our children that lying is morally wrong. At the same time, we also don't want them blurting out the less-than-generous things they've heard us saying about about Aunt Gladys behind her back, even if those things are objectively true. The bald-faced truth can be every bit as awful as a bald-faced lie.

As adults, most of us have learned how to commit lies of omission. To this day, one of my mom's mantra's is, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." We justify this kind of lie by telling ourselves that we've not actually lied because we've not "told" anything, we've merely "edited" ourselves for the sake of social-emotional harmony. 

But we've also gotten good at what are referred to as "little white" or pro-social lies, those untruths we tell with the idea of not embarrassing or hurting another person, or even with the intent of bucking them up. It would never occur to most of us, for instance, to tell the bald-faced truth, "Yes, those pants make your butt look big." Or more honestly, "All your pants make your butt look big . . . because it is big" which is a direct quote from an actual 3-year-old.

Your own kids probably had to tell at least a few pro-social lies during the holiday season. According to a study performed by a team of Chinese and Canadian researchers, forty percent of 7-year-olds will tell a gift-giver that they like their gift even if they later admit to researchers that they don't like it. The percentage who avoid the bald-faced truth goes up as the children tested get older. Nearly ninety percent of 3-7 year olds will tell someone with lipstick on their nose that they "look okay" for a photograph, even though they will later tell researchers that the people did not look okay. 

This telling of pro-social lies isn't something that most of us attempt to teach children, possibly because we ourselves are still navigating it. But our kids seem to pick it up nevertheless, teaching themselves the nuanced differences between immoral or harmful lies and this other kind that we don't often speak about. In other words, most of us learn, without being taught, that the goal is to be basically honest without being a jerk.

I've had several autistic adults tell me that this was one of the most difficult lessons they had to learn as a child. Indeed, one friend first recognized of her own autism while trying to coach her autistic son through these lessons and remembering her own childhood confusion. "People told me not to lie, when they lied all the time. It was so confusing."

Animals don't lie, at least we don't think they do. Yes, they deceive -- that's what things like camouflage are all about -- but lying appears to be a product of language. We know one thing to be true, yet speak words that indicate something else. There are those who assert that lying is always wrong, that even those "little" pro-social lies are the moral equivalent making others into mere tools toward achieving our own dishonest ends. It's an extreme position to take, however, one that is certain to result in social ostracism. The relentlessly honest person is just as miserable to be around as the habitual liar. 

And as social animals, we are driven to be included, and to do so, we must learn to walk the line between honesty and being a jerk. This is why, at the end of the day, most of us, most of the time, hold kindness as a higher moral value than truth. Of course, there are times when only the truth will do, when it is the only moral way forward, and we should err on the side of truth when in doubt, but kindness also lives equally in those little lies we do and must tell. 

******

 

"Teacher Tom, our caped hero of all things righteous in the early childhood world, inspires us to be heroic in our own work with young children, and reminds us that it is the children who are the heroes of the story as they embark on adventures of discovery, wonder, democracy, and play." ~Rusty Keeler

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

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!

Truly Last Minute Gift Ideas

We've been bombarded with "last minute" gift idea promotions since at least mid-November, but now, finally, the last minute is truly upon us. As a public service I offer Teacher Tom's last minute gift ideas for children, most of which won't even require a trip to a mall or an Amazon delivery.

Mesh produce bags.

Things that rot.

A place to leave things to rot . . .

. . . and worms to live there.

Sticks.

An old typewriter.

Concrete.

Dominoes.

Tape.

Sand.

Blocks.

Hammers.

Drills.

Boxes and balls.

Nuts, bolts, wrenches and screwdrivers . . .

. . . rubber bands . . .

. . . and put them all together.

Glue guns.

Cars.

Dolls . . .

. . . who need bandages.

Shipping pallets.

Rocks.

Water, gutters, tubes and shovels.

Paint.

Yarn.

Step ladders . . .

. . . and homemade ladders.

Tree parts.

Ropes.

Buckets.

Plants.

Junk . . .

 . . . and jewels.

Happy holidays!

******

 

"Teacher Tom, our caped hero of all things righteous in the early childhood world, inspires us to be heroic in our own work with young children, and reminds us that it is the children who are the heroes of the story as they embark on adventures of discovery, wonder, democracy, and play." ~Rusty Keeler

If you liked reading this post, you might also enjoy one of my books. To find out more, Click here! 

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!