The Myth Of Bootstraps

Sixteen years ago my wife and I considered ourselves the kind of people who would have a wine cellar. We were motivated in no small part by the fact that we'd just purchased a home with your classic cool, dark basement, ignoring the fact that I don't drink wine and she sticks almost exclusively to a few brands of chardonnay. Since there were already shelves built into the space, I ran out and purchased a classic Ikea do-it-yourself "system," which we filled, over years, with bottles of wine people gave us as gifts and that we would likely never drink.

Fortunately, I work in a profession in which nothing need ever go to waste, so when we moved out of that house, the wine rack parts found their way to the preschool where they now serves as a building set.

The system is simple: hexagonal prisms that are about a foot long with each end drilled with four holes into which wooden pegs fit. They can be inserted by hand, but we like to use rubber mallets at the work bench. 

They're an imperfect system, especially when using the mallets. If you hit too hard, your entire structure might collapse like a house of cards. The same goes for if you don't brace the whole thing against the work bench, which makes it a perfect thing for tinkering around, especially with an adult there to lend a hand. This can be a frustrating system to work with, I know, I've cobbled them together before and repaired them frequently over the years. Few preschool-aged children are able to manage it without an adult hand here or there. In fact, I've come to realize that it's the kind of challenge that is almost rigged for young children to fail unless they have a helping hand.

Alfie Kohn has an excellent piece up over at Huffington Post about the myth that children today are too coddled and that they "benefit from plenty of bracing experiences with frustration and failure." 

Research certainly doesn't support the idea that failure or disappointment is constructive in itself. A "BGUTI" (better get used to it) rationale -- the assumption that children are best prepared for unpleasant experiences that may come later by being exposed to a lot of unpleasantness while they're young -- makes no sense from a psychological perspective. We may want kids to rebound from failure, but that doesn't mean it's usually going to happen -- or that the experience of failure makes that desired outcome more likely . . . In fact, studies find that when kids fail, they tend to construct an image of themselves as incompetent and even helpless, which leads to more failure. (They also come to prefer easier tasks and lose interest in whatever they're doing.)

When children come to our workbench, indeed when they freely chose to approach any activity in our school, the emphasis is on "tinkering," not success or failure, not reward (good grade) or punishment (bad grade), not product but process. When a child is challenged by the process of fitting two pieces together, the adult's role isn't to keep their "eye on the prize," but rather to "notice" or narrate the process in which the child is engaging. The goal of struggle is not to overcome, but to gather data:

Jerome Bruner said this: We want students to "experience success and failure not as reward and punishment but as information."

Most children get to a point when working with this impromptu building set when they need help to do what they want, an extra hand to hold something, a few words of strategic counsel. This isn't, of course, an invitation for the adult to take over, nor a sign of having been coddled, but rather a natural human response to a situation that is too many or too much for them. When a child asks for help with this building set, it is a request to provide support for their exploration. Often the request for help is very clear and specific, "Will you hold this for me?" an acknowledgment that she knows exactly what she thinks she needs to get to where she wants to go. Other times it's less clear, perhaps a groan of frustration or an "I can't do it!" In this case, we engage in a discussion about the nature of the challenge, my "help" coming in the form of helping the child simply formulate his request for help. Often that alone allows a child to see his way through to a solution. Sometimes I find I need to make suggestions (e.g., "If someone held that part, you might be able to do it.") or simply make statements of fact (e.g., "If you hit right here, the peg will go in the hole.")  

I have no formula to tell adults when and how to provide help. It always comes down to the child and the situation. Sometimes, as my friend and parent educator Janet Lansbury suggests, it's totally appropriate to say, "I won't help you, but I won't let you get hurt," but learning how to ask for help, learning to know when to ask for help, is as vital to "success" (however you define it) as anything else one needs to learn.

Part of what Kohn is writing about in his piece is what I call "The Myth of Boot Straps." It's a common theme that runs throughout public debate these days, one that implies that everyone can just pull themselves up by their own boot straps if only they apply themselves, stick to it, work harder. It's part of the mythology of the "self made man"; that it's a sign of weakness to ask for help.

What people have forgotten in this neo-Calvinist ideology is that "to pull one's self up by one's bootstraps" is a metaphor for an impossible task. It's an absurdity. Everyone needs help. If you're stuck in the mud, no amount of pulling at your own bootstraps is going to get you out. Learning when and how to ask for help is a vital life skill, because mythology aside, no one does it on his own.

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Only This Time

If there was one non-education related topic that people in Australia and New Zealand wanted to talk with me about during my recent trip Down Under, it was America's relationship with guns. This was true of my trip to Greece in the spring as well. And in nearly every case, the question was some version of, "What the hell is going on?"

I answered as honestly as I could, although not always this diplomatically, "There are too many people with access to guns who should not have access to guns."

A case in point was last week's thrill kill shooting of a 22-year-old Australian baseball player in Oklahoma City by 15, 16, and 17-year-old boys. Another is yesterday's shooting at a Decatur, Georgia elementary school by a 20-year-old who was apparently "off his meds." It's far too easy for kids and mentally ill people to get their hands on guns. No one believes that children or mentally ill people should have access to guns, yet tragically, we seem to be incapable to doing anything about it, and, from what I hear in my travels, the rest of the world is aghast.

This may not be an education-related post, but it is about children. Fifteen hundred America children are killed each year by guns, that's an average of 4 per day, and tens of thousands more are seriously injured. Almost all of these are "accidental" shootings occurring in their own homes or the homes of friends or relatives. Most of these victims are boys, shot by a friend or relative. More than half of parents who own guns keep them in their homes loaded and unlocked: these people, by the NRA's own standards, are irresponsible gun owners. They think they've hidden their guns where the kids won't find them, but 80 percent of first graders say they know where their parents keep their guns. The kids in Oklahoma City may have acquired their gun by other means, but the majority of kids shooting kids with guns got those guns from their own parents.

As for the mentally ill, nearly 90 percent of Americans say they favor more stringent background checks before people be allowed to purchase guns, specifically to be certain of the sanity of buyers, yet our politicians are incapable of making that happen. In contrast, in 1996, a lone gunman killed 35 people with a semi-automatic weapon in Port Arthur, Australia. This lead to new laws prohibiting all automatic and semi-automatic weapons, and imposed strict licensing rules. They also implemented background checks and lengthy waiting periods for all gun purchases. Gun violence has not been eliminated, but there has not been a single mass shooting in Australia in the 16 years since the laws were put into place. These laws were supported by a full 90 percent of the population, more or less the same percentage of Americans who report they support stricter gun control laws. No one can credibly claim that Australia has not been successful in keeping guns out of the hands of children and the mentally ill.

In the US, a recent mass shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut in which 26 were killed, 20 of whom were kindergarteners, lead to nothing but a failed attempt by Congress to strengthen our background check laws and an insane call from many to arm teachers. I'm sorry, but I don't see how armed teachers will do anything but dramatically increase the number of kids accidentally shot and killed, adding to what is already a slow motion mass murder of American children.

And that brings me back to yesterday's shooting at that elementary school in Georgia. A mentally ill man with an AK-47, explosives, and other weapons, got into the school's office, getting off several shots, yet you may not have even heard about it. Surprised? That's probably because no one was killed or injured. All the children are alive today, not because teachers had guns in their waistbands, but because a brave clerical worker named Antoinette Tuff talked to the gunman. That's right, she talked to him. By the time the police arrived, she had talked him into voluntarily disarming himself. When the police came through the door, he was lying on the floor with his arms behind him. She was armed with something far more powerful and effective than a gun: the ability to talk a desparate person down. If we need to arm teachers, this is how to do it. In fact, I would go one step further and say that every American should receive this kind of training as part of their education.

As usual, I'm expecting gun rights people to come here to tell me I'm un-American or that I don't know what I'm talking about because I somehow got my gun terminology wrong or that "gun free" zones like those around schools are the cause of these tragedies. I will challenge these people in advance to come here with their own ideas about how to keep guns out of the hands of children and away from the mentally ill. And I will also point out that every school shooting up to now has taken place in schools that did employ armed security, some even had their own police forces, yet people were killed and injured. Only this time, in a school that was armed only with words, did we manage to walk away with no injuries or death. Only this time did we have a gunman give himself up without carrying out his unthinkable plans. Please at least think about that before you write to me.

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The Albatross Flight Trainer

Niki Buchan and I had a day off in Auckland, New Zealand last week, so we took a walk down to the harbor area where we came across a piece of public art called "Albatross Trainer" by artist Greer Twiss.  I'll admit to not reading the "artist's statement" which was on a nearby plaque because, quite frankly, as an artist myself, I tend to believe that the artist has already made his statement with his artwork. Figuring out what it's all about is up to the rest of us.

This piece made me sad, to be honest, seeing a great bird strapped to a flight trainer like this, as if mankind, in our hubris, thinks we can somehow improve upon nature's plans for teaching an albatross to fly. I mean, we need flight trainers for human pilots because, of course, we were not all born to fly, but to suggest a bird needs this kind of help is a kind of tragic ridiculousness, something we see far too often when it comes to young children. I couldn't help but think of a comment Niki had made earlier in the day: "People in offices keep writing curricula and the kids keep learning the way they always have -- by playing."

It's crazy, all these folks trying to sell us on products or methods or systems designed to "help" children do things like stand or sit or walk or talk or read or count, things they do as naturally as an albatross flies. I mean, there are literally dozens of types "walk trainers" out there for our babies. Really? There are devices designed to help babies sit up before their muscles are even close to being ready. Is this really a problem? Is there an epidemic of babies not learning to walk or sit up by themselves? Of course not; every normal baby already learns these things without any help from any kind of "trainer" other than, you know, the world in which they find themselves living. By the same token, do we really need "cute" apps to teach children "counting and language skills," which is a direct quote from just about every spam email I receive these days? Do we honesty believe we can improve upon talking with children and giving them time and space to play, which is the way nature has always taught foundational counting and language skills? I guarantee there will never be an app that can do a better job than that. Do we need written programs for what and how we expect young children to learn, devised by people who clearly have no how idea how they themselves learned the important things they know? Of course not. People in offices keep writing curricula and the kids keep learning the way they always have -- by playing.

We spend billions of dollars on these things every year, these albatross flight trainers, to which we strap the wings of children. 

Beside this grounded albatross, the artist has mounted a half dozen others on steel poles, awkwardly flying overhead, if you can all it flying. There is none of the grace or magic in these hobbled sea birds than there is in an actual bird in flight, although I suppose, if you squint and forget what it ought to look like, you can say, "Hey, look! They're flying!" much in the way parents enthuse that Junior learned his A-B-C's or shapes or colors from an iPhone. You can call it learning, I suppose, but it comes at an enormous cost both in dollars and opportunity, as well as, tragically, freedom.

Children are born not only ready to learn, but knowing how and what to learn. They may well, if they know nothing else, be made to willingly put their wings to a trainer, if only to please their task-master because they do seek to please, but it's only when we finally take them off that a child can really learn to fly.

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 Good Mess Of Stuff

This will be a short one because I have to catch an early flight back to Seattle . . .

I'm sitting in my hotel room here in Sydney, Australia after spending the better part of three weeks traveling around this country and New Zealand with Niki Buchan, talking to teachers and parents about the way we do early childhood education at Woodland Park, but the truth is that I've probably learned more from them than the other way around. It's been both fun and edifying, and, as it turns out, a toe in the water as I've been asked to return next August by Natasja and Nicole, my incredible hosts from Inspired EC. Next year we plan to visit even more of the country and talk to more people, inspiring and being inspired.

I expect I'll be writing quite a bit over the next few weeks about my thoughts and experiences, telling you some of the stories about my time here, but right now it's all kind of a jumble, a good mess of stuff to reflect upon.

I ran across Marc Armitage while here, presenting and traveling with him for a time. I got to meet and even play with some of my Australian early childhood blogging sisters, Donna and Sherry, the "Irresistible Girls," Jenny Kable of Let the Children Play, and spend some time with Greg Harvey from Males in Early Childhood, Alec Duncan from Child's Play Music, and so many others who have been my virtual friends and allies over these past five years as a blogger.

There's something special going on here and I'm happy to be a part of it. I'm both moved and encouraged about how much passion people have for high quality, progressive, play-based early childhood education. We're everywhere, it seems, all around the globe.

After all this time going about side-by-side with Niki, one would think we would by now be sick of one another, or at least have run out of things to talk about, but yesterday morning in Auckland, the final time we were to sit waiting for our flight to be announced, we began making our plans for the future, finding ourselves getting increasingly excited when we should have been running on fumes.

I'm eager to get home, of course, to my family and school, but I'm happy to know I'm coming back to continue the conversations we've started.

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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The Sand Dancer

When Niki Buchan and I arrived yesterday in Christchurch, New Zealand where we will be holding our final Inspired EC presentation/workshop/training on Saturday, we found a stunningly gorgeous day, so we headed for the beach before even checking into our hotel. After a couple hours exploring it was time to find some lunch. We were craving fish and chips, so figured we would stick to the beach drive, heading toward what we would later learn was the New Brighton pier.

As we drove in this place that is halfway around the world from my home, I spotted someone I recognized: a thin little man, wearing a floppy hat, riding a distinctive "chopper" style bike. It was the Sand Dancer! No way! I'd included an inspiring video of this eccentric artist in a post five years ago in the first few months of this blog. I was still in doubt that it could be him even when the pier and the beach looked exactly as I'd remembered it from the video, so I asked the restaurant owner, "Would you know if there is a sand artist who sometimes works on this beach?"

He answered enthusiastically, "He's here from time to time." When I asked if he worked at specific times or on any kind of predictable schedule, he laughed, "It has to do with tides and weather and . . . I think mostly it's up to his mood. No one can predict guys like that." I suppose that's exactly the answer for which I should have hoped: a man still living according to his calling.

As soon as I post this I'm going to be checking the local tide tables and Niki and I are going to hope today is the day. In the meantime I'm re-posting that long ago reflection, complete with the Sand Dancer video. I think you'll like it.

*****

One of the important things I’ve learned about myself, and it took me 40+ years to figure it out, is that I’m not cut out for having a job. Of course, I’ve had jobs, and in every case I’ve eventually grown to resent them. I come to despise the financial hold that jobs have over me, the control they take of my time, and the waste they make of my energy.

It has been a recurring theme that began back in college when I found myself disliking any course that smacked to me of vocational training, while loving my classes with names like “The Sociology of Leisure,” “The Biology of Animal Behavior,” and “Mann, Kafka, Hesse, In Translation.” During my years working for the Greater Seattle Chamber of Commerce, I squirmed around so uncomfortably in the job, that I would arrive at the office at 5 a.m., and leave to go home at 2 p.m., anything apparently to be somehow in charge of my daily life. I grew a beard, wore bow ties and suspenders, and kept a collection of toys in my office, but none of it worked.

I suppose this could simply be written off as immaturity on my part, and maybe it is, but what I’ve come to understand about myself is that I do much, much better in the world when I’m pursuing a “calling” rather than a job.

Most teachers I know, like me, consider their vocation as a calling. The ministers I’ve known feel the same way, as do most of the artists. Indeed there are teachers, preachers, and creative types who’ve managed to make millions, but most of us could easily earn more money elsewhere. We’re not in it for the money, and that’s what makes it a calling rather than a job.

Compulsory public education had its origins in the industrial revolution, and was at its core vocational. As we moved into an age of economic centralization and mass production, commercial interests needed a trained workforce, and for many, maybe most, that’s what education remains today. We go to school ultimately in order to get jobs as doctors, lawyers, accountants or advertising executives. What are you going to be when you grow up? When are you going to declare a major? How are you going to use an English degree? These are all, at bottom, questions about how you’re going to make money.

They are questions about jobs and I've tried, but I find them uninteresting. The question that I’m instead cursed to always return to is: Time is short, how am I spending it? Chasing money seems like the ultimate waste of the only resource we really have.

And I’m not alone:

His art that gets washed away with each tide, and I don’t think this guy is wasting a second of his time.

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Letters And Numbers Everywhere

Even before a child has spent a second in our classroom, their parents have heard me at least twice warn them, "We do not push letters or numbers at Woodland Park." In fact, I usually emphatically say that I will not intentionally bring letters or numbers into the classroom unless the children themselves compel me to it.

Of course, my point is that we make no overt efforts to teach them to read, or even identify their letters or numbers for that matter, we'll let their kindergarten teachers deal with that, but it's an impossible promise to keep. For one thing, most of the 2-year-olds come in already knowing that ubiquitous A-B-C song and they obsessively count everything, so there's that.

But making it even more difficult to keep my word is our school's commitment to reusing and recycling. Those darn things all have letters and numbers on them and the kids are forever pointing them out, saying things like, "That's my letter! G!" or "That's the number 2!" Arg! What do I look like, your kindergarten teacher?

If you look carefully, and children do, you'll see letters and numbers everywhere. The kids even ask me sometimes what the words mean as if they're somehow driven to figure out the strange symbolic codes of their fellow human beings.

Naturally, I blame society for its obsession with labeling everything, printing Diet Coke . . . or Miracle-Gro . . . 

. . . or Brown Cow . . . 

. . . or whatever on our upcycled "toys."

Heck, the parents even label their kids with words and numbers.

I suppose I could deal with it if the world would limit itself to these external labels, but really, shouldn't the insides of machines be safe havens? You might have to look closely, but they've managed to sneak a 4-9-5 in there, thinking the kids wouldn't notice. Shame on them!

You would think that gardens, at least, would be a place to escape these words and numbers, but no.

They even sneak words onto the garden spades!

I often come across articles about how to make a preschool classroom into a "literacy rich environment." Where are the articles about how to banish literacy? That's what I'd like to know. Every time I turn around, there they are, letters and numbers and words all chock-a-block with meaning.

And kids interacting with them, fiddling around, unlocking their secret abstract meanings in the course of their play.

I want to do it the pedagogically correct way as a preschool teacher, leaving these things out of the classroom until the kids are developmentally ready for them, but it's too many and too much for me. The minimum they could do is avoid putting letters and numbers on things that children find exciting or interesting.

Believe me, the undersides of these vintage Matchbox cars are riddled with

vital information about their makes and models that kids 

are always trying to decipher -- truly aggravating!

Yeah sure, sometimes we need to use a few letters for things like documenting our classroom rules . . .

. . . or recording thoughts for posterity . . .

And, yes, newspaper with all its thousands of tiny words and numbers really is the best, least expensive paper mache material.

And the burlap from discarded coffee bags is useful in all kinds of contexts.

All of these things, naturally, kind of throw letters and numbers into the faces of the kids, but I'm hoping these types of utilitarian accidents of literacy education are more than compensated for by my rigorous efforts on other fronts, although I despair.

They appear like magic.

They hide and turn themselves upside down.

They manage to inject themselves onto those fragile brains from every angle and during every moment of the day. Printed, typeset, handwritten, uppercase, lowercase, they're all there all the time.

I do my best to make our school a letter and number-free zone, but I'm just one man.

Why can't they just stay in books where they belong?

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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