A Moveable Playground

Recently, I received a long message out of the blue from a former Woodland Park Cooperative School parent. She had attended our school with her two children for several years, but for family reasons had been forced to withdraw.

It was one of those missives that I hope all teachers get from time-to-time, one of heartfelt gratitude made especially poignant by the fact that it has been quite some time since I'd last seen her anywhere other than online.

She filled me in on the kids, expressed regrets that they hadn't been able to finish up their time with us, and complimented me, telling me that her children, even some years removed from our program still spoke of their time with us, including their friends and me, but the thing they missed the most was our playground. "They get bored on every other playground after about an hour, but the never got bored at Woodland Park even though they were there almost every day."

I write often about our junkyard playground, a canvas created and re-created by the parents for their children to paint upon. We don't have any fancy equipment: no climbers or slides or playhouses. We do have an old set of swings with a trapeze bar, but other than that our space is very much like a vacant lot, full of shipping pallets, spare tires, planks of wood, ropes, and all manner of odds and ends, most of which are in some way "broken."

We've obviously spent very little money, opting instead for accepting donations from the garages, attics and cellars of the families who enroll their children. Few things are fixed in place and the children spend their days moving them around, building and re-building it to suit their needs for the moment.

It's true that children rarely get bored on our playground. There is always something new, usually of their own creation. On a typical playground with everything locked in place it doesn't take long -- an hour, a day, a week, a month -- before they've played the challenge out of it, before it becomes commonplace, whereas our moveable playground stands ready at any moment to be transformed into something new full of new risks to take, games to play, and ideas just waiting to be hatched.

Built on a slope with trees that grant us a steady supply of sticks and pinecones, a ground that produces rocks and plants and insects, and a community that continually re-supplies our collection of junk, we are blessed with a "state-of-the-art" facility, one that looks to the adult eye like nothing at all, but to a child like paradise.

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Agreement Is Sacred

In case you haven't picked up on it, I'm not a fan of the idea of obedience. As Utah Phillips sang, "I will not obey." He also sang, "I was always willing to agree." I think this is the proper and natural stance of human beings in the world.

As I'm traveling around Australia, I've been talking about the concept of obedience. It's one that for many is an "of course" when it comes to children. Of course, children must learn to obey adults. Of course, they must learn to mind their elders. Of course, it is the duty of children to do as they're told.

The problem is that we all know that the things that we learn in childhood are the things we know as adults. And in adulthood, obedience is a dangerous thing. Obedient people are those who look to others to do their thinking for them, and because they don't think for themselves they are more easily lead astray. Every atrocity ever committed on the face of this planet was done by people who were simply following orders, obeying, doing their duty, being loyal.

I usually ask the people who have come out to hear me speak if they know any obedient adults. The answer is usually "no." But I think that's because in adulthood we call it "duty" or "loyalty," fine sounding attributes that hide the potential for doing the most awful things. Most often we think of soldiers or even police officers, but there are plenty of businesspeople out there committing heinous acts out of loyalty to their "stock holders," or lawyers who cause greater injustice in the name "doing my duty to my client." And naturally, we all know adults who insist upon the obedience of others, those authoritarian "daddy" types who, I'm certain, were expected to obey when they were young and are now turning the tables because that's the only world they know: someone must be obeyed and now it's their turn.

From where I sit, obedient people, or those who insist upon obedience, are broken people, humans who have never learned the lessons of equity, cooperation, and agreement that we seek to foster at the Woodland Park Cooperative School.

I assure you that whenever you hear a call for obedience, duty or loyalty you are being asked to do something that is not in the best interest of you or others. Say to them, "I will not obey, but I (am) always willing to agree," then listen and work with all your integrity to come to that agreement.

"Agreement is sacred." I've shared this before and I'll probably share it again

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We Cannot Allow This To Happen

Last week I wrote about something truly evil: the US government as been literally tearing crying children, even infants and toddlers from the arms of their asylum seeking parents at our border, separating them for days, weeks, and even months at a time, housing them in "detention" centers that sound for all the world like concentration camps for children. Government officials have alternatively asserted that this is what the law demands (a flat out lie) and that their policy as an intentional "deterrent" against people attempting to cross the border "illegally" (there is nothing illegal about seeking asylum in our country). They are snatching children from their parents, parents who have in many cases done nothing more than to knock on our door seeking refuge, and housing them often hundreds of miles away from their parents who are denied any contact while their cases are being adjudicated. As I said before, this is evil.

Over the past couple days, the administration has gone from denying these assertions to admitting them, pivoting instead to the talking point that these children are "very safe" and "properly cared for," yet no proof of this as been offered. Setting aside the abject cruelty of separating children from their parents (a huge set-aside, I'll admit), at the very least we the people deserve to know for certain that these children who have been taken in our name are being treated humanely.

Senator Jeff Merkley of Oregon has for days been attempting to tour one of these facilities to see with his own eyes, as an elected representative of we the people, the conditions in which these children are being kept, yet he has been denied at every turn. Over the weekend, he even went so far as to show up at an abandoned Wal-Mart in Brownsville, Texas where hundreds of these kids are being held to demand entry. Not only was he again denied, but they called the police on him. He has posted a video of the encounter online which you can see here. Since then other members of congress have attempted to tour facilities, also to be denied.

What are they hiding? From the outside, the Brownsville facility is a grim place with its windows blacked out. We've all been inside big box stores: they are designed for in-and-out shopping, not living. Even assuming that the children are being provided beds, healthy food, changes of clothing, and basic healthcare (and we absolutely do not know that this is the case), who is caring for the other big needs of these children who are without a doubt suffering from extreme trauma. In many cases, they have already gone through hell to even get to our border. They have been taken from their parents and dumped into abandoned Wal-Marts with hundreds of other children who are likewise suffering. Who is caring for them and how are they being cared for? Where do they play? Do they ever get to see sunlight? Breath fresh air? From where I sit, I can only imagine that they are in a living hell, an experience from which they will likely never fully recover.

This is a national nightmare and anyone who is not outraged is as heartless as those who are inflicting this policy on innocent children. Lord, I hope that my fears are wrong, that somehow, behind those blacked out windows, there are caring, loving, nurturing caretakers, that there is some joy, some light, some love, but . . . Well, we have no way of knowing because we the people are being denied. What are they hiding? My fear is that what is happening to these children is worse than my fears. I can't even imagine what these children, these human beings, these children of trauma are going through.

I don't care where you sit on the political spectrum. If you read this blog you care deeply about doing right by children. We must demand the truth. We must demand access. Please call your representatives right now, especially if you are represented by someone from the President's party. Maybe he'll listen to them. Please do this for these children. Demand to know what is happening in our name. It's already evil, but I fear it may even worse: those blacked out windows are keeping me awake at night. Please call now, call often, and demand that they open their doors at least to our representatives, if not the media. We cannot allow this to happen -- not in our name.

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What They Obviously Need To Learn

Like most American kids, I grew up with a little red wagon, a classic Radio Flyer, a childhood standard that was so sturdily built that the very one that I played with still lives today, some 50 years later, on the playground at the Woodland Park Cooperative School. It was ostensibly created to haul stuff, but most of this wagon's useful life, right up to the current day, has been as a gravity powered vehicle.

Our playground is built on a long slope, a feature I wouldn't trade for all the flat space in the world, and it is indeed used for its traditional purpose. It's remarkable for this middle-aged man to watch the children year after year come up with the same idea. No one suggests it to them, just as no one suggested it to us as children; it is apparently one of those ideas that lives in the air during a certain stage of childhood. I've never witnessed a two or three year latch onto it, but invariably it is a stroke of genius to which four and five year olds are prone. All you need is a wagon, a hill, and a child passing through a certain developmental stage and Eureka! 

It begins with a long push up the hill, a full body lean against the forces of nature. Arriving at the top, the wagon poised, they clamber carefully aboard, holding the machine in place until they've taken their seats. The wagon's tongue, built for pulling, is pulled back over the bed to serve as an uncertain steering apparatus. It's what we did as children. It's what children did with this wagon last year and the year before, a process that seems to live within human animals of a certain age.

Then there is a giddy moment just before the decent begins, just as the final braking foot is lifted from the ground, a moment quite often accompanied by manic giggles. Slowly the momentum builds. Then everything is out of control. Steering is an iffy thing, uncertain, crude, and in many ways counter-intuitive. Sometimes it then all slows down again as the ground levels out, but just as often there is an obstacle looming -- a tree, a spare tire, another human crossing the path -- something that is unavoidable as you realize that you are careening pell-mell without any way to brake yourself. And for a moment the reality of breaking yourself flashes through your mind as the manic giggling erupts in earnest.

When I watch the children play this game, I am right there with them, feeling their feelings, seeing it anew through their eyes. It's a tradition, a rite, a biological imperative. I might caution others who are unknowingly wandering into their path, but I leave the children taking their wagon ride to their own devices, leaving them to learn what they obviously need to learn.

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A Story From The Journal Station

A couple times a week, we have a "journal station" in our 4-5's class. We provide construction paper, recycled printer paper, a stapler, markers or crayons, and a parent-teacher whose job is to take dictation from the children. I wanted to share this as an example of how children who are not yet "reading," are nevertheless literate. Note, for instance, the author/illustrator's use of picture book conventions like spreading illustrations across two pages, the inclusion of a blurb for the back cover, and a clear beginning, middle, and end. He also was clearly considering his audience (classmates) by including "super heroes" (which have been a big part of our classroom dramatic play so far this year), silliness like "rabbit cars" (which he knows will generate laughter), and a reference to the familiar painting of a dragon that lives in our classroom.

"Once there was a monster. A scary monster.

"Then that scary monster went out to go to a really fancy restaurant where only people that were nice would go to. Then the people saw the monster and they said, 'The super heroes should get that monster quick!'

"Then Bat Rabbit got that monster.

"Then Super Rabbit was driving his car. A rabbit car!

"Then Mr. Rabbit's car went in his garage where his parking spot was.

"That's good. Super Rabbit saves the day. The End.

Back cover "blurb": "This is a story about the red dragon in the picture at Woodland Park Preschool."

And here's the dragon he's writing about:

This is what preschool literacy looks like.

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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