What Motivates Me

There's a song I sing when it's time to gather around for circle time, our community meetings. It's something I made up, I think, although it probably grew from a kernel planted by one of my mentors. It always starts off the same way, "Come on over to the checker board rug, come on over to the checker board rug, come on over to the checker board rug, and have a seat on the floor . . ." After that, it can pretty much go off on any number of tangents, each one sillier than the last, usually inspired by something one of the kids has done or said. It's just a way to goof around until everyone is settled in. And then, since I typically don't have anything specific planned, we usually just goof around together some more. In a nutshell, that's the Teacher Tom method.

Honestly, I was never particularly motivated to become a teacher. There were a couple of my high school teachers to whom I looked up, but that had more to do with my perception of their lifestyle as teachers -- being cool role models, coaching sports teams after school, having summers off -- than anything to do with helping kids' brains grow bigger. Even when I finally became a father, I had little interest in teaching our baby anything: I just wanted to goof around with her.

People assume I'm interested in pedagogy and curricula and brain development, and I am, I suppose. I've done just enough reading, and taken just enough classes, and attended just enough workshops, to have a working knowledge of most of what's out there, but everything I know about teaching, really, I've acquired more by osmosis than any sort of concentrated study, and frankly, I rarely think about any of it anyway. Likewise, I'm not all that interested in knowing about spectrums or disorders or syndromes or any other kind of diagnosis. I'm not ignorant of them, of course, and I recognize that there is value in this kind of knowledge, but it generally only reveals such a tiny piece of what makes a child who he or she is that it borders on the irrelevant, at least when it comes to the way I do "teaching."

And speaking of irrelevant, I know and care even less about much of the stuff my public school colleagues talk about, like "Common Core" or grading papers or assigning grades or achieving all those various certifications and qualifications and whatnot. I mean, I've looked into some of it, and found it has so little in common with what I do on a day-to-day basis that it hardly looks at all to me like what I call "teaching." If it wasn't threatening to take over the whole of what we call "education" in America, I would gladly ignore it entirely.

As I've had the opportunity to travel around the world presenting and facilitating education workshops, people express enthusiasm for learning more about my approach, methodology, and pedagogy. And that's what I talk about, although I'll never be able to offer a tidy list of "10 Tips" or "12 Steps To Success." I mostly talk about how I goof off with kids.

I came into teaching through a back door, not even really knowing where I was, to be honest, holding my own daughter's hand. We found a bunch of kids there and started playing with them. Everyone called it "school," so we did too. I was never particularly motivated to become a teacher, but when I saw what my mentors Sue Anderson and Chris David did in their little cooperative classrooms, I was motivated to do that.

We spent our time together at this kind of school mostly just goofing around, although by virtue of being adults we occasionally had to work with children to help them be safe, to treat one another fairly, to express our emotions in healthy, productive ways. But that wasn't our "curriculum," heavens no, all of that adult stuff was just by way of getting back to the core of why we were together: to have an interesting time goofing around.

I'm still not particularly motivated to be a teacher, but I do enjoy being Teacher Tom. I love nothing more than dropping to my knees and playing with the children, talking with them, listening to them, being their friend. My main job, as I do it, is just to find a way to get each kid on my bandwagon, which can only be done by forging a relationship based upon a two-way street of listening, acceptance, and love -- and a sacred agreement that no one is the "boss" of anyone else. The rest is just goofing off together. 

I may not be motivated to be a teacher, but I am motivated by the unique joys and challenges of creating a relationship with each child. It's endlessly amazing to me that the more I've done this, coming to a place called school each day to goof around with kids, that there is still so much more to learn, that there is always a deeper depth and a higher height and a sillier way to sing that old song.

Finding those new places is what motivates me; finding them with the kids, going there together, then goofing off. That's what motivates me.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!

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!

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As Long As They Live In A World In Which They Experience Them

Parents are forever trying to get their kids to say things to me.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

I get it, of course, parents want their children to be courteous, or at least responsive, and when they aren't they coax them. Naturally, most of the kids don't yet know or have simply forgotten that a response is called for. When we say "Good morning" to someone, the convention is to respond in kind. It's part of the ebb and flow of social intercourse, one of those niceties that lubricate social interaction. There is a rhythm to the choruses and duets we sing with our fellow humans that many young children, being inexperienced in dealing with people outside their family, still have not learned.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

Our day-to-day life is full of these simple, friendly interactions. For most adults, we engage in them without thinking, a kind of call-and-response routine.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome!"

I've thought a lot about this, and I can only come up with three categories of things about which adults are truly more knowledgable than young children, safety, schedules, and courtesy, and this is all part and parcel with the later. Learning to engage in these ritualized indications of goodwill is essential: we find adults who don't do it to be off-putting at best, but more likely we consider them rude or even suspicious. Learning about these simple day-to-day courtesies is one of the first things we must do when visiting another country, especially one where we are just learning the language. Indeed, these give-and-take courtesies are so important that they are typically covered on the first day of language class or the first chapter of the language book.

So, I get why parents prompt their children this way, it's important stuff, even if most of us haven't really even thought much about it. When our children don't play their part in this sort of dialog it hits our ears as strange, out of rhythm, or even off-key, and we react almost instinctively, directing our children to do their part.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

The problem with phrasing things as commands, however, is that humans are notoriously resistant to being told what to do. I can't tell you how often I've seen a child who may well have been inclined to respond to me suddenly clam up when ordered to do so. No one likes to be told what to do at any stage in life, it's part of our evolutionary heritage, and it's why, when we want another person to do something, commanding them is possibly the worst way to go about it.

No, I'd rather see parents strive for informational statements. For instance, a simple statement of fact like, "Teacher Tom said 'Good morning' to you," creates a space in which a child can do her own thinking, rather than simply obey or disobey. She may still not say "Good morning," but the odds go way up that she will, upon reflection.

"When people do nice things for me, I say 'Thank you'."

"Teacher Tom told you his name."

But, of course, the best way to learn these things is the way we learn all language: through role modeling and practice. Language is more than a tool for communication. It's a song we sing together, a way of connecting beyond the meagerness of words alone. Virtually all neurotypical children will learn it simply by living in and around it, the way they learn our preschool songs after a few weeks of repetition. The prompts might help speed things along a little, but in the end, our children will learn these basic courtesies as long as they live in a world in which they experience them.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!

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!

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"Big Fat Baby"

Yesterday, a group of us so much enjoyed the 1812 Ovfarture that we listened to it twice. We had been dancing properly, to Abba and the theme songs from Paw Patrol and Batman. I'd watched a pair of four-year-olds, girls who had only just met, performing a mirror of one another: they looked into one another's eyes and copied one another's moves so precisely that it was impossible to tell which one of them was "leading." A third girl, a younger one, then joined them and it was like a little miracle. We had been truly enjoying our dancing, earnestly, but one thing lead to another and, before you know it, we were listening to the classical piece instrumented mostly by loud, juicy farts, courtesy of the students of the Jerome Horowitz Elementary School.

The girls laughed, of course they did. I laughed. It's a funny song and part of the reason it's funny, perhaps the entirety of the reason it's funny, is that it's off-color. Someone is going to be offended. It's a pushing of the boundaries, so we giggle in part at the thrill of going up to the edge. To truly live, I think, one must regularly go up to those boundaries, all of them, and at least have a little look.

A few years ago, the children wrote their own song, not prompted by me in any way. It began when one of the kids began to chant, "Big fat baby, walkin' down the road . . . Big fat baby, walkin' down the road." Before long his friends were doing it. Each time they said it, it cracked them up, genuinely at first, and then ritualistically, like an attempt to return to the original moment. It was mostly funny because of the image of a baby walking down the road, but also because they all, at some level, knew that calling someone "fat" isn't acceptable.

Then one day, a different kid added a second line:

Big fat baby, walking down the road
Big fat baby, hopping like a toad.

Which lead quickly to the punchline:

Big fat baby, walking down the road
Big fat baby, hopping like a toad.
Big fat baby, about to explode.
BOOM! Big fat baby everywhere!

I was there with them as they pieced it together, four or five of them, standing around the sand pit, shovels in hand, building upon one another, correcting one another, creating a chorus that one of them suggested we try to sell to Casper Babypants. It was wildly funny. We sang it for months. It was highly inappropriate and that made it even funnier.

There is a temptation to tut-tut or to seize on these moments in order to make a point about violence or body shaming or manners. This, of course, ruins it.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!

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!

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"I Won't Go, Go, Go"

At the moment, the song "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse is stuck in my head, not the whole song, but just the chorus. It's not there all the time. For instance, it goes away when I'm speaking or right now as I'm typing these words, but the moment I stop using my brain, there it is: "They tried to make me go to rehab/I said no, no, no . . ."

I reckon at one time or another everyone is plagued by one of these "sticky" songs or "earworms," but I sometimes wonder if maybe those of us in early childhood are more prone. I'm traveling right now and haven't been around the kids for a couple weeks, but during the school year, more often than not, the song that's going around and around in my head is one from the classroom. 

Researchers have studied the phenomenon and it's real. It seems that our auditory cortex tends to keep singing certain songs after their finished, resulting in what some refer to as an "auditory itch" and the only way scratch it is to keep singing it over and over. There are many theories about why this happens, including obsessive-compulsive tendencies or stress or tiredness. Some have found that musically-incline people are more prone to earworms, while others link it to the songs themselves, some of which appear to be more parasitic than others. Maybe it's just a way to keep our brains busy during down moments. No one knows for sure, but some 99 percent of us have experienced it and it can be maddening.

I sometimes wonder about the evolutionary purpose of this phenomenon. I mean, it could just be a side-effect or the vestige of something human's no longer need, like our little toes which I've read are getting smaller with each passing generation or our appendix which is useless except for filling up emergency rooms when they swell and burst. I wonder if other animals experience a similar thing: do birds, for instance, get their songs stuck in their heads or is it unique to us? We could blame the modern world and the fact that recorded music somehow causes it, but then how do you explain similar stories about Schumann and Mozart, classic music composures who lived long before the advent of recorded music? 

I often think that it must somehow be connected to how our brains learn. That is certainly something we see around the classroom. Most children learn their A-B-C's through a song, for instance, but that example has more to do with memorization than actual learning. That said, I have learned things from songs, but then again, that usually has more to do with the lyrics than the melody, rhythm, or harmony. 

I figured that by the time I got to this point in the post, I'd have a working theory, but I don't. The reason that humans do this remains a mystery, but that's hardly the point. The point isn't always to answer our questions, but rather to wonder, because if there is an answer that's the only way we have ever found it. Nevertheless, I thank you for reading because writing this has occupied my brain, taking up the space that was previously full of Amy Winehouse.,

And now I'm at the end and there she is again, singing that she won't "go, go, go."

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!

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!

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Rituals That Connect Us

As a boy, my family attended church every Sunday morning. We moved around a lot, so there isn't any specific church that I can look back on and call my childhood church, but each time we found ourselves in a new place one of the first things we did was join a Lutheran church, and if there wasn't one around, we found something else, like the non-denominational church to which we belonged during our years in Athens, Greece. We went to church for the sake of our souls, of course, but we were also there for the fellowship. Our churches were a way to connect with our fellow humans who gathered together week after week to lift our voices together in song and to engaged in meaningful ritual and ceremony (and, of course, to play cat-and-mouse chasing games after services while the adults conversed over coffee).

Yesterday, during our class meeting, circle time, we sang:

I have a little turtle,

His name is Tiny Tim,

I put him in the bathtub

To see if he could swim.

He drank up all the water,

He ate up all the soap,

And now my little turtle

Has a bubble in his throat.

Bloop!

It's a common enough song, one that is sung in preschools everywhere I reckon, but as with most of these "common songs," we have over the years, made it our own. Upon finishing the song, at least one of the children, usually several, shout out, "Faster!" and so we sing it faster. Then the call rises up again, "Faster!" so we sing it as fast as we can. But, of course, they call for even faster, so this time, always, I express concern, "We can try it, but I'm worried we'll hurt ourselves, so we're going to have to warm up." Then we "loosen up our rotator cuffs" by rotating our shoulders backward, then foreward, followed by stretches "up high," "to the side," "to the other side," "to the front," "to the back." And finally we rub our hands together to warm them up.

We've done it a million times before and nearly everyone, every time, participates. We all know what to do. It's a long set-up for a punchline we all know is coming. We finally get our turtles ready (hands opening and closing rapidly like a snapping mouth), we take a moment to admire how fast they are. I say, "Ready . . ." then together we all say, "Bloop!" finishing the song before we've even started. The fastest song in the universe, even faster than the speed of light.

We've welcomed a few new students at Woodland Park over the past few weeks. Yesterday, as we sang the song, I was watching those new faces experiencing us through fresh eyes. Most of the children I teach are with us for three or four years. They don't remember a time when they didn't take part in this joke we tell together, but for these new kids, even if they already knew the basic song from their previous preschools, it was just a song, an engaging one perhaps, but they had no idea we were leading up to our specific, ceremonial payoff. As the "old" kids enthusiastically performed their parts, singing and shouting "faster" on cue, I was reminded of my experience of attending church as a boy, singing the familiar songs, chanting the familiar chants, lighting the familiar candles. This isn't the only song we sing together that has become an important bonding ritual for the children of Woodland Park, one that connects us as a community not just now, but over the years and even generations.

It occurred to me as we sang that as we have made these songs our own, they have become important rituals in the highest sense. As we have made them, they have also been part of making us. That is the power and importance of ritual and ceremony not just for communities of young children, but for every community if it is to be worthy of the name.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you! 

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!

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Mister Roger's Neighborhood

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the airing of the first episode of Mister Roger's Neighborhood. I didn't want to let it pass without acknowledging that milestone.

I have always wanted to have a neighbor
Just like you!
I’ve always wanted to live in a
Neighborhood with you.
So let’s make the most of this beautiful day;
Since we’re together we might as well say.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won’t you be my neighbor?

When Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood debuted in 1968, the day before I turned 6-years-old, I was already a kindergartner, on the upper edge of the show’s wheelhouse demographic. I had been a Captain Kangaroo kid, but this new guy on the TV after school drew my attention and I watched him during those first couple of seasons.

I loved the Neighborhood of Make Believe best, of course. The little electric trolley would take you through the tunnel and into the puppet land of King Friday, Henrietta (“Meow, meow”) Pussycat, Donkey Hodie, and the always forgiven antagonist, Lady Elaine Fairchild. I’d usually watch with Sam, my 20-month younger brother.

I was re-introduced to the series in the mid-70’s when my 7-year younger sister watched it. Mister Rogers still sang, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? at the top of the show, while attiring himself in cardigan and sneakers. He still fed his fish. He still had sincere conversations directly with his audience, addressed emotions frankly, and made you feel like you really mattered. (The only thing that had changed was he’d replaced the song Tomorrow with It’s Such A Good Feeling at the end of the show.)

I make no secret of my admiration for Mister Rogers, an opinion based not least of all upon his steadfast consistency. You could count on your half hour in the neighborhood. Mister Rogers was always happy to see you, he always sang with you, he took your feelings seriously, and he stayed on schedule. As the longest running program in PBS history, for 895 episodes, over the course of over 40 years, he did those things in which he most deeply believed.

“I’m happy to see you”

Deep within us – no matter who we are – there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. And the greatest thing we can do is to let people know that they are loved and capable of loving.

I’ve been greeting children at Woodland Park with, “I’m happy to see you,” since the first day of my first year teaching. It isn’t something I thought about in advance. It just came to me upon the arrival of my very first student. It came to me because it was true – I really was happy that my first student had arrived! And it remains true today as I greet the children. I am happy to see each of them.

We all, always, wherever we go, want to be warmly welcomed. I was always welcome in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Whether I was 6 or 10, boy or girl, wild or quiet, willing or unwilling, Mr. Rogers made it clear that rejection was impossible. That is how I want the children to feel each morning as they come through the door and find me waiting there.

I often think that if this feeling were the only thing a child takes away from Woodland Park, it would be enough.

Singing

Music is the one art we all have inside. We may not be able to play an instrument, but we can sing along or clap or tap our feet. Have you ever seen a baby bouncing up and down in the crib in time to some music? When you think of it, some of that baby’s first messages from his or her parents may have been lullabies, or at least the music of their speaking voices. All of us have had the experience of hearing a tune from childhood and having that melody evoke a memory or a feeling. The music we hear early on tends to stay with us all our lives.

At Woodland Park, we sing the same songs, over and over, year after year. I tell myself that change is good, and I sincerely try to add 2-3 new songs every year, but it’s the old songs, in a very real sense, that form the foundation of our community: Jump Jim Joe, Uncle Jessie, The Baby Chant . . . We sing them at Circle Time, we sing them as we play, we make up new verses to make them fit our day.

Mister Rogers’ neighborhood was a place to sing. Songs like Won’t You Be My Neighbor? and It’s Such a Good Feeling were songs we sang over and over, year after year, their messages of undying friendship and sunrise optimism framed a show in which it was as natural to sing as to speak. To this day I find myself humming these songs.

Our Feelings

All our lives, we rework the things from our childhood, like feeling good about ourselves, managing our angry feelings, being able to say good-bye to people we love.

People have said, “Don’t cry” to other people for years and years, and all it has ever meant is, “I’m too uncomfortable when you show your feelings. Don’t cry.” I’d rather have them say, “Go ahead and cry. I’m here to be with you.”

There is no “should” or “should not” when it comes to having feelings. They’re part of who we are and their origins are beyond our control. When we can believe that, we may find it easier to make constructive choices about what to do with those feelings.

Mister Rogers spoke and sang constantly about feelings, without judgment and largely without trying to offer any advice. Just talking about emotions was enough.

Our emotions come upon us for whatever reason and we must feel them. We want our children to learn that there are no bad feelings, no shameful feelings. Our emotions are real and true and part of us. Only we know how we feel. As a parent, it’s hard not to hear our child’s cries or tantrums as pleas for help and that we must somehow “fix” the problem. But feelings are not problems and they will never be fixed. They must run their course if they are to be any good to us at all.

When a child is frustrated, sad or angry, when his emotions overwhelm him, our first job is to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or others. Beyond that our role is to sit beside him and hold or stroke him if he’ll allow it. This is how we teach about feelings.

Discipline

Discipline is a teaching-learning kind of relationship as the similarity of the word disciple suggests. By helping our children learn to be self-disciplined, we are also helping them learn how to become independent of us as, sooner or later, they must. And we are helping them learn how to be loving parents to children of their own.

A visit to Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was always a reliable, predictable, disciplined experience. There were the songs, the stoplight, and the visits to Make Believe. And Mister Rogers was always the same as well: warm, earnest, loving.

By the time children come to Woodland Park, they are already experts on their own home and family. They know the daily rituals and routines. They have figured out where things go, when to do things, and how far they can push the boundaries. Mom and Dad too, with all their emotional complexity, are as reliable as the rising sun. Preschool is their first regular foray into the larger world and we want them develop the same kind of trust and comfort as they have at home.

Sticking to our daily schedule is where it all begins. There is flexibility, of course, within our schedule, but the framework stays the same, day after day, year after year. Within a few weeks of the start of school, 2-year-olds begin informing me that it’s “clean up time” and they’re usually right to within a few minutes. Graduates who return to visit for a day, and who have since learned the new routines of their new schools, always fall confidently and joyfully into the old, familiar routines of preschool.

It’s all about building trust. It’s impossible to develop confidence or self-discipline in a world that is unpredictable.

It's Such A Good Feeling

I will never be Mister Rogers. Where he was quiet and gentle, I tend toward boisterous. Where he was a straight-arrow, I’m a very silly man. But I like to think that I bring a part of him into the classroom every day. I strive to make sure each child knows that I want her to be my neighbor. I sing, often badly, but I sing the songs we know. We let our feelings flourish, and try get on with our life of doing. And we try to do this within our four-walls of consistency and comfort – a place where each child can confidently thrive.

That, I hope, is our neighborhood.

It's such a good feeling to know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,
'I think I'll make a snappy new day.'
It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we're friends.

And I'll be back
When the day is new
And I'll have more ideas for you.
And you'll have things you'll want to talk about.
I will too.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you! 

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!

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A Song We Sing Together

Parents are forever trying to get their kids to say things to me.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

I get it, of course, parents want their children to be courteous, or at least responsive, and when they aren't they coax them. Naturally, most of the kids don't yet know or have simply forgotten that a response is called for. When we say "Good morning" to someone, the convention is to respond in kind. It's part of the ebb and flow of social intercourse, one of those niceties that lubricate social interaction. There is a rhythm to the choruses and duets we sing with our fellow humans that many young children, being inexperienced in dealing with people outside their family, still have not learned.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

Our day-to-day life is full of these simple, friendly interactions. For most adults, we engage in them without thinking, a kind of call-and-response routine.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome!"

I've thought a lot about this, and I can only come up with three categories of things about which adults are truly more knowledgable than young children, safety, schedules, and courtesy, and this is all part and parcel with the later. Learning to engage in these ritualized indications of goodwill is essential: we find adults who don't do it to be off-putting at best, but more likely we consider them rude or even suspicious. Learning about these simple day-to-day courtesies is one of the first things we must do when visiting another country, especially one where we are just learning the language. Indeed, these give-and-take courtesies are so important that they are typically covered on the first day of language class or the first chapter of the language book.

So, I get why parents prompt their children this way, it's important stuff, even if most of us haven't really even thought much about it. When our children don't play their part in this sort of dialog it hits our ears as strange, out of rhythm, or even off-key, and we react almost instinctively, directing our children to do their part.

"Say 'Good morning' to Teacher Tom."

"Say 'Thank you' to Teacher Tom."

"Tell Teacher Tom your name."

The problem with phrasing things as commands, however, is that humans are notoriously resistant to being told what to do. I can't tell you how often I've seen a child who may well have been inclined to respond to me suddenly clam up when ordered to do so. No one likes to be told what to do at any stage in life, it's part of our evolutionary heritage, and it's why, when we want another person to do something, commanding them is possibly the worst way to go about it.

No, I'd rather see parents strive for informational statements. For instance, a simple statement of fact like, "Teacher Tom said 'Good morning' to you," creates a space in which a child can do her own thinking, rather than simply obey or disobey. She may still not say "Good morning," but the odds go way up that she will, upon reflection.

"When people do nice things for me, I say 'Thank you'."

"Teacher Tom told you his name."

But, of course, the best way to learn these things is the way we learn all language: through role modeling and practice. Language is more than a tool for communication: it's a song we sing together, a way of connecting beyond the meagerness of words alone. Virtually all neurotypical children will learn it simply by living in and around it, the way they learn our preschool songs after a few weeks of repetition. The prompts might help speed things along a little, but in the end, our children will learn these basic courtesies as long as they live in a world in which they experience them.

I've just published a book! If you are interested in ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here. Thank you!

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!

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Dance Party

I'm looking forward to my brief summer break for many reasons, but most of all is that I'm hoping it will give me a chance to forget the songs that are stuck in my head. Several weeks ago I wrote about our new outdoor stage, which has continued to be a popular addition to our junkyard playground. I figured the kids would like it, although I had imagined them mounting impromptu dramatic productions, whereas the kids prefer using it for dance parties.

In the beginning, I was selecting the music from my own personal collection, but when I started getting requests, I had to open an Apple Music account (which I'm loving). The big Disney songs are much in demand: Let It Go (from the movie Frozen) remains huge, but How Far I'll Go (Moana) is equally in demand. I'm not surprised that the fans of these songs know all the lyrics, right down to nailing the phrasing, because when our daughter was a preschooler she had likewise mastered the nuances of her favorite songs. These are apparently great songs for emotive expressions, emphatic stamping of feet, and swaying, ballet-like body movements.

The Paw Patrol Theme Song, however, is a pop rocker, and when it comes up, the Disney singers make way for the hip shakers, not too different from the moves invoked by Ghostbusters. Then there is the frenetic Everything is Awesome!!!!!!! (The Lego Movie), with its 120 beats per minute (or whatever) which tends to encourage a silly, convulsive dance style. There is a crew who loves nothing more than to march around to The Imperial March (Star Wars), while engaging in slow motion light saber battles. And there are few things more delightful to me than watching four and five year olds reenacting Step in Time from Mary Poppins.

One boy has attempted to break the pattern, introducing his friends to his personal favorites from the 1980's (Eye of the Tiger, Danger Zone, Bad), but we've more or less settled on our limited playlist. I try to introduce new music, but when I do the kids go off to other things until I return to what has become our canon.

When we play Let It Go, I can now predict exactly which kids will drop what they are doing to take the stage. The same goes for the other songs on the playlist: they drop their playthings and converge on the stage from all corners of the playground. There is some crossover, of course, but the kids seem to be using their common love for this or that song as a sort of cultural connector, a way to find others like them.

Particularly fascinating has been the dynamic amongst a group of boys in our 4-5's class. A kind of tension has arisen between the Star Wars and Paw Patrol factions, with one group abandoning the stage when the "rival" song is played and vice versa. Sometimes they even hurl insults about one another's preferred music ("Paw Patrol/Star Wars is stupid"). It's an extension of the games they've been playing all year, wherein one group always seems to be vying against the other. There's a temptation to scuttle this sort of play, especially when it threatens to evoke real emotions of anger (instead of the faux anger that is a key element of their dramatic play) or real fighting (instead of the faux fighting they all enjoy), but for the most part we've let it take its course since the "sides" are ever-changing and they generally tend to maintain a kind of balance of power. Most of all, however, everyone seems to be having fun, even when things get tense. The other day I intervened in what looked like an altercation. The boys maintained their angry expressions until I said, "I don't want you guys to be enemies," to which they both laughed, "We're not enemies, Teacher Tom. We're friends, right?" They then went right back to their "conflict." As I watch this dynamic play out on the stage, I see that they are re-inventing the competitive dance off, something I'd never really understood until now.

Of course, most of the time, the kids who take the stage together are doing it as an act of community, of bonding, which could be said even of the rival factions. They leap onto the stage wth joy at the first few strains of "their song," identify one another as fellow travelers, look into one another's faces as they sing, and imitate one another's moves. I would have never guessed that our outdoor dance parties would become an important part of our outdoor play, but it's obviously here to stay.

(If you are interested in pre-ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here if you are in North America or Europe. If you are ordering from Australia, click here. If you live in New Zealand or Asia, for the time being, please email your order to Resources@inspiredec.com. Thank you!)

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The Junk House

On Wednesday, a couple of guys in our 4-5's class decided they were going to remove the walls of the playhouse. It's designed for this, giving kids the ability to create windows and doorways wherever they want them, an innovation of one of our grandfathers. Before long, their enthusiasm had drawn in another handful of kids. It's not easy to remove the boards that make up the walls: they have to be slid up and out and often get stuck when they become askew which happens quite easily.

There was a lot of struggling and teamwork and when they were done opening up those walls, they weren't ready for it to be over so they moved on to filling the lower level of the playhouse with anything they could move: planks of wood, car tires, traffic cones, rocks, logs, furniture, gutters, shovels, pails . . . Whatever wasn't nailed down got shoved in there.

They were calling it the "junk house" and they were quite proud of it, cautiously climbing atop the pile, their heads touching the ceiling. Over the course of their project, their collective mood went from industrious to a kind of rowdy mischievousness, continually calling out to me and the other adults to "look," as they chuckled. I think some of them half expected to be scolded or at least be told they were "making a mess." The only "correction" they received from me was when I discovered that the wireless speaker we use to play dance music for the stage went missing. Figuring it was at the bottom of the pile, I used my smartphone to play a song and sure enough, we heard the frenetic strains of Everything is Awesome!!!!! from under the rubble.

Other than to ask them to dig out the speaker, my calm, non-judgmental demeanor belied what was going on inside. Normally, I wouldn't have cared, but in this case I was fully aware that on Thursday night we were hosting several dozen parents for our Summer Program orientation meeting (there are still spots in a few of the sessions if you are local and interested), people who had signed up to allow their "babies" to play on our playground this summer, many of whom were new to our school and more than a little nervous already. Our junkyard playground has a certain edgy charm when all the odds and ends are spread out over the space, but when presented as a big, tippy pile like this, something that could easily result in heavy objects sliding off and landing on the noggin of an unsuspecting two-year-old, I can imagine that it is somewhat less charming. In other words, while the kids played, I was thinking about marketing.

I finally told myself that it would be okay: either I would tell the story of how the junk house came to be as an illustration of the sorts of thing their kids might get up to this summer, or, the option I was leaning toward, taking advantage of the two hours between the end of school on Thursday and the start of the meeting to take care of it myself.

On Thursday morning, the kindergarteners were, as usual, the first to arrive, and they were not happy with the junk house. "Did you see what the little kids did to the playhouse, Teacher Tom?" I told them I had, then suggested that the might want to "fix it," a hopeful suggestion that they did not take up. Later that morning, however, our 3's class had the playground to themselves. They too had complaints about the junk house. When I suggested that they fix it "because we have a meeting tonight," one of the parent-teachers asked, "Do you want me to start emptying it out?"

And so she began to methodically remove planks and tires and cones and rock and logs from the playhouse. Her work drew in first another adult and then several of the kids who spent the next half hour un-doing the work of the older kids from the day before. When the kindergarteners returned to the playground, they joined the effort. When the space was empty, they finished by "washing" the floor by dumping several buckets of water on it.

As they worked, I found myself humming the late, great Tom Hunter's song, Build it Up and Knock it Down. The ancient Greeks had their myth of Sisyphus, a character condemned to an eternity of repeatedly pushing a boulder up a mountain only to have it roll back down again. So much of what we do in life is like pushing that boulder: we make our beds each morning only to unmake them at night; we go to work, return home, then return to work again; we fill the trash can, throw it out, then refill it again. It's easy to see it all as meaningless repetition, but when I play with children, I don't feel that at all. On the contrary, filling it up and emptying it out, turning it on and turning it off, pushing it up and letting it roll back down, makes up the core of what children do all day when left to play as they see fit. Adults unlearn it, I think, as we become brainwashed into the cult of productivity. We learn instead to find it, at best, boring. Children, however, never tire of it. "Build it up and knock it down and build it up again/Knock it down and build it up and knock it down again."

The philosopher and author Albert Camus wrote an essay entitled The Myth of Sisyphus. The concluding line has stuck with me for decades:

The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

This is what the children know. I will not be at all surprised if they rebuild their junk house this morning. And I won't have to imagine them happy because I know they will be.

(If you are interested in pre-ordering Teacher Tom's First Book, click here if you are in North America or Europe. If you are ordering from Australia, click here. If you live in New Zealand or Asia, for the time being, please email your order to Resources@inspiredec.com. Thank you!)

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!

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As It Always Should Be

A few weeks ago, a team of parents installed what we're calling "the stage" in a corner of our playground. Essentially, it's a small deck from which emerge four upright metal poles left over from a little-used climbing structure that had previously occupied the spot.

One day I brought in a waterproof wireless speaker that I use in my shower and began playing music from my phone to which the children danced. As I explained in my post about it, we've never used much recorded music in our school and I had assumed that this would be a one-off activity or, at best, only an occasional one, but that's not how it turned out.

It wasn't long before the children started making musical requests such as "the Frozen song," "Paw Patrol," and "Star Wars." I don't have any of those in my music collection, so I wound up, under pressure and on the spot, signing up for a music service that allows us to pretty much play any song ever recorded on demand. This means that I've spent the last couple weeks playing DJ as an ever-changing collection of kids have taken the stage to physically and communally interpret whatever song is coming from the speaker.

If I started with mixed feelings, I don't have them any longer. There are a pair of "best friends" in our 3's class who perform "Let It Go" with a heart-felt, full-body passion that surpasses anything I've ever witnessed. One of their mothers described their faces as looking as if they were "in pain, in love, and constipated all at the same time."

There's a group that performs "Step in Time" (from the movie Mary Poppin) with an enthusiasm that rivals Dick van Dyke and crew. There are few things more entertaining and inspiring than seeing those kids link their elbows and flap like a birdie. 

I've never seen anyone rock out quite as hard as our "Paw Patrol Theme Song" band. And I've seen the Rolling Stones live a half dozen times.

Then there's the "Imperial March" and other music from the magnificent Star Wars sound track accompanied by increasingly synchronized marching and light saber battles.

And just as our Elsa and Anna showed their emotions in their features, there is something about "Everything is Awesome!!!" that makes it impossible to not smile as you dance.

Maybe I should have expected it, but this is very good stuff, because, except in a few cases, it isn't performing as much as letting music fill their collective bodies and souls. There is almost always an audience, although those on stage rarely turn toward us, but rather toward their stage-mates, forming loose circles to dance at one another or sing into one another's faces. Children who have not often played together the rest of the school day are finding one another through their shared passion for this or that song. And each time I move from one song to the next, the cast changes with it, insuring that no one group dominates the stage.

I was concerned that we would fall into a rut, that we would quickly find ourselves repeating the same damn songs over and over, and there has been a bit of that, but yesterday one boy introduced us to Elvis Presley's "Ready Teddy," another to Rachel Platton's "Fight Song," and our Mary Poppins fan is walking us through the entire soundtrack. The one person who apparently cannot chose a song is me. Every now and then I try, hoping to get them bopping along to one of my favorites, but whenever I do, the stage remains empty until I let them pick their own music.

And that's has it's always been and always should be.

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Let's Dance!

My first year teaching, I had the idea of suggesting to our five-year-olds that they, collectively, come up with something "big" they could do "for the whole school." That year, the kids decided they wanted to build a volcano, but the following year our oldest kids wanted to perform a play, making such an impression that it has since become an annual tradition.

The kids start by writing a script, a process that takes several weeks, followed by dozens of rehearsals which are really opportunities to re-write, edit, and play around on the stage. They make their own sets, props, and costumes. All told, it's a process that takes months and results is a wonderful, child-led mess of a show.

Most years, the kids include at least one dance number: this year we have three. Yesterday, we democratically chose the songs to which we were going to perform, and, for the ninth time in the past ten years, among the songs selected, unanimously, was Kool & the Gang's Jungle Boogie. (For the curious, we also chose Sly & the Family Stone's Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) and the Ramones' Too Tough to Die.) The children at Woodland Park, apparently, love them some Jungle Boogie. The selection of songs, as always, was limited by the music I personally own and I recognize that I'm dating myself.

Our process was one of me playing various songs and the children voting with their bodies by dancing or not dancing. We took a field trip to the Pacific Northwest Ballet on Monday where we learned about dancing "energies" like "smooth," "sharp," "swinging," and "shaking," all of which were evident in the kid's dance moves. We had so much fun that we took the music outside with us where some of us continued dancing on our new playground stage, a project that a group of parents undertook last Saturday.

We do quite a bit of singing and dancing around Woodland Park, but recorded music is relatively rare, a fact that probably has more to do with me than it should, but there you have it. When I first started teaching I thought it would be nice to have a little background music every now and then, but found that it tended to just simply ramp up the overall volume level in our already noisy room as the kids vied to shout over the music. But more significant is the fact that background music tends to drive me a little bit crazy: I love to listen to music, but I simply can't do so while occupied with anything that requires talking or listening to other people, a big part of the job. And while, yes, the school is the children's space, it is also my workplace and so recorded music is rather rare, a fact that I found myself regretting yesterday as the children danced.

When I first suggested our new stage, my idea was that it would be a place for the children to present impromptu acting performances, but yesterday's outdoor dance party was one of those "Well duh!" epiphanies for me. While the "noise" might be unbearable for me indoors, outdoors is a different story. I'm now in the market for an outdoor sound system capable of standing up to northwest weather that the kids can use themselves.

Let's dance!

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