If We Want Children to Think, We Must Let Them Move

As you step onto a preschool playground or a play-based classroom, the first thing visitors are struck by is the never-ending swirl of bodies in motion. Adult visitors to Woodland Park have always stopped at the gate or doorway seemingly afraid to get in the way as children move from one thing to the next, leaping, skipping, swinging, crawling, jumping, jiggling, bending, and reaching. Even when children stop to greet the newcomers, they are in motion: kicking a leg for no apparent reason, clapping their hands, bouncing up and down. Sure, some of the children might remain relatively still for a few minutes at a time, but even the ones curled up with a book are bouncing a foot. Even the ones pretending to be a baby under a blanket are wiggling.

"Sit as little as possible," wrote the influential philosopher and notorious nature trail hiker Friedrich Nietzsche, "do not believe any idea that was not born in the open air and of free movement."

A mountain of studies back up Nietzsche's assertion. When we move our bodies our visual sense is sharpened, our ability to concentrate is enhanced, comprehension is boosted, information retention is increased, and self-regulation improves. Cognitive scientist Sain Beilock even asserts that "(m)oving the body can alter the mind by unconsciously putting ideas in our heads before we are able to consciously contemplate them on our own time." (Italics are mine.) In other words, our bodies can know stuff through movement for which our brains aren't yet ready. And it doesn't necessarily have to be robust movement either: one study found that when people doodle while listening to a lecture they retain nearly 30 percent more of the information. By now, most of us know that our brains alone don't do our thinking, but rather our whole bodies, other people, and even things are involved, not just intellectually, but emotionally as well. 

Another great 20th century philosopher and psychologist, William James once observed that one of the best ways to overcome mild depression or ennui is to stand up straight, pull our shoulders back, hold our head high, and move confidently. More contemporarily, Katherine Isbister, a professor and researcher at the University of California Santa Cruz, talks of what she calls embodied self-regulation. "Changing what the body does," she writes, "can change our feelings, perceptions, and thoughts. 

One of the foundational myths of schooling is that we must somehow get the kids to stop moving around in order to focus, but the exact opposite is true. Some schools have even gone so far as to cut back on recess in elementary school in favor of more "seat time." The evidence, however, tells us that the more children move, the more clearly they think. This evidence is so clear and so compelling (and by now, so widely known) that the fact that our schools persist in forcing even preschoolers to spend large chunks of their days sitting quietly is outright malpractice.

What visitors see as they stand in the doorway of standard classrooms are humans whose minds are torn between obeying the adults by sitting still and their natural urge to actually think and learn through movement. 

What visitors to a play-based classroom are witnessing are humans in motion, thinking, and learning at full capacity. 

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Books have a way of transforming us unlike any other media out there. Be it fiction or non-fiction, a books has the power to fully immerse us into a world in ways that makes us come out the other side a changed -- and better -- person. I've put together this list of 16 books that have done that for me. They are intentionally not early childhood books, although each one has, in one way or another, profoundly transformed my work with young children. Maybe you'll find a few new ones here that will do the same for you. To download the list, 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!

Transforming How We Speak With Children

"No climbing to the top!"

When our daughter was in kindergarten, her school installed an amazing rope-and-steel climbing structure. The kindergartners were forbidden from climbing to the very top, which meant that adults were always hovering around the thing, "reminding" the children when they got too high. 

One day, I asked her if she was loving the new climber. She replied, "It's kind of in the way. No one plays on it." When I asked her why, she just shrugged, "It's just not fun."

Awhile back, I posted some thoughts on The Theory of Loose Parts. Appropriately, it is an idea that has emerged from the field of architecture about how the best learning environments are those in which we have permission to shape and manipulate our surroundings, and the things found within our surroundings, to suit our needs, ideas and curiosity.

It's a theory that's generally thought of in terms of the physical environment, but no matter how loose the parts, no matter how flexible the space, if the environment does not grant permission to engage freely, then the children, as loose parts theorist Simon Nicholson puts it, will still be cheated.

That's what happened at our daughter's school. The adults, in their concern about safety (or perhaps liability), had sucked the joy out of it. They would have been better off not installing the thing at all. Or installing a shorter one. Or, the way we did it at Woodland Park, not have a climbing structure at all, but rather provide the materials -- scraps of wood, shipping pallets, car tires, ropes -- from which the children could build their own "climbers."

And at our preschool, that's what the children did. None so high as the one on our daughter's kindergarten playground, of course, but always just the right height for the children creating it. Not only that, these impromptu structures were never in the way because the moment the kids were done with it, the parts were on the move, being put to other uses. 

But this didn't happen just because we provided the parts. It wasn't even just because they were "loose." This kind of self-motivated play can only happen when children know they have permission to follow their curiosity.

At our daughter's school, the adults specifically forbid a certain type of exploration, but much of the time we let children know they don't have permission in more subtle ways. 

For instance, if you listen to the things adults are saying to children at play -- "Come here!" "Slow down!" "Be careful!" -- we hear mostly commands. Research finds that 80 percent of the sentences adults speak to young children are commands. And an environment full of commands is not an environment of permission.

We also hear a lot of school-ish questions, "What color is that?" "How many marbles do I have in my hand?" "Do you know what letter that is?" Implied in these types of questions is the idea that the adults know better than the children what to think about. But even more open-ended questions like, "What do you think will happen if you put one more block on your tower?" tend to steer children into adult approved "places" in which the parts are no longer loose. When we ask questions, we compel children to divert from their own course and onto the one we've chosen for them.

There are times for commands and questions, but if our goal is to create the kind of loose parts environments that allow children to learn at full-capacity, then we are well served to consider even our words as loose parts. When we strive to replace our commands and questions with informational statements -- "That color is red," "I have marbles in my hand," "This is the letter R" -- we are offering children information, facts, that they, like with any loose part, can use or not use.

Instead of the command "Get in the car," we might state the fact, "It's time to go" and let them do their own thinking. Instead of the command "Be careful!" we might say, "The ground below you is concrete and it will hurt if you fall on it." Instead of school-ish questions to which we already know the answers we might instead simply speculate aloud, "I wonder why the sky is blue," leaving it there for the children to consider . . . or not. 

Of course, we might also choose to just not say anything at all which is when our "third teacher," the environment, often does her best work.

We will be discussing this and much more around the virtual campfire at our upcoming one week summer camp (see below). It will be a deep dive for educators, parents, and other caregivers who want to transform their relationship with young children by transforming how we speak with them . . . Or sometimes by not speaking at all! 

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If you want to learn how to transform your own words into the kind of loose parts that allow children to think for themselves, the this summer camp is the place for you! The Technology of Speaking With Children So They Can Think is a one-week exploration of how the language we use with children creates reality . . . for better or worse! We will explore how the way we speak with children creates an environment in which cooperation and peacefulness are the norm, where children take the initiative, solve their own problems, and, most importantly, think for themselves. Group discounts are available, but hurry because registration closes soon. Click here for more information and to register.

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!

Our Minds Have Minds of Their Own

Several years ago, we had a scare while on a field trip. A boy, racing to the bus stop, attempted to get around one of the adults by shooting for a narrow gap between her and the roadway. While both his feet were off the ground, her hip swung slightly in that direction, knocking him into the street. I'd been watching the whole thing and managed to snatch him back to safety. Seconds later, a garbage truck came rumbling past.

It wasn't exactly a close call, but it did cause us to review our safety protocols, especially around traffic.

A few days later, at our leisure, the boy and I were discussing the incident. He casually asked, "Do you remember when you knocked me into the street?"

That's not what had happened! "No, I rescued you."

"No, you bumped me and I went into the street, but I got back on the sidewalk just in time."

It's not surprising that he remembered the event. We tend to form memories around unexpected or unusual things, what memory researchers call novel experiences. Yet, his specifics were all wrong. I had had the benefit of extensive conversations with the boy's mother (who had been the one who released his hand to let him race), the parent whose hip had nudged him while in flight, and other adults who had witnessed it. We were in agreement about what had happened, yet this boy, the protagonist at the center of the story, had formed a memory in which he was his own self-saving hero.

As a species, we've evolved memory, not so that we can commune with the past, but rather to help us orient to the future. As adults, we had used our memories explicitly for this purpose, cobbling together our best recollections in order to tighten up our safety measures for the next field trip. The boy, however, had taken the exact same novel incident and formed a memory, however inaccurate, in which he had kept himself safe with quick, effective action, a picture that may very well secure his safety in the future.

Memory researcher Charan Ranganath says our hippocampus, the part of our brain most associated with memory, prioritizes memories for "the unexpected oddball pictures." Surprising events trigger a sequence of neural responses that increase learning. 

Non-surprising events reflect things that we've "seen" in the past, but by now seem old hat, which goes a long way toward explaining why many of us find so much of what we are taught in school to be irrelevant or boring. The novelty of yet another equation or rule of grammar stands no chance of cutting through the novelty of, say, a friend passing us a note or a raven spiraling in thermals in the sky outside the window.

This is why so many educators in normal schools work to remove "distractions." They forbid note passing. They close the shades. They hope to focus students' minds by leaving them little else to think about, narrowing the world as much as possible to the lesson at hand. Meanwhile, the children, whose brains are wired to prepare for the future are busy seeking out unexpected oddball pictures, like dust motes swirling in a ways reminiscent of those ravens or a friend trying to pass notes via eye contact and smirks. More experienced teachers then strive to introduce "novelty" to their lessons by, say, stern warnings, cracking jokes or forcing participation, all of which may focus young minds for a moment, but are no guarantee that their takeaway memories will have anything to do with the lesson being taught.

Our minds have minds of their own. They shape memories, learning, from raw experience, each in their own way as they attend to novelty after novelty, question after question, satisfying curiosity, always looking for knowledge that will serve their future.

Things like grades, the promise of rewards, and the threat of punishment have an impact, of course. Experienced students have learned that these external motivators are a kind of payment they receive (or suffer) for proving (or not) to the teacher that they have retained in their short term memory what is intentionally being taught. However, this leaves long term memory relatively untouched.

This is why the anxiety of school endures so much longer than the lessons themselves. It's why some of us, still, 40 years later have dreams about sitting for a test only to realize we're totally unprepared. It's why we remember that raven spiraling or that note from a friend far more clearly than anything the teacher was saying. We've evolved to remember novelty.

Play-based learning dispenses with the pre-planned lessons, the grading, the testing, and, ideally, even the rewards and punishments, replacing it with each child's quest to fill their memories with useful knowledge, which requires actively attending to novelty while largely ignoring the mundane. After all, no matter how much adults wag their fingers about the future, these children will be the ones creating the future and the future is the entire purpose of learning.

I doubt that the boy who recalls saving himself remembers much of anything about the day leading up to that moment of danger, even though we had spent the morning at the Center for Wooden Boats using hammers and nails and rowing ourselves in umiaks around the south end of Lake Union. I mean, for five-year-olds who attend the Woodland Park Cooperative Preschool in Seattle, hammers, nails, and getting out on the water is nothing new. Almost getting run over by a garbage truck? Now that's exactly the kind of thing for which his hippocampus is eager to make into something useful. 

That the boy's memory involved his own agency is an important lesson for his future, even if it is not entirely accurate. That we adults used our memories to improve our safety measures is an important lesson for our future.

When we are free to play, we free the mind to do exactly what it has evolved to do: to notice novelty, get curious about it, ask our questions, then store the memory in a way that will help us orient to the future. That's learning.

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The Preschool Autism Summit is going to be great! Our understanding of autism and educating autistic children is changing almost daily. I can't wait to dig into all 30 of these sessions. I know I'm going to learn a lot . . . And I know I'm going to be a better teacher for it. And it's FREE . . . So why not join us for 3 days of outstanding summer PD? Get your free pass right 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!

Making Our Preschools Worthy of Autistic Children

Play-based preschool should be the default. Research consistently tells us that young children -- all young children -- need play and lots of it for both intellectual and healthy social-emotional development. 

Unfortunately, ignorance and fear continue to drive too many parents to seek out factory model schooling for their children in the misguided hope that they'll get a leg up on the competition for getting into Harvard or Stanford. These settings, in contrast to play-based settings, do not serve all young children, which means that kids who need to move their bodies, who need to learn with their hands and hearts, who need to be outdoors, who need to learn with all their senses, who need to followed their curiosity, and whose neurotype doesn't match up with command-and-control models, wind up being a "problem." 

The superpower of play-based learning is that it adapts to the child rather than forcing children to adapt to the school. This is why so many of these "misfits" thrive with us. I can't tell you how many children wound up at Woodland Park after having been essentially expelled from other programs. And many of those children over the years were autistic.

When I first started teaching, I didn't really understand autism, even though, looking back, I can see that I worked with dozens of children who were likely autistic, but since play-based theory requires that we adapt our environments to support children in their self-directed learning, these kids never showed up as "problems." Indeed, these children were some of my most important teachers.

Back then, about 1 in 150 children were identified as autistic. In the intervening two decades, autism research and awareness has had its day. Today, about 1 in 30 children will be identified as autistic. This is because we've come to increasingly understand autism as a spectrum of traits, with each autistic person possessing a unique pattern of strengths, challenges, and support needs. And that can't be standardized for the "generic autistic child," because such a human doesn't exist. In other words, the infinite flexibility of play-based learning makes it the right approach for all children.

There continues to be a great deal of research and debate in the autism community, which is normal when the science is moving so rapidly. It can be confusing for classroom educators to keep up, especially given the amount of misinformation that's out there.

This is why I was so eager to take part in the upcoming Preschool Autism Summit, July 12-15.  This free online gathering features presentations from 30 experts, bringing together the latest research and approaches to working with autistic preschoolers and their families. My session is called Making Our Play-Based Preschools Worthy of Autistic Children and I will also be taking part in a live panel discussion. 

Please join us!

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The Preschool Autism Summit is going to be great! Our understanding of autism and educating autistic children is changing almost daily. I can't wait to dig into all 30 of these sessions. I know I'm going to learn a lot . . . And I know I'm going to be a better teacher for it. And it's FREE . . . So why not join us for 3 days of outstanding summer PD? Get your free pass right 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!

Creepy Crawlers!

John Sain was a couple years older than me, which would have made him seven or eight. We always called him by his full name to distinguish him from his next door neighbor who was also named John. John Sain's father, Mr. Sain, had the caché of being retired military and having once killed a rattle snake in his garage with a garden hoe then called us kids in from the street where we were playing so that we could see first hand what these local dangers looked like. He even allowed me the honor of carrying the sack with the carcass around to the back of the house where we buried it. Mr. Sain once sucked blood from a finger I'd cut on a bit of glass while we worked together on a church-organized roadside litter clean-up crew. After spitting the blood onto the pavement, he told me it was to help avoid infection, which sounded both scientific and manly. Having such a father and being older, John Sain stood a little above the rest of us. He went to school during the day and so could only play with us in the evening and on weekends. When he was out there with us, it made our regular games special.

One day, I showed him some small plastic "army men" that I particularly treasured, which prompted him to invite me to his bedroom where he pulled out what he told me was an "army man making set." There was a small heating element, molds portraying the hollows of soldiers in various action poses, and pellets of lead. The idea was to choose a mold, put one lead pellet in it, melt it over the heating device, then, once the metal had fully liquified, you plunged it in a cold water bath to harden it. 

I expect Mr. Sain wouldn't have allowed John Sain to show such a "big kid" toy to a five-year-old, which is why we were being extra quiet and probably explained why he kept me at a distance as he worked. I admired how cautiously he handled the tools, how he used an oven mitt to handle the hot things, and the drama of the explosion of steam that leapt from the cold water bath. When he removed the newly shaped lead soldier from the mold, he handed to me saying, "You can't keep it" explaining that he would later melt it down again to make a new soldier.

This was the only time I got to see this toy, but I was sure I wanted one, badly. I begged my parents, who reminded me of Christmas and my birthday. I must have been consistent in my request for this toy because at the next gift-receiving opportunity I unwrapped my own casting set. I was only temporarily disappointed when the one my parents gave me melted plastic instead of lead and that the molds were of insects instead of soldiers. I suspect that the "Thingmaker featuring Creepy Crawlers" was considered a somewhat safer version of John Sain's set up, but it still involved heat, melting, molds, and steam blasts, although, to my disappointment, the instructions said to never try to re-melt cast figures. Still, I was absolutely thrilled. I can still experience the fumes of the melted plastic if I try, the heat on my hands, the electrical buzz of the heating element, the topography of the molds under my fingers, and the blasts of steam on my cheeks.

This was a toy I played with unsupervised, alone and sometimes with visiting friends. I emulated John Sain's authoritative caution, keeping others at a distance. Filling the molds took a steady hand. The whole process involved concentration, slow movements, and fine motor skills. The risk of doing things wrong was manifest. I didn't need an adult hovering over me to chirp "be careful" in order to be careful. I imagine my father must have helped me with the first batch, but from then I was on my own, a five-year-old with a toy that could not be sold today to children of any age, learning the kinds of lessons that simply can't be taught through theory. This is one of my earliest memories of play. To this day, I recall it as a kind of giddy balancing act. Always at the back of my mind was the reality that had been enforced by John Sain that one slip and I would be injured, perhaps badly. Indeed, without the danger, I expect it would have been a toy of a single day, something to which I'd never again return after that first afternoon, but as it was, I girded myself regularly. Each time I removed the box with its tidily organized interior from its shelf, I summoned a bit of courage as my heart beat with excitement that can only come direct experience. 

Lead is a hazardous substance, especially for young children, and while the box assured us that the plastic was non-toxic, I still wonder about the fumes it released while being heated. I'm not writing about this to "sell" anyone on the idea of purchasing such a toy for their own kids, but only to share what is one of my earliest memories, which is to say, an experience that made a significant impact on me. The two-time Nobel prize winning chemist Linus Pauling tells of a similar experience with an older boy who had a small home chemistry lab, saying that he was "simply entranced" by the experiments he was able to perform. I don't have a story anywhere near as dramatic, but to this day, I love few things more than cooking over gas flames on my stove top and undertaking art projects that require a steady hand and full concentration. I have no idea what impact my childhood experience had, whether it simply revealed something that was already there or inspired me to something that might have never been otherwise discovered, but I do often think of John Sain, Mr. Sain, and the Thingmaker as I work around heat or when I'm engaged in anything that requires a slow and steady hand.

What I do know, however, is that I have a fine memory of childhood, a real experience that is as much a part of me as the finger from which Mr. Sain sucked blood. There is truth and falsehood mixed up in it, science and myth. It lives not just in my mind, but also in my body and soul, having been fixed there by the manifest danger and the full concentration it demanded.

If you think melting and casting might be something you want to try with your own preschoolers, here is a version I came up with for the kids at Woodland Park to try. It still involves real risk, concentration, and a steady hand, but without some of the unnecessary hazards.

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Books have a way of transforming us unlike any other media out there. Be it fiction or non-fiction, a books has the power to fully immerse us into a world in way that makes us come out the other side a changed -- and better -- person. I've put together this list of 16 books that have done that for me. They are intentionally not early childhood books, although each one has, in one way or another, profoundly transformed my work with young children. Maybe you'll find a few new ones here that will do the same for you. To download the list, 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!

To Live an Abundant Life

The four and five year olds started their days on the playground. Some would take a moment to greet me, but most barely paused to shed their backpacks and jackets before plunging into their play. That might mean manning a position at the cast iron water pump, digging in the sand, swinging, racing up and down the concrete slide, hunting out a favorite loose part, or gathering with friends to plot and plan together, inviting one another with the most beautiful sentences in the human language, the one's that start with the contraction, "Let's . . ."

"Let's pretend we're pilots!"

"Let's all be baby animals!"

"Let's go over there!"

Most of the four and five year olds I've ever taught had been together in school for a couple of years already. They knew me, they knew the other kids, they knew the environment, and they knew how to derive satisfaction from playing together. They did it effortlessly and without prompting. This was life as they knew it, a formula of their own collective and ongoing distillation. Of course, they knew there would be conflict, even pain, because they had already learned from experience that the permission to learn from pleasure always includes the possibility of pain. That's perhaps the lesson of life, not this artificial pain that is imposed by schools in the name of teaching children the harsh lessons of the workplace: do what you're told even when it's mind-numbing and soul-crushing.

In our school, the children knew that they were free to pursue, both individually and together, a life in which their work was their play and vice versa. 

"(M)ost individuals today are born into serfdom to Factory Earth," writes historian Peter Stearns in his book From Alienation to Addiction. "With factory industry, most people, for the first time in human history outside of some forms of slavery, could never aspire to work without direct supervision."

The adults at Woodland Park performed their ancient role of caretakers, protectors, and occasional advisors, because the goal of education as we saw it is to allow young humans to seek their one true path, the one they follow, for a day or a week or a lifetime, out of curiosity. In our way of doing it, curiosity stands in the stead of the factory floor boss.

What do you do that is as effortless and unprompted as the four and five year olds playing together at Woodland Park? What is it that you do that doesn't need to be put on a "to do" list because you will do it anyway? As adults, many of us have forgotten what it means to live in this way, looking inward and asking ourselves what would give us permission to play-work-live like these children? People often envy these young children who are, quite frankly, living a life of abundance and purpose. It still surprises me how many feel they need to put a stop to it, "for their own good." They can't just go through life doing what they want. It's the grim view of life as a factory. A place where no one has ever found abundance and purpose. As the Greek philosopher Epicurus wrote, "Not what we have, but what we enjoy, constitutes our abundance." 

But life can't just be about enjoyment! If it feels good, it must be bad. If we do it just to satisfy our curiosity, it must be a waste of time. Curiosity kills the cat. What's good must be hard and painful. Pleasure is only a dessert, something to be limited and saved for last. 

The novelist Edith Wharton asks, "Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths?" Why indeed.

I've spent my adult life trying to learn the lessons of humans for whom pleasure and curiosity stand as the pure goods that they are. These are the people who are living, not happy lives, but abundant ones. At the end of life, no one wishes they had worked harder. If they have any regrets it's that they didn't love and play more. Why is it that we only seem to understand this central truth at the Alpha and Omega of life, whereas during the journey in between we treat it as, at best, a hinderance and at worst a devil that must be kept down lest we . . . What? Find purpose in life before it's all over? Sounds pretty good to me.

I know why, of course. It's fear and doubt. We've been taught by years of schooling, both curricular and extracurricular, that the floor bosses know best, that we are here to serve Factory Earth, and that anything that makes our hearts sing is a secret evil. It's reinforced every time a child is reprimanded for daydreaming and not paying attention. It's taught each time children are scolded for chatting amongst themselves instead to listening to the teacher's instructions. We've been made to feel afraid of ourselves and our own desires because they have no place in the factory.

As I spent my days amidst these self-directed humans who had permission to work-play-live, I knew that they would inevitably leave Woodland Park where they would begin their training for Factory Earth. Soon enough they would come across those who would direct them "for their own good" and make them feel guilt or shame over those things that bring them joy, and pride in doing the things against which their souls rebelled. I found my joy in the moment; the now of this community of children. I will always have the satisfaction in knowing that for a time, on that playground, the four and five year olds knew they had permission to live abundantly in a world in which "Let's . . ." was the sacred a call to live together with a purpose all our own.

I can dream that one day we will come to understand that this should stand at the center of education. Until then, I'll just live it.

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Books have a way of transforming us unlike any other media out there. Be it fiction or non-fiction, a books has the power to fully immerse us into a world in way that makes us come out the other side a changed -- and better -- person. I've put together this list of 16 books that have done that for me. They are intentionally not early childhood books, although each one has, in one way or another, profoundly transformed my work with young children. Maybe you'll find a few new ones here that will do the same for you. To download the list, 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!

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!

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!