Hard Work And Suffering A Kids

Teaching preschool is hard work. It is physically and emotionally demanding. At the end of a day in the classroom I'm done.

This is not a complaint, but rather a statement of fact. In almost any other job there are times, even entire days or weeks, when it's possible to just phone it in, but that's not an option for preschool teachers. The routine physical demands of up and down, of playing, of lifting and carrying, being on your knees all day, day-after-day, take their toll. I don't know any teacher who has been at this for any length of time who doesn't experience back and joint pain. And it's even more taxing emotionally. At any given moments we're listening with our entire selves, consoling, counseling, coaching, or otherwise supporting highly emotional people through what for them is a crisis. We pour ourselves into these children because it is our job, but also because we love them. More often than not, I finish a classroom day buoyed and proud by the work I've done, but I'm also wrung out in a way that nothing else wrings me out.

I love the work. We love our work. It's hard work.

Earlier this week, I wrote about people who worry about the children we teach. They worry that if we leave them to educate themselves by asking and answering their own questions through their play that  they will never learn about hard work. This is BS of the highest order, of course. Indeed, I've never seen a playing child who was not working hard. They show us they are working hard in the intensity of their concentration as they try to add one more block to the top of their tower. They show us their work ethic as they fully engage in the intense back-and-forth of negotiations over who is really going to be the queen. No one works harder than a child who is struggling with a puzzle or with balancing along a curb or trying to summon up the courage to take a leap. They are always working hard to process the confusing world around them through their dramatic play, their storytelling, and the strong emotions they wear on their sleeves.

No, children who play show they know everything they will ever need to know about hard work. What they may not know about it arbitrary suffering. It occurs to me that this is really what people are saying when they "worry" about play-based education. Life is hard, the reasoning goes, it is full of all sorts of things you don't want to do, but you must do them nevertheless so, in the name of teaching this lesson, we must require young children to suffer at least a little by commanding them to do things they don't want to do. What's missing in this argument is that children, just like all humans, are already doing plenty of things they don't want to do. We don't need to go out of our way to create arbitrary, even punitive, suffering, like say (for many of us at least) algebra, in order to "teach" this hard lesson. Our first communications are cries of pain or hunger, of suffering, of experiencing life as suffering. It's such a self-evident lesson that even infants know it. Manufacturing lessons in suffering strike me as unnecessarily cruel. 

As a preschool teacher of a certain age, I don't necessarily want to squat and lift. It hurts my knees, but of course I do it because some amount of suffering is required to do this thing I love to do. Hard work and suffering are built into life no matter what. The answer is not to "get used to it" as the worriers would have it, but rather to play, to spend life doing things you choose, things you love, because that's the only thing that stands against the suffering.

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How About If We Focus On That Personality

As any preschool teacher will tell you, every parent knows their child is a genius. And they're usually not shy about talking about it. Sally, can already recite the alphabet. Raphael can count to 500. At the same time, every parent is concerned, worried that their child is in some way "behind." This, they're usually not as eager to talk about. One of the wonderful aspects of cooperative schools, schools where the parents work in the classroom as assistant teachers, is that they come to see that they're right, their child is a genius . . . But so is that one and that one and that one. At the same time, they see that perhaps their child is "behind" at something or other, but again, so is that one and that one and that one. It's a chance to learn what preschool teachers know: every child is a genius and every child is "behind." Indeed, the range of what can be called normal, especially in the preschool years, is enormous, so  huge that it's hardly worth talking about.

And, frankly, who wants to be normal anyway?

I can't tell you how many parents have spoken to me over the past twenty years about their concerns that their child is developmentally delayed or autistic or has ADHD or something. I give them my best counsel, of course, referring them to their doctors or other professionals only to have them return to me, relieved to find that their child is normal. Of course, I'm happy that they're relieved, but this tendency to spot imperfections in their child often doesn't go away, they just shift their attention to some other concern. I know it's done out of love, but honestly, no one can thrive under the eye of an omnipresent critic, let alone young children.

Too often, our critical eye, our judgements, our urge to improve our children, causes them to believe that they must earn our acceptance, which is for young children indistinguishable from having to earn our love. When we say, or even think, "I'm doing this for your own good," we are not. We are doing it for ourselves, out of our fears, in order to create more normal in a world where normal doesn't exist. Identifying and fixing the problems of our children is actually a very, very small part of our job as parents. Our main role is to simply love them, to accept them, unconditionally. As Mister Rogers would say, "I like you just the way you are." The rest of the world is the place to prove and improve ourselves, but our strength to go out in the world and test ourselves comes from our parents' unconditional love.

Deepak Chopra wrote, "If a child is poor in math, but good at tennis, most people would hire a math tutor. I would rather hire a tennis coach." Every parens, no matter how worried, also knows that their child is a genius. How about we focus on that instead? Imagine our world if instead of parents hiring all those math tutors, we instead hired tennis coaches.

I've 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!

That's What Children Have Taught Me Education

One of the most important things I've learned in my life is that no one ever knows what they're doing. We all wake up each morning to find that life isn't as we want it, we spend our day wrestling it into shape as best we can, then we wake up the following day to do it again.

The great advantage that children have over most of us adults is that as long as they know that they are loved, they live their days in full knowledge that they don't know what they are doing, that they are going to have to figure it out, cobble it together, and count on the other people to help get them through. Children spring from bed, anticipating the unknown that lies before them, embracing it, laughing when its good and crying when it's bad. They know that the love is the important thing and the rest is not knowable until we get there and even then mostly in hindsight.

Too many adults, enter our days with a sense of dread. We likewise know, in our hearts, no matter what our age, that we don't know what we're doing, but we fear that we should, that we must, that everyone else does. We worry about judgement, about failure, about being revealed as frauds. We cover it in bravado, with toxic positivity, with brusqueness, or the superficial trappings of success, hoping somehow to convince the others (because we'll never fully convince ourselves) that we know what we're doing. We descend into depression, we struggle with anxiety, and only when we get to a breaking point do we seek the help we've needed all along. And we tend to take the love for granted.

From children I've learned the great joy to be found in admitting to myself and to others that I don't know what I'm doing; the great joy in embracing each day as a way to once more engage in the grand project of figuring it all out and asking for help. I don't always succeed, of course, but whether I anticipate or dread, I fall and fail as much as the next person, as much as any child. I wrestle the day back into shape as best I can and wake up the following day to do it again. I laugh and cry. When I remember what the children have taught me, however, when I put the love first, that's when I most fully live. That's what children have taught 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!