What does it mean to be powerful?

The following post is based off of two journal entries I wrote several years ago when working with a group of preschoolers.  I still find them to be relevant, and thought I should share them.

"What does it mean to be powerful?" This is a question I see arising daily in my classroom.  Today a mother asked me about the ratio of boys to girls in our class. "There are nine boys, and three girls" I told her. "Oh... [nodding her head] I thought so.  Your room just seems to have that boy energy."  While I tend not to put much stock in gender based categorizations, as my understanding of gender is that it is a non-binary social construct, what she said echoed assumptions that I have heard over and over.  And it  got me thinking. I'm assuming based on the behaviors that exist in my class at this moment that what this mother (and many other people I have talked to in the past) called 'boy energy' was most likely rambunctious and sometimes violent. This got me to thinking about the role of violent play in my classroom.

Over the past few days there have been many interactions that end with (both boys and girls saying) "well, then I'm going to shoot you!"  When I hear children making statements such as this I don't go to a place of fear or anger but to a place of sadness.  I wonder, "how powerless must someone feel to think that the only way they can get power in a situation is to threaten the use of violence toward the person with whom they have a conflict?" (granted most children don't have a firsthand knowledge of the real impact of shooting someone, which is why other threats like, "then you're not coming to my birthday party!" or, "fine! then you're not my friend!" to me have the same impact). 


If this is the talk and energy that is being associated with boys, doesn't that tell us that our boys are feeling powerless?  If so, I think we should be asking ourselves about the ways we can empower them.  I feel that the traditional model of education and even the traditional response to the threat of shooting someone (which is usually in essence "threats aren't allowed, so you can't say that") does exactly the opposite*. By ignoring the underlying need to find power we doing children a disservice, and perpetuating their feeling of powerlessness.  I'm wondering what opportunities, strategies, and examples we can offer of non-destructive ways for all children (because seeking power is not limited to one gender) to find the power they seek. 


The research question in our classroom right now has to do with the power of friendship.  I believe that there is power and bravery in kindness and in caring.  I have found that often there is  more strength in being a friend and in working with those with whom you disagree, than in overpowering someone physically or emotionally.  When threatening and destructive statements run rampant (as they seem to be in my class right now) it seems to lead everyone to operate from a place of fear and defense.  I have been asking myself,  how can I help children make the shift between these two drastically different understandings of power?  How do we as people grow into an understanding of the power of caring/being connected with someone else?  How can I foster that within my classroom?

A glimpse into the classroom:

Three children (Sam, Joe, and Bill) are in the large motor space.  Sam picks up a block, aims it at Joe and Bill and starts yelling "bam, bam, bam!" They start yelling for him to stop.  Since they seem to be getting upset.  I decide to intervene, telling Sam that guns aren't allowed at school(*as noted above I have mixed feelings about this response and as I say it I am in the process of thinking through other options) to which he replies,"It's not a gun. It's spraying gumballs." 

I think for a minute... Realizing that my concern with "shooting" games is twofold.  My first issue is that (in my experience) children use the "shooter" to overpower other children, which happens regardless of what is being "shot" (besides gumballs, I have heard of shooting fire, goo, candy, water, soap etc.) In my mind the intention of this game is to make someone else feel less powerful (or yourself feel more powerful) by using a weapon of some kind. My second concern with this game is the assaulting volume of  "psh psh psh" or "bam bam bam!" sounds coming from the weapons.  I also realize that if these concerns were not present, I actually wouldn't have a problem with stuff being shot, or children using guns.  

"Okay Sam..." I say, "...but if you want to shoot Joe and Bill with gumballs you have to ask them first." He turns to Joe. "You want me shoot you with gumballs?" Joe thinks for a minute then responds, "Yeah!"  Sam shoots him, and they both collapse on the floor laughing. Sam turns to me and asks, "can I shoot you?" I say, "sure." then when he shoots me I pretend to catch a gumball and eat it.  Sam continues shooting and Joe and Bill begin pretending to collect gumballs.  

It seems that when the shooter asks for permission (and respects the answer) the game changes from one of domination to one of invitation, joint understanding, and shared enjoyment.  The other thing that changes is that when a child gives another child permission to say "no" they are actually giving them power rather than taking it away, and they discover that acceptance of a good idea can feel powerful as well. 


So what:
It seems to me that if at a young age we empower children to find ways of feeling powerful in their own right, through use of real materials (see post soon to come on materials) and sharing power rather than through the use of threats, violence, coercion, and power-over others as adults they might feel more powerful and a stronger sense of connection with one another.

Food for thought: what is really meant by "food curriculum"?

Over the past few weeks I have been thinking a lot about my place of work, and how much I value what we offer children. 


One of the biggest points of pride for me is our culture around food.  Our children come from a variety of food environments.  Some come from families with lots of access to nutritious food, and information about what is required for children to be healthy.  Others come from families with little access to this information, or to the quality or quantity of food needed to adequately meet the nutritional needs of their children.  Our program is lucky enough to get funding from the state, reimbursing us for the meals that our cook (Erinn) expertly and lovingly prepares for the children each day. (check out her blog at: www.bcslunchlady.blogspot.com)  I am grateful for this funding, and appreciate the fact that Vermont is trying to make nutrition a priority for young children.


With all of that said, I also find it off-putting how narrowly (and in my opinion falsely) the state defines curriculum.  I am concerned by the promotion of activities rather than experiences and relationships as being the primary way that children learn. And I am frustrated with the lack of recognition of what happens at our center as a valid form of  curriculum.  


A glimpse into our environment:
As you walk into the toddler kitchen (where 18 1-2 year olds gather to eat snack and lunch each day) you see multiple 11x14 photos of the children, taken during a variety of food experiences (at our weekly summer trips to the farmers market, in the lunch room, cutting fruit, spreading jam on toast, eating, setting the table etc.)  


One of the walls in the kitchen is painted with chalkboard paint giving children the chance to write/draw what we will be eating for snack and lunch on a given day.  On part of this wall are black and white photos of the children at mealtime. In these photos they are talking, eating, and laughing.  


On one of the shelves is a laminated sheet with questions generated by the children that they can ask each other at mealtimes (i.e. what is your favorite part of this meal? What was your favorite part of the morning? What book are you going to read at rest time?). 


The rest of the shelves are filled with natural materials for children to use in building centerpieces for the table when it is time to help set the table and prepare for meals. 

From the window in the kitchen you can see outside onto the playground where there is documentation of the garden that the children planted the year before.  There are photos of them hauling the compost from the big pile in the parking lot and spreading it into the dirt on the playground.  There are  images of them watering the garden, picking, looking at, cutting up, and tasting the cucumbers that the garden produced.  


Also visible from the window is the window box full of basil and other herbs that the children grew and tasted (along with tomatoes that they bought at the store during an outing, and cut up themselves).


In the classroom there is a kitchen area with varying food related items (wooden fruit, cupcakes with removable frosting that can be decorated, bread dough made by the children, many containers, rolling pins, and lots of other tools including plates, tea-cups and napkins to help facilitate dramatic play related to food).  


On the shelf there are more photos of children cooking, using dough, and participating in dramatic play "parties" and "dinners".  There are also observations posted on the walls with the conversations the children have had during mealtimes.  


A glimpse into a mealtime conversation:


4.3.12    


Five children are sitting together with a teacher in the kitchen.  The table is set, and there are bowls of purple cabbage, rice, oranges, and chicken.


Child 1: I love cabbage!
Child 2: I love cabbage too!
Child 3: I don't.
Child 4 [to the teacher]: This is my favorite kind of rice.  Did you know you can make curry rice too?
[Child 5 (an ELL student) takes a bite of the cabbage]: It's crunchy!
Child 4: I tasted it, and I thought it was sweet.
[Child 1 has eaten 6 slices of orange.  She looks over at the table of younger toddlers who are having grapes, and says to the teacher]: They are having grapes for their fruit.  So we can have lots of oranges! [she looks over to another table of older toddlers] Hey, does anyone at your table want oranges?
Child 6 [who is sitting at the other table]: I don't.  


What I see:
In this conversation there are many things that stand out for me.  The first of which is how much of the conversation is being driven by the children.  When given a choice children (and I think adults too) will talk about what they are interested in, and it is clear from this conversation that they are interested in food.  They love to describe the taste, and the texture of the food they are eating. 


It is also an opportunity for them to learn about themselves, and others. They have the capacity to decide what they like and what they don't like, to try new things, and to stick with their own preferences.  They are learning that it's okay to disagree.  


One child makes the connection between food he eats at home (curry rice) and the food they are eating now.  Another child uses this time as a way to take care of others, making sure that everyone has a chance to have some oranges (even though, or perhaps because they are her favorite).  


There is so much more to this mealtime experience than classification of food, and ability to repeat the names of fruits or vegetables (which you may have also noticed happened as well.  Without teacher prompting). 


A glimpse into a professional development training offered by the state:
The woman who supervises our food program arrives, and after walking through the spaces just described settles into the preschool kitchen (an environment also rich in reminders of children's experiences with food) to talk to us about "food curriculum".  She tells us she is going to teach us some ways of getting children to learn about food (I wonder if she has taken the time to look around at all).  She then proceeds to pass out papers with the outlined shape of a squash drawn on them, along with some squash seeds.  She tells us that we can practice doing this "fun" activity and then offer it as a way for the children in our classrooms to learn about squash. Then she instructs us to glue the squash seeds inside the outlined shape of the squash on the paper. (I am dubious that paper and glue have anything to do with eating squash... and find it hard to participate in this "fun" activity.)  


Several teachers make patterns within the outline using multiple types of seeds to create visually appealing versions of the squash.  When we have finished she looks around at the variety of squashes and then tells us that we should encourage children to fill in the squash entirely, using the seeds from only the one particular type of squash, to help them understand that this is the type of squash that it grows. (I am still at a loss for the connection she is seeing between this piece of paper with a shape on it, and the experience of eating a buttery well prepared piece of summer squash... or the process of growth for that matter.  The materials I associate with the growth of vegetables are earth, water, sunshine, and the outdoors...)    


At the end of the two hour training (after we "learn" several more activities, including some "new" songs about how things grow) she again walks through our classrooms, and past our documentation, and as she is about to leave she says, "We really do recommend that every program we give funding to try to implement some kind of food curriculum."


So what...
Over the course of this training I went from being frustrated, to being offended by the the complete and utter lack of recognition of the opportunities we provide and the relationship that our children have with food as a valid form of "curriculum".  


As teachers we work hard to make all of our environments not only educational, but meaningful and nourishing to children, and I feel that our food environment is one of the strongest ones at our entire center.  We understand that children learn from experience, and I am concerned that the people who are charged with "educating" teachers about nutrition don't seem to understand that children benefit more from the opportunity to stick their hands in soil, plant seeds in a garden, pick the squash when it finally comes up, cut it open and find the seeds inside, help prepare it, and enjoy tasting it in the company of friends, than they do from sitting still in a chair and being told how to glue seeds to a piece of paper.  


The frustration that I experienced from that training has driven me to create a book (that will hopefully be for sale soon) that shows the culture of food that exists at our center, and frames environment, relationship, and experience as an integral part of what I/we define as curriculum.  


I believe that through our food program our children have developed a deep and meaningful knowledge of food.  Listening to our children talk during meals, watching them taste (and often finish) all the food on their plates, seeing their deep interest in the growing process, their curiosity about ingredients of food, their sheer joy at sitting down to eat together, and their constant desire to share the experience of eating with others, to me, is the most important evidence of not just learning, but a life well lived, which is for me the top priority.

What is my real work?

As I mention at the beginning of this blog, one of the reasons I have started to write about my work is to call into question the assumptions about the work that I do, and to advocate for it's value.  I often feel an incongruence between my understanding of what is happening in my room, and what others might see from looking in.  For example, when I tell people that my concentration was (in part) Women's Studies I am often met with confusion. "You're going to teach toddlers about feminism?" 


This question is the underpinning of what I believe to be a set of assumptions about education that have led us astray.  The assumption that teaching means passing down pieces of information, not working together to understand the world around us.  That "feminism" (or anti-racism, or peace and concepts of justice) is somehow taught and not lived, and that what we do in the classroom is limited to that particular space.  I think that people also often assume that what looks like play is just that, play.  But I ask you to consider what is really happening in a "simple" play scenario. 

A glimpse into the classroom:

Several children have gathered around a sensory table filled with magnetic wands and several metal pieces.  Two of the children are holding the wands, and watching as they attract the pieces of metal.  One of the children looks up and says, "wow this sticks to everything."

A glimpse into my mind:
This child has just formed a "schema" or an idea about how something works.  Magnetic wands stick to "everything" because "everything" in the bin is metal.  What will happen if I introduce another non-magnetic material?


The next day...
I have added some wooden pieces into the bin along with the metal pieces from the day before.  When the children arrive the same child goes over to the sensory table.  She picks up the wand and starts attracting the metal pieces.  When she gets to one of the wooden pieces and it doesn't stick I point it out. "Hey!  I remember yesterday, you said that that wand stuck to everything.  What happened?  Why isn't it sticking?" The child considers this for a moment and then begins to walk around the room trying to stick the wand to other things she finds.  


So what:
The reason that this is interesting to me is not so much for the answer to the question "why isn't it sticking?" or even of the eventual discovery of the fact that metal sticks to magnets and wood doesn't.  What is important to me here is the internal conflict between what happened yesterday (when the wand stuck to "everything") and the experience that has just occurred (it only sticks to some things).  What I am interested in is how this child makes sense of new information, how she processes what she experiences given what she thinks she knows (or her previous understanding of the world based on her prior experiences).  Does she choose to embrace this new information, or reject it as incorrect or inconceivable? 


In one of my sociology courses (also part of my concentration) we learned about how prejudice forms.  Someone has an experience with a person, and it leads them to have an idea about that type of person (someone with glasses, someone in a wheelchair, someone with AIDS, a white person, a person of color, someone of a particular religion etc.) This seems clear.  What was interesting to me (and relevant to my work) is the way the brain then responds when someone with the same characteristics acts in a different way.  We learned that there are two general ways for the brain to respond to this new information.  The first is to recreate your schema (this wand sticks to everything...) and accept that you may have only had a partial understanding of that person (oh no, wait, it only sticks to some things... i must not have had a complete picture of how this wand works, or all of it's properties) which may lead you to a desire to find out more about them (what else will this wand stick to?) and gain a more complete understanding of the world (ah! It sticks to metal, but not wood...) Alternatively, some people's brains are more predisposed to create what are called "outliers" to help explain this inconsistency.  When this happens they continue to hold their original belief about the person, believing that the new behavior is an exception rather than an indicator that they have an incomplete knowledge, and they are not led to try to learn anything else.


As I indicated in the parentheses, I believe that there is a direct correlation between challenging children to re-think their schemas, and developing the type of brain that is not only okay with inconsistency, but utilizes it as an opportunity to gain a more complete understanding of the world, and the people in it.  I believe that my work doesn't just help children understand the properties of materials and how they interact with one another, or that one plus one is two, but that my real work is to help children develop brains that are not beholden to binary systems (which I believe are so frequently not the reality) and to become people who use internal conflict to become better citizens in the world by seeking to understand, not shut out what they don't yet know.  

What is fair?

Often in my work over the past few years I have heard teachers telling children "you have to share." or children running up and saying "so and so is not sharing with me."   My question is, what does it mean to share? Too often I think our answer is that, one person has to give up what they have, so that someone else can have it instead.  Perhaps sometimes we mean that something must be split fairly between people.  But what is fair? And who decides?  In my classroom one of the only rules is that when there is a disagreement the children can't proceed until everyone involved in the conflict is satisfied with the outcome.  When this is the expectation, the solutions are often ones that I couldn't have imagined, and that meet the needs of each child in a way that I couldn't have done on my own.

A glimpse into the classroom:
We are at the playground and two children have been climbing up the rock wall.  One of the children reaches the top, then rushes down the slide, and runs in front of the other child who is about to begin climbing.  The child who was about the begin his assent starts to yell, and when the other child keeps climbing he asks me for help.  I tell the climber to get down so we can figure out what to do.  The following conversation ensues between Child 1 (C1) Child 2 (C2) and the teacher (T):
C1- I was about to climb up there, and you just got right in front of me.
C2- I really wanted to climb up.
C1- But I really wanted to climb up!
T- It seems like we have a problem.  You both really want to climb up.  What can we do?
C1- I know!  We can take turns.
T- That sounds like a good idea, but how will you know who will go first?
C1- I will.
C2- No.  Me.
T- It seems like you are still stuck because you both want to go first.  I wonder what you can figure out so you will both be happy.
C1-I have an idea.  How about since he just wants to go so bad right now, he could climb half way up, then jump down, and then i could go two times.  How does that sound?
T (to c2)- what do you think of that idea?
C2- yeah!
Child 2 climbs halfway up, then jumps down and child 1 climbs up twice in a row.  Both seem happy, and continue to take turns one at a time.


On another day...
Two children are arguing over a toy dinosaur they have found in a basket.  They are pulling the dinosaur and yelling over one another.  I walk over and ask what is going on.  The following conversation occurs:
C1- I really want to use that dinosaur and I had it first!
C2-No!  I had it first!
C1-No!  I did!
T- Well I didn't see who had it first.  Why don't I hold on to it, until you can work something out that you both agree to, and then I will give it to whoever you decide.
C1- We could share it.
T- What does that mean?
C1- I don't know.  We could take turns?
C2- Yeah, and I will get it first, then you can have it.
C1- No.  I will have it first then you can have it.
Child 2 shakes his head
T- I notice there are lots of other dinosaurs.
C1- yeah!  How bout you use this one (brings over another one) and I use this one (pointing to the one that the teacher is holding).
C2- No!  I want to use that one (pointing to the dinosaur the teacher is holding)
C1- how about if he uses that one, and I have this one for five minutes then I give it to him?
T (to c2)- what do you think of that idea?
Child 2 shakes his head no.
T- He doesn't agree. I guess we will have to think of something else. (to child 2) Since you don't like his idea, what is your idea?
C2- Just, I have it for a few minutes then trade.
Child 1 shakes his head no.
T- It doesn't sound like you are in agreement.  I wonder if there is a different way to decide who gets it first.
C1- I know!  How about if you hide it somewhere in the classroom and we have to close our eyes and try to find it, and whoever finds it first gets to use it.
T (to c2)- Does that seem like a good idea?
C2- Yeah.  I think so.
T- So you both agree that whoever finds it first will get to use it first?
Both children nod their heads.
C2- But don't hide it somewhere easy, because then if we both find it at the same time, we will have to do this all over again!
C1- Yeah! And no peeking!


So what...
What is beautiful to me about these two scenarios is that they demonstrate what is possible when two people forced to talk and one person doesn't have the upper hand.  So often in our classrooms, and in our communities there is one person (or group of people) holding the power, and another who gets the short end of the stick.  So often both parties miss out on the opportunity for deeper understanding of each others needs, and of their own capacity to compromise.


It is easy to create a space with equal power in a classroom when all you have to do is hold a toy and ask questions.  But how can we create those spaces in the rest of our world when the expectation isn't about everyone being happy, and power is clung to SO tightly.  How can we re-create the power dynamics so that it is possible for everyone to be heard and to get what they need?


My thoughts this evening are drawn to the Occupy movement, and it's potential for taking steps in this direction.  I am grateful to all of  those who are working toward this end, no matter what it looks like, and I hope that in making this the expectation for children at a young age, it will be easier, or come more naturally to them as they become older and move out into a community that sees them as part of the society.  Perhaps they will even come to expect it of each other.

Let's talk about differences...

Today I am thinking about the difference between equality and equity.  As a Quaker I believe deeply in the equality of all people.  But how does that translate into my work?  Does equality of Spirit correlate to treating everyone the same?  

As a white person I am aware of the way in which my tendency to "not see difference" or to say that "we are all the same" actually undermines efforts to truly achieve equality.  And I have learned that these statements for me do not have integrity (another Quaker value I hold dear).  

A glimpse into the classroom: 
One of the children "Sandy" in my class of young toddlers has down's syndrome.  She has low muscle tone in her legs and often sits alone on the playground.  When we heard that Sandy needed a push toy as a way to build muscle tone my co-teacher and I had a discussion which revealed a lot about our differing understandings of what equality looks like, and about our fears regarding fairness.  My co-teacher took the standpoint that we couldn't possibly introduce this toy into the classroom because it wouldn't be fair to the other children who would want to use it.  She also didn't want to stigmatize Sandy by giving her special treatment and opening her up to the possibility of embarrassment, or ridicule. 


I understood where she was coming from, and I too didn't want to create a difficult situation for this child, and I responded to my co-teacher: Of course other children will want to use that toy. My question is, do they need to use it?  I believe that if we are honest with children about the difference between wanting something and needing something that they can understand this concept, and will actually be much more accepting than we fear they will be.  


In fact I believe that children may have a greater capacity for this type of acceptance than many adults do, and that often in our "good intentions" of denying differences that are clearly there (i.e. skin color, physical conditions, visible deformities, behavioral outbursts etc.) by telling children not to notice, we are actually teaching them that difference is something that we can't talk about, that it is bad, and I believe we are teaching that it is to be feared. 


So... after many conversations, we brought the push toy into the classroom.  Several children were, as my co-teacher expected interested in using it.  When they asked, we would answer, "Did you notice that Sandy is still learning how to walk? This toy helps her be able to walk better, and that's why she has it. You already know how to walk. So you don't really need that toy.  If there is a time when Sandy isn't using it, and you want to try it out, you can, but if Sandy wants it back, you need to give it to her."


And the children understood.  After about a week they started bringing the toy to Sandy, cheering for her when she took her first steps, and even running over to announce to the teachers what a great job she was doing at walking.  From an adult perspective this might seem condescending, however for these children their excitement for Sandy was real.  It was the same excitement they felt for themselves when they accomplished a new task (something they work hard to do every day) or completed something that made them feel like a "big kid".  I believe they were celebrating Sandy's growth and accomplishment right alongside her, and as I watched I wished there could be more times like that in my adult life, when members of my community would be willing to support me in such a way.


So what...                                                                                                                                                   
An Early Childhood Educator from Reggio Emilia, Elena Giacopini writes:
Inclusion does not mean starndardization and it does not mean integration.  Inclusion requires and demands differences in dialogue.  It doesn't require that one adapts to the other but, rather, mutual adaptation, the invention of a new way of being together.


This is my hope not only for children in my classroom, but for our world as a whole.  And I wonder, how often do I let my assumptions, my belief that my own experience is reality, and my fear of that which is unfamiliar shut down the possibilities for community, and for dialogue with those who's experiences are different than my own?  What could be gained if I let go of my fear, and my desire to be right?  What might I learn? 

Are we allergic to sadness?

I want to start this particular post with a disclaimer:                 
As you read please be clear that I'm not (nor am I ever) trying to suggest that a certain outcome is inevitable for the children with whom I work based on the scenarios about which I speak.  I am however trying to point out some things I notice about our culture and our values that I see reflected in the way that we treat and educate our youngest citizens.  Many of these things do not sit right with me and I hope that by calling attention to them, perhaps I can raise awareness (even if only within myself) and become more adept at practicing the things which I believe will lead to a more full, loving, accepting, honest, and real community (both in my classroom and in the world as a whole).  


That being said, today I want to write about how I see our society's allergy to "negative" feelings being played out in early childhood centers, and the impact that I believe it has on many of us later in our lives.  


A glimpse into the classroom...


One of the 3 year olds in the room next door "Jimmy" always seems upset when his mom has to go to work.  Every day he clings to her leg and a cries.  She works as hard as she can to reassure him that he will be okay, and that she will be back.  Then, given that she has to be at work at a certain time, and that that time is fast approaching, she begins to get frustrated, and eventually leaves with him still crying.  


Each day as this is unfolding one of his teachers comes over to help the mom leave, and get Jimmy to stop crying.  The teacher brings him a puzzle, reads to him, and tells him he should play.  When Jimmy doesn't stop crying, more teachers get involved.  They begin to get more and more frantic trying to find a solution that will make the crying stop.  Other children begin to notice and come over to ask what is wrong.  The teacher tells them "Jimmy just needs some space.  Why don't you go play?" Eventually after several minutes of unsuccessful efforts to console him the teacher resorts to telling him to stop.  "You're a big boy Jimmy.  You shouldn't cry."


A glimpse into my personal life...

Several years ago I went through a fairly traumatic break-up with someone who I cared for a great deal.  When we broke up I have to admit I was a bit of a mess.  Each day I would wake up with this sadness hanging over my head, not quite knowing what to do about it.  What made the situation more challenging was that before every time we would get together, my (very well intentioned) friends would ask, "are you okay?"  This question was one of the most challenging parts of the break-up for me, because each time I would have to evaluate if I should bother to go or not.  I felt like, if I wasn't "okay" then no one would really want to spend time with me, so I spent a lot of time pretending I was okay (when I wasn't) or going off on my own when I could pretend no more. 

As I sat in the classroom with the toddler crying because his mom had to go, and watched all the hubbub that was created to stop him from crying, I was acutely aware of the connection that I shared with this child.  His teachers weren't offering him puzzles just because they had an interest in his well being, and nor were my friends asking if I was okay because they really wanted to hear the answer.  They were asking me if I was okay so that they would know how to "deal" with it if were to suddenly burst into tears.  My friends and the teachers alike were so uncomfortable with our sadness that they just wanted it to stop.   Our sadness (or at least the expression of it) made them feel so powerless that they tried everything they could think of to stop it.  What they missed in their efforts to control the expression of our feelings, was the one thing that would actually help us feel better; to know that it was okay... for us to be sad.

A glimpse back into the classroom (run differently)...

Jimmy's mom drops him off in the morning.  He is sad and he cries.  A teacher walks up to him and says, "Jimmy.  I see that you are really sad.  You're mom does have to go now, and that is really sad for you.  If you need to cry for a few minutes to help yourself feel better that is fine.  I will sit here with you until you are ready to do something else."  Jimmy continues to cry.  The teacher continues to sit with him.  Soon she says, "You know Jimmy, sometimes I miss my mom too.  She lives really far away.  Do you know what I do sometimes when I'm feeling sad that I can't see her?  I write her a note.  Would you like to write a note to your mom?" Jimmy looks at her and shakes his head "no".  

Another child comes over, and says to the teacher, "What's wrong?  Why is Jimmy crying?" The teacher replies, "Jimmy is feeling really sad because his mom had to go to work.  Have you ever felt that way?" The child thinks for a moment, "Yeah.  I sad my mom go too." Then the teacher asks, "What do you do to help yourself feel better when that happens?" The child stops to think.  The teacher says, "sometimes when I am really sad I need a hug, or I need to talk to my friends.  Sometimes I just need to cry, and sometimes I like to do some artwork, or read a book."  The child says, "I read a book." The teacher suggests, "Do you think that it might help Jimmy feel better to read a book?" The child nods her head, runs over to the book shelf, grabs a book and comes running back.  "Let's ask him." the teacher suggests.  "You wanna read a book?" the child asks.  Jimmy shakes his head "no".  The teacher says, "hmmm.... I wonder what will help him feel better?"  

Another child comes running over with a toy car.  He tries to hand it to Jimmy.  Jimmy says, "mmmmmm!" and turns his head away still crying.  "I guess he doesn't want to use that car..." the teacher says, "I wonder if there is something else that can help him?" At this point Jimmy has stopped crying and has started to look around the room.  Also four or five children have gathered together to help in this quest.  Jimmy, the teacher and the other children begin to walk around the classroom together looking at the things that are available.  "Playdough" one child suggests to no avail.  Then as they enter the kitchen they see several toys placed out on the table to dry.  

Jimmy sees a toy carrot laying on the table.  He looks at the teacher and says, "I will only feel better if I can use that toy carrot."  The teacher passes him the carrot and Jimmy goes off with his classmates smiling.  

So what...

In the first scenario Jimmy is  given a puzzle and told he is okay, whereas in the second scenario he is offered some options, and he learns that he is in fact okay.  This to me is a key difference, and it makes me think about the people in my life who I have seen struggle with addiction.  

I believe that for many of them they sought out substances to numb themselves because thier whole lives other people had taken it upon themselves to "fix" the "problem" of their sadness, grief, anger or other strong emotions, and they no longer understood that it was within their power to emerge from that discomfort as a whole human being.  They had been told (probably since the age of 5) that they should "be a big boy" and had, like me felt the need to isolate themselves unless they were "okay" because their friends wouldn't know how to deal with it. 

By the time my ex was 20, when he was sad about our break-up I literally witnessed him wedged between the wall and the couch, covering his face with his hands and curled into a ball having a panic attack and repeating over and over "I feel so unsafe right now, I feel so unsafe right now." because he hadn't cried since he was seven.  Is that what it means to "be a big boy?"  

For me this issue extends far beyond the classroom.  Each time I think about giving someone a metaphorical puzzle, or telling them "it will be okay" I stop myself, and instead think about the opportunity I have to bear witness to their own capacity for self-healing and their need to perhaps not be "okay" but just to be.  I think about the fact that when I was in the throws of my depression all I really wanted was someone to sit with me quietly while I cried without judging me, or fixing me.  

In looking at the second classroom scenario, Jimmy walked away smiling.  I believe that the community that was built by allowing sadness to be a part of it, was a much more deep and true one than if all the children were walking around afraid to cry and unable to smile, and I hope to be able to build that type of community in my school as well as in my life.  

It begins at the age of five...

Today I am thinking about how often the typical response to children’s negative behavior in a classroom is that of anger and exclusion rather than education about how to be a more functional member of the classroom, and the way in which this parallels our societal norms particularly around our prison system.  

A glimpse into the classroom:

The children are all playing in the sensory table and one of the children, “Sam” throws the sand out of the table and onto the floor (seemingly on purpose…) one of the teachers comes over and says, “Sam!  You know that we don’t throw the sand! You’re done for the day.”  About ten minutes later Sam walks back over to the sensory table.  He picks up a scoop and pours the sand into a container.  He watches as the sand falls back into the table.  As he picks up the scoop to fill it again the teacher walks back over and says, “Sam!  What are you doing!? (not in a tone of curiosity, or intended as question to be answered) I told you, you were done for the day!” Sam looks up at her and says, “but I’m not throwing the sand anymore.” 

I think it's important to note that of all the children in the room Sam is the child I notice is put out of the room most often for his behavior. I also notice that he is black, and I'm aware that his family has few monetary resources.  He seems angry much of the time, and sometimes resorts to violence to express himself.  

When I hear what he has said to the teacher, I see a great opportunity for her to support him, (given that he has changed his behavior) and to express excitement and perhaps joy he has succeeded in figuring out how to participate more appropriately in the activity according to the rules that she had established.  I am waiting for the teacher to take advantage of the moment provided by Sam by saying something like, “Oh! Then it looks like you are able to play here.  I’m so glad you remembered the rule.”  Instead she responds in a way that to me communicates that her authority is all that matters, and that there can be no repair on Sam's part.  She tells him, “I don’t care!  I told you, you were done.”   

So what?

It seems to me that even at the young age of five, we are instilling in children the message that even when they learn a lesson, and work hard to follow the rules, they will be punished.  We are literally telling them “We don’t care” about what they have learned. What does matter to us (the might infer) is that they made a mistake, and that the mistake takes precedence over any other factor.  To me, it seems unjust and unfortunately, it reminds me of our "justice" system. I believe that when we as teachers speak and act in this way are complicit in creating conditions in which the children may no longer bother to do the hard work of following rules.  We risk taking away the hope that if they do in fact put in that work that they will find mutual celebration of their increased mastery over their behavior, and the satisfaction of being welcomed back into full participation in the group. 

Clearly this is only a small window into one moment of the day in the life of that child, that classroom, and that school, and this one moment doesn't determine anything for sure, but it does offer me an opportunity to think more deeply about my own responses to children when they exhibit negative behavior.  So I ask myself, what response would allow a child to truly learn a lesson, and develop internal motivation to follow the rules, and be a part of the classroom community?

Imagine if...

Sam throws sand.  The teacher approaches, and lets him know the impact of his behavior by saying to him, "Sam, when you throw sand on the floor it makes a mess for us to clean up..."  She then reminds him of the rule, "...I want to remind you that the sand needs to stay in the sand table..." Then, she states what the consequence of the continued behavior will be.  "...If I see you throw the sand again I will ask you to help clean it up, and then find somewhere else to play until you are ready to follow the rules."  Finally, she makes sure that he has agency in the conversation by asking,  "Do you understand?" 

When/if sam throws the sand again the teacher asks him where else in the classroom he would like to play, reminding him that this particular area is off limits for the time being.  Sam gets upset.  The teacher recognizes the validity of his feelings saying, "I see you are upset..." Then  reminds him that he is not being punished, but rather he is being offered an opportunity to learn, by saying,  "Don't worry, you will have another chance to play here as soon as you are ready to follow the rule about the sand.  I will check in with you in five minutes to see if you are ready to come back.  In the meantime, where would you like to play?"  

Sam chooses the block area.  Five minutes later the teacher invites him back saying, "Sam, there is a space available for you at the sand table.  Are you ready to remember that the sand stays in the table?" Sam says that he is, and he returns to the table.  He starts filling up cups with sand and pouring it out into the sand table.  The teacher watches him for a few moments then offers reinforcement for the appropriate behavior and recognition of Sam by saying, "I'm glad you are back at the sand table Sam.  It seems like you really enjoy playing here."  Sam smiles, and continues to play with the sand.  

I believe that if the scenario presented here consistently goes as it did in the second telling then we have a hope of raising children who are confident in their ability to understand rules, consequences, and their own capacity for participating in the process of being a responsible member of a community. 

While I don't believe this will solve our often unjust and racist system of incarceration I do believe that at least we won't be replicating or reinforcing the underlying message that there is no way to come back from a mistake. 

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more of my many thoughts...