Again!

"Again!"

He pushes the book back into my hands.

"Again, Ms. Sylvan, AGAIN!"

We've read this one four times already today.

"We've read this one so many times! Would you like to pick a different one this time?"

"NO! THIS ONE! AGAIN!" This time, not one, but a chorus of voices implore me: Again. This one. Nothing else will do.

If you work with young children, you've likely encountered this scenario before. The scenario where your students want the same book over and over and over again, despite the fact that you've collected an impressive library just filled with classics. And they're all right there on the shelf, just begging to be read. Despite the fact that the themes of the book don't relate to anything else you're doing today. We've spent weeks in the dead of winter reading Pumpkin Circle on repeat, rehashing the life cycle of everyone's favorite autumn crop long after the last leaf has fallen onto frost-hardened ground. We've snuggled under green, leafy trees in muggy June heat to read Llama, Llama, Holiday Drama, which often segues into play surrounding "gift wrapping" and "decorating Christmas trees" (again, in June). Favorite after favorite gets the repeat-read treatment until the pages fall from the binding and need to be repaired in our "book hospital," no matter the fact that the shelves are simply overflowing with other choices. Favorite stories rekindle favorite play schemes, as well, further derailing adult agendas day after day.

My husband recently commented on our children's deep, abiding love for the work of Mercer Mayer. There's a Nightmare in my Closet, There's an Alligator Under My Bed, and There's Something in the Attic are our daughter's current favorites, and they were her brother's favorites for years. Both children have memorized at least one story from this canon. My husband has been reading these stories at bedtime for several nights in a row and confided in me that he just didn't understand their appeal, saying that the basic storyline was the same in all of them and he didn't see anything special about them. I've been reading them on repeat to my daughter and my playschool kids during the day, too, and watching the resulting monster/ alligator/ something-in-the-closet play unfold after each reading. The good guys chase away the monsters or convince them to be nice. and then the cycle begins anew. It does seem like a lot of the same thing, at least on the surface.

But each story, in a slightly different way, tells a heroic tale of a child defeating his or her greatest fear. In the process of taking on their fears - a monster in the attic or closet, an alligator under the bed - the children find that their "nightmares" aren't as scary as they thought. Each time we read, the protagonists remind us that we can be brave, that we can overcome our fears. There is something new to notice in the illustrations (which are delightful in each story), a new way to think about the events, a new detail indicating that the featured monsters are more human, and less scary, than they initially seemed. The protagonists wrestle with the fact that their parents don't see or understand the things that frighten them.  Each read brings another opportunity to feel just a little scared alongside the protagonist,and then emerge triumphant at the end.

In her  truly wonderful book, Discovering the Culture of Childhood, Emily Plank reminds us that "predictability is empowering," likening a child's repeated requests for the same story or game to an adult's need to drive down the same streets many times in order to feel comfortable in a new town. "This is the culture of childhood," Plank tells us, "and we have to remember that children look at repetitious experiences through a different lens. Repetition is not boring, and, paradoxically, repetition can actually free children to experience novelty. Unlike their adult care providers, children are not bored after the tenth reading of Goodnight Moon. Through each successive reading, their minds are free to attend to something new. Perhaps they notice the sound of the turning pages during the first reading. Then, after the turning pages lose their allure, they notice a link between the pictures on each page and the sound of the words that accompany those pictures. In subsequent readings, they notice the colorful drawings that follow the black-and-white ones, or they wait with anticipation for the cow that jumps over the moon, or the sound of the lady whispering hush, or they notice the mouse that appears in every scene. As adults, we get bored with reading the same books over and over - and rightly so! We have ceased to be awed by the sound of a turning page, and with finely tuned phonemic awareness skills, we are no longer amazed at the magical synchronicity of words and pictures... But understanding the culture of childhood means appreciating the function of repetition in its cultural context."

It is, of course, our jobs as teachers and caregivers to be sure children have access to a variety of different books in their environments, and to take time to share new and wonderful literature with them and to support them as they respond to that literature in their play, their artwork, their writing. But it is also our job to sit back when we can and listen to what they need. When we read a book that they clearly love, that they want to hear on repeat and act out over and over again, saying YES to the request to keep reading that beloved text is a valuable experience for all of us - children and adult. We empower our children, telling them that their ideas matter. We reinforce the notion that reading together is a rich, rewarding experience and that a good story is to be savored, not set aside. We help them to build comfort with the elements of print. We help them grow as readers, and as people who will grow up loving books... again and again.

This Is Why We Are Here

Years ago, I was given Jon Muth's beautiful book, The Three Questions, as a graduation gift. It was a gift from my then-boyfriend's parents (who are now my in-laws).

This beautifully illustrated picture book, based on Leo Tolstoy's story of the same name, is a  meditation on the meaning of life.

The little boy in the story ponders three questions, "When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do?"

His friends offer many possible answers, all tailored to their own particular interests and habits, until he is led to the answer through a series of experiences with Leo, the old tortoise, a mother panda, and her baby (it's a truly beautiful story and one that can be appreciated on multiple levels - I urge you to pick up a copy and read it if you have not).

He is led to these truths, which I try to meditate on daily:

The best time to do things is now.

The most important one is the one you are with.

The right thing to do, is to do right by the one who is by your side.

I can't say I'm always successful.

Children are simply better at this, at being here in this moment, with whatever it offers. 

There is a lot of angst and worry and anger in the world right now. We, as adults, are walking around with a lot of weight on our shoulders. We think a lot about what's wrong, and we wonder how to fix the things we don't like, and we feel overwhelmed. 

A dear friend asked me if I'd be interested in writing a guest post on her blog and made a point to ask that it be "positive and non-political." This sounded like a piece of cake but I am ashamed to say that I have yet to complete this task.

I realized that I found this request to be far more of a challenge than I'd expected. I could never get very far into a post without connecting to something "bigger," and those "bigger" themes were always heavy. They were dark, they were angry, and I was frozen with my inability to work my way around this, to write the "right" things.

Now, look, there is a time and a place for anger, and I have many dear friends who are dedicated activists and their strong emotions are warranted and purposeful. Worry and fear serve their own valid purposes, too. 

But not properly harnessed and channeled, these emotions muddy our better judgments and intentions. They're distractions. This is not why we are here. 

If you know me, and you talk to me often, you know that my stance has always been that the most valuable thing we can do to change the world is to help shape thoughtful, empathetic citizens. People who are kind and giving; who help their community and think critically and independently and find their niche - the thing that makes them truly happy and allows them to give back to the community.

This has ALWAYS been my passion. I really believe this. 

But to do it, I need to show up, be present, do the hard joyful work. 

Kids know this; they live in the moment.

In The Dude and the Zen Master, Jeff Bridges and Bernie Glassman meditate on this idea that "people get stuck a lot because they're afraid to act...We need help just to move on, only life doesn't wait."

 The solution?

 "[Y]ou want to row, row, row your boat -- gently. Don't make a whole to-do about it. Don't get down on yourself because you're not an expert rower; don't start reading too many books in order to do it right. Just row, row, row your boat gently down the stream."

When I ground myself in that moment, when I push aside my adult agenda, when I row gently down the stream, the joy comes rushing back in.

It's not hard work, living and being present, once you allow that weight to lift from your shoulders.

It's joyful. And it's meaningful. And it's a very effective way to get some very important work done.

"Remember then that there is only one important time, and that time is now. The most important one is always the one you are with. And the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side. For these, my dear boy, are the answers to what is most important in this world.

This is why we are here."

They Won't Grow Up To Be Pirates

I believe it is the fantastic Dan Hodgins who reminds us that when children pretend to don their eye patches and swashbuckle their way across the seven seas, we never worry that they will grow up to be pirates.

I mean, pirates are real. In real life, they're terrifying. They're criminals. They're violent.

We don't want our kids to grow up to be pirates.

But we can watch a group of children play pirates and we don't worry. We don't wring our hands and fret about their violent futures. Unless the swordplay gets too rowdy, we hardly feel the need to intervene.

We recognize it.

It's normal.

It looks fun.

There are many variations on this kind of play. There may be "good guys" and "bad guys," who can take a variety of forms. Maybe Spiderman or Batman will make an appearance.  Maybe the kids mix it up and add a monster or T-Rex into the mix, or they declare they are knights battling dragons. We recognize these games and they make us smile.

We feel comfortable with play taking these forms because they reinforce certain notions we want to hold onto about children and play. The play looks fun; it's likely very active; there may be laughter; the characters and plot lines are familiar and comfortable and they don't challenge our notions of children's innocence.

We start to get uncomfortable when the details change. Many of us intervene when guns make an appearance. We worry when the characters aren't clearly defined, when the lines between good guys and bad guys get blurred. We worry about desensitization. We worry they will grow up to be violent.

We don't worry that they'll grow up to be a pirate or a T-rex or the Joker. Alternately, we don't hold particularly high hopes that they'll be a superhero or a knight. And this all makes sense, because they never do grow  up to be Batman or the monster under the bed or any imaginary in-between.

The thing is, we aren't quite recognizing this type of play for what it is.

While, yes, play is fun at its core, there are much larger things at stake when kids engage in this kind of play. Pretend play that involves conflict, whether the battle involves superheroes, swords, toy guns or roaring monsters, is a type of therapy for children. It's a way for them to work out things that they find frightening and confusing, and for them to feel powerful when they might otherwise feel powerless. There is no indication that this kind of war play or feigned violence leads in any way to later violent behavior or desensitization to violence. In fact, many studies indicate that this type of play helps children to better manage difficult emotions, especially fear and anger, thus improving mental health and self-control - in other words, it makes them less likely to lash out in anger and violence as adults. This type of play is especially valuable for children who have actually witnessed violence and trauma for a variety of reasons.

 Rough-and-tumble play integrates a variety of motions described by therapists as alerting (jumping, running, sliding) and organizing (pushing, pulling, rolling, tumbling), two of the three stages in the body's natural trauma response cycle (the third type is calming, which applies to calmer sensory experiences such as water and sand play, play dough, painting and cuddling up to read stories). Play in which children imagine themselves thwarting dangerous "bad guys" and monstrous foes -  in whatever form they may take - allows children to feel powerful. "Children have very limited control over many areas of their lives. Becoming a superhero in their play allows them to access some sense of power," explains Dr. Amy Bailey, a clinical psychologist at KidsFirst Medical Center in Dubai. "It can help them act out and process any inner turmoil and sense of powerlessness that they have. This can help children to resolve issues of power and control, and it allows them to resolve or reduce fears and anxiety. They can also try out different personas and can experiment about the type of person they want to be."

The same can be said for all the other kinds of "good guy/ bad guy" play, no matter what forms the roles take.

What we must remember, however, is that even when the roles change, the benefits of this style of play remain the same.

A friend of mine recently contacted me out of concern for play she'd witnessed between her son and a school friend.

This little boy playing at their house was acting out a scenario in which he was shooting at police officers. She found this troubling, as she had only seen children's play in which police officers were "good guys."

Scenarios that flip our expected scripts are disturbing to us as adults looking in on children's play. This is often when we rush in to squelch the play. However, this is also typically when the play is the most valuable.

In my little Baton Rouge Playschool, I witnessed children enacting "flood" multiple times after the flooding of August 2016 in which so many of our friends and neighbors lost everything. The children would scream "Our house is flooding! Our house is flooding!" and gather up toys to stow away on top of chairs and tables, "higher ground."

I was fortunate enough to hear Lori Peek, a sociological researcher and co-author of Children of Katrina, speak at LSU recently, and to talk briefly with her about her research as it relates to play. She spoke of the same scenario, recalling that nearly every child, of every age, whom they observed playing freely, played what she referred to as "Evacuation" - rushing about frantically, gathering items, stuffing them in bags, making sure everyone "gets out."

This is not something the children were desensitized to. It was fresh, it was painful, it was weighing heavily on their minds and they were trying hard to understand what was happening, what their role was, and what control they had in such frightening circumstances, circumstances in which the adults in their lives seemed lost and afraid.

In his book Children and Play in the Holocaust: Games Among the Shadows, George Eisen describes children playing games they devised such as "grave digging" and "gatekeepers." As recounted by Dr. Aaron Peretz, a survivor of the Kovno ghetto:

"The children in the ghetto would play and laugh, and in their games the entire tragedy was reflected. They would play grave-digging: they would dig a pit and put a child inside and call him Hitler. And they would play at being gatekeepers of the ghetto. Some of the children played the parts of Germans, some of Jews, and the Germans were angry and would beat the other children who were Jews. And they used to play funerals..."

These children were not desensitized to the horror they were living through. They were struggling to make sense of it, to cope, as that is the only way they could possibly survive it. No one could argue that these children wanted to grow up to be a Nazi, beating up Jewish children. These children were taking on these roles to try to feel a sense of power over those who wielded power over them, to try to process the source of their fears.

The little boy - only four, a preschooler, who played out "shooting cops" at my friends' house was doing the same. This type of play allows children to process fears, to overcome their feelings of powerlessness, to try to understand other perspectives.

This summer, children saw on the news that police officers shot people. People who weren't bad guys. Many children, such as this child, may have previously only seen police officers in a negative light. They were already afraid of law enforcement. The adults in their lives were distrustful of law enforcement. These events deepened their fears.

They were not desensitized. They were frightened. They were trying to process, to understand. To find power in a world that offers them no power.

Meanwhile, children in another part of town, such as my friends' children and my own, were shaken to the core by news that police officers - men and women they were taught would help them find their way home if they were lost and "catch bad guys" who may be sneaking about to steal their toys - that some of these people may actually have bad intentions, may be dangerous. At the very least, they are simply human beings who can make mistakes, mistakes that have dire consequences consequences that cannot be undone. They thought these people would protect them. Their worlds were rocked with news that police officers can hurt people. People that weren't the bad guys. And that the bad guys could hurt good police officers. And that police officers in scary riot gear - so different from the friendly neighborhood cops in "community helper" booklets, read to be colored blue - were arresting good people, too. This didn't fit into their previous world view.

These types of nuance, this level of complication, is never present when Batman has to take on the bad guys. Not when a knight slays a dragon. This isn't the Ender Dragon or Darth Vader. Real world good and bad is sticky and confusing and terrifying.

Children have to process these things in their own way, their own time. For many, it will mean acting out the same scenario over and over again. Acting out a scenario we, as adults, will find disturbing and ugly.

It does not mean that these children are desensitized to violence, and they are certainly not becoming desensitized through this style of play.

They are processing their fear, their confusion, their feelings of powerlessness.

The children of our city spent a summer immersed in news of police officers shooting citizens and citizens shooting police officers. Terror and unrest were constantly unfolding on television screens and whispered about by the adults in their lives. Their already shaky foundations were rocked further by flood waters that ruined homes and churches and schools. That's a lot to process, a lot of reasons to feel powerless.

The children played "jail." There were lots of good guys and bad guys and shooting and death. They played funeral and policeman and super heroes and Star Wars and bizarre mashups involving components of all these things. Arms were chopped off with light sabers and opponents were slain with dart guns. This all looks awfully unpleasant to the adults looking on, and, frankly, it is unpleasant.

But for children, especially those too young to write in a journal or even express eloquently in words what they are feeling, play is a language. Their play scenarios reveal what is on their minds - what they fear, what they seek to understand, what they need to overcome.

As parents and caregivers, we need to support them in these efforts, as this is how they cope with the scary things, the difficult things where the lines between good and bad are blurred. This is how they develop empathy and emotional regulation - again, how they will grow up to be the kinds of adults who solve problems with words instead of fists and guns.

This is why I won't interfere with feigned shooting or explosions and why I'll bit my tongue and watch when a child takes on a role in his or her play that I find upsetting or contrary to my worldview. Kids need this sort of play, and it has been going on in various iterations for much longer than I've been alive.

And not one of these children will likely grow up to be a pirate.


** I realize that there will be many readers who, rightly, are concerned about their children of color playing with replica weapons.  There is a very real concern about children's safety, based on the horrific events such as the shooting of Tamir Rice, and it stems from very real, and much larger, issues of systemic racism.

This is not a simple issue, and it is something, as a mother of white children, I cannot claim to fully understand.

However, this fear, valid though it may be, does not negate the need for children to safely and freely engage in this kind of play, most especially those of minority populations. The very children who are most at risk when engaging freely in this sort of play are the ones who most need it. The fact that society fears it so tremendously is further indication that they need it desperately.

This, to me, is a call to find ways to create more safe places for children to play freely, in spaces where they are given freedom and autonomy and can be ensured safety by trained, knowledgeable, caring playworkers.

In her article, "When Play is Criminalized: Racial Disparities in Childhood," Eisa Nefertari Ulen explains,

"Black and Brown children's bodies are so heavily policed that the state of being a child of color in America can
 feel like a kind of occupation. This occupation of the child inhibits free play. According to Wilson, the war-time conditions that inspired the adventure playground movement when it originated in Denmark, approximate the conditions Black caregivers face today. While most American playgrounds contain permanent structures, like swings and slides, which were built according to very strict, very adult guidelines, in adventure playgrounds, or "junk playgrounds," children use wood, old tires, tape and other materials to build play environments they can tear down and build again according to their own imaginative visions.

The first adventure playground was produced by a Workers Cooperative Housing Association in Emdrupvej, Denmark, during the 1940s German occupation of that country. Parents needed solutions to shield young people from the occupying forces as they engaged in everyday play activities. Parents feared that "their children's play might be mistaken for acts of sabotage by soldiers," Wilson explains. Rather than roam and play as children have done through time everywhere in the world, in Denmark and later, in blitzed neighborhoods throughout England, war-weary children turned to adventure playgrounds, which offered safe spaces to engage in the exuberant bursts of activity and noise-making associated with truly free play.

"Parents of young people of color in the United States often face very similar concerns," Wilson says, "as their sons and daughters are likely to encounter disproportionate rates of discipline and policing, both in public spaces and inside of school buildings. Black male children in particular are often not afforded the benefit of being perceived as innocent, and behavior that is forgiven of white children is more often interpreted as deviant when exhibited by children of color."

With Black children facing suspension for wearing their hair in a natural style ,handcuffed for showing their friends a science experiment , and physically disciplined for minor infractions, Black parents often fear that free play, and the exuberant expression of freedom uninhibited play engenders, puts their children at risk.

Punitive discipline and the policing of Black children in schools is just one impediment to free play in communities of color. When families wish to encourage free play for their children in schools that don't suffer from predatory officers and officials, those of low socio-economic status often lack safe spaces in which to do so. Studies published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine and the American Journal of Health Promotion concluded that Black and Brown children and children of a low socio-economic status aren't even getting access to basic PE, much less the richer experience of free play that Barnes described or the adventure playground model that Wilson works to support."

My hope is that more understanding of children's developmental needs and more opportunities for safe free play can be brought to children in sensitive populations, both here in Baton Rouge and nationwide.

Interested in learning more about my work to bring PLAY to Baton Rouge? Check out Red Stick Pop Up Play and contact us to get involved in our efforts.

Red Stick Pop Up Play's website

Red Stick Pop Up Play's Facebook page

Learn more about the value of Adventure Playgrounds to historically under served communities here: The Venture, Wrexham, Wales

Check out Pop Up Adventure Play and Play Empowers to learn about national and international efforts to bring play to all children in all communities. 

Won't Wash Away

Art Credit: Mason Meyer, age 6

"Did people's houses flood all the way up to the roof?" my friend's six year old son asked her. 

Yes, all the way to the roof.

Most of us here in southern Louisiana have friends and family whose houses flooded up to the roof.

My son's school flooded to the roof. Everything was lost.

His dear friend's house flooded to the roof. My husband spent a Saturday helping the family totally gut the house and clear out the wreckage. Working alongside a large crew of many family, friends, and neighbors, they still didn't finish the job.

I'm still watching children process this information.

All the way up to the roof?

Photo Credit: noaa.gov

It's a difficult concept to grasp for adults, even.

For children, it's nearly beyond comprehension, even for those who experienced it firsthand.

***

 "Mardi Gras" is a pretty common play scenario around here. Furniture gets moved and tubs flipped over, boxes are dragged out and "floats" are created. Heavy bags full of last year's parade hauls - beads in every color, the occasional strange stuffed toy or piece of plastic jewelry, perhaps a glow stick that has long since lost its glow - are shoved into place in the rear of said "float," and the kids start bopping to the music (real or imagined) and tossing their "throws" to the parade attendees (usually me).

      I've seen this scenario quite a bit lately, as it's a fun thing to do with a full house of kids. In a departure from my usual small group of Playschool kids, I've been filling my weekend, afternoon and evening hours with friends' kids and friends of friends' kids, as they clean out and gut their homes, or the homes of neighbors, or volunteer at shelters, bringing much needed comfort and medical attention and supplies to evacuees (both humans and their pets). Women like me, filling this sort of behind the scenes role, have been dubbed "Cajun Rosies" as a nod to Rosie the Riveter and in keeping with the "Cajun Navy" and "Cajun Army," local people on the front lines in flood rescue and salvage.

      I've had conversations with kids who lost everything, including their family dog, in the floods. I've seen kids' eyes light up at the sight of a particular toy or book that was a favorite in that child's home before it was taken by the flood waters. The term "shelter" is used often in children's play, even when it is centered around "worms" tunneling through the play dough or "butterflies" emerging from a tangled "chrysalis" of blankets. Death and dying are common themes, embedded in scenarios like "dead foxes" and "dead princess," where all the princesses and woodland creatures can be revived with a quick trip in the box ambulance or some time tucked into the "hospital bed" on the couch. "Death" is reversible, it seems, but that is the term that's used nonetheless. It's something they're hearing, maybe on the news, maybe whispered by adults who think they aren't listening. It's worrisome to them and they're trying to make sense of it. Play is how children process those concepts that are difficult to process. This is how they make sense of their world.

      Most of the kids I'm hosting weren't directly affected by the floods and go home to dry homes and familiar toys and pets who are very much alive each night. But they've all had at least one parent wading through floodwaters or knocking out dry wall or negotiating the needs of people who have lost everything in shelters. This is a pervasive part of everyone's world right now.

     These kids are trying hard to make sense of the events that bring strong adults in their lives to tears and have taken from their friends the very comforts they take for granted themselves. They act out these things that scare and confuse them by playing "dead princess" and "worm shelters" and controlling the outcomes of the events. They are seeking ways to feel powerful in this time where even those who are "in charge" feel powerless. Sometimes they are more explicit in their play schemes  - I've watched children play "our house is flooding" multiple times - packing up toys and art supplies, sweeping them from the shelves into bags and climbing onto chairs. "Oh no! Our house is flooding! Get up here! Get up here!" There is a real intensity in this scenario, with children rushing breathlessly to higher ground.

     But amidst all these scenarios (and a healthy dose of your typical discussions of poop and Pokemon), I've seen "Mardi Gras" acted out many, many times. The "floats" seem to become more and more elaborate, and the usage of dress up bin items has been impressive. They dance and sling beads and remind their audience to say "throw me somethin'!" if they want the good throws.

     Amidst the loss, the ruin, the whispers of adults who worry many areas of Southern Louisiana will never be the same, these kids are reveling in the beauty of this place, this culture. They are processing through very serious, direct play scenarios, yes, but there is also valuable therapy in celebrating what we have, what we want to hang onto. A little glitter, a little laughter, something special thrown just to me - these things heal. These things remind us what we're working to save. Kids get that.

      Yesterday the Krewe of Ms. Sylvan's House put together a fantastic float, spanning a large area of my living room. They decked it out and prepared their throws. When the parade was ready to start, they requested music. I queued up a Spotify playlist entitled "New Orleans" after a quick scroll through to ensure there wasn't anything inappropriate in the lineup.  I started to sweep up from the day's snacks and craft activities, and Professor Longhair's "Go to the Mardi Gras" began and the living room Mardi Gras party was in full swing. As I stowed away rogue crayons and blocks, the parade continued, kids laughing and dancing and slinging beads. The next song began, and it was less ebullient: Steve Earle's painfully beautiful "This City."

    The words and the contrast to the joy of the moment moved me to tears and I had to excuse myself to the kitchen to wipe down counters and cry.

    Watching from the doorway where they couldn't see me wiping away tears, I was further moved by their resilience, their complete immersion in their play that blocked out the lyrics:

"This city won't wash away
This city won't ever drown
Blood in the water and hell to pay
Sky tear open and pain rain down
Doesn't matter 'cause come what may
I ain't ever gonna leave this town
This city won't wash away
This city won't ever drown"

     They continued to dance and laugh and toss beads around my living room. They continued to be children, and to immerse themselves fully in this moment that brought them joy.

     That is what moves us forward.

     That is what we are working to save.

     That can't be washed away.



Want to help Baton Rouge's Flood Relief Efforts? Here are some great local organizations working hard to rebuild our city and the beautiful community of people in it:

Together Baton Rouge

North Baton Rouge Disaster Relief

Companion Animal Alliance

The Loveabulls Project

Flood Recovery Fund for East Baton Rouge Public Schools

Runnels Art - Flood Recovery Fund

First United Methodist Church - Flood Relief

Read more about the effects of the flooding on the city's children here.

Learn more about play's healing effects in our city here.

Part of the Solution (Guest Blog for PLAY EMPOWERS)

Originally published on Play Empowers Blog 8/4/2016

I live in Baton Rouge.

I love this city.

I work here as an early childhood educator and an advocate for play-based learning.

I advocate on behalf of my own two children and of all this city's children.

My work is play and I believe strongly that it is the most important work I'll ever do.

Photo Credit: Maggie Clarke

Three years ago, my little family embarked on a grand adventure.

We packed up our belongings and moved nearly 800 miles from Winston-Salem, North Carolina to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a city where we knew no one and which we had only visited once in a whirlwind trip to find a home and visit a few schools.

I was immediately taken with this city, with its majestic live oaks stretching across the streets, beads glittering from their branches. I reveled in its culture of celebration, constant festivals and parades and football tailgates. We moved in July - I brought the kids down a month ahead of my husband to give them a chance to feel at home and make friends before school, and everyday life, began in earnest. The heat and humidity were oppressive and the mosquitoes were numerous, but I quickly fell in love with my new city. We made friends, we made our house a home, I got a job and life seemed good. 

School started in August. My four year old son wore a uniform for the first time, as do all public school students in East Baton Rouge parish. He chose a backpack and lunchbox emblazoned with his favorite super heroes and struggled to keep his burgundy polo shirt tucked into the tiny elasticized waistband of his navy blue shorts. He and his classmates ate their free school breakfast in silence daily. He learned to walk quietly, in straight lines. He adored his preschool teacher, though the parents of many of the other students complained that she let the three and four year olds in his class play too much and she did not give them enough homework.

He wondered out loud about the differences from block to block in town - from the quaint, well-kept homes on our street to the "shotgun" style row houses closer to his school which were clearly in poorer repair, some with broken windows or holes in the roofs. He worried that his classmates lived in these homes, wondered what happened when it rained. He asked why no one cared more about those people and those neighborhoods. I didn't have an answer. 

I made my own adjustment. I was transitioning from an extremely progressive magnet school in North Carolina, one that embraced students as people and gave them ownership of their learning, that gave teachers autonomy in the classroom with the expectation that they would reach those kids. I was now expected to test my students weekly in every subject and graph their test results for weekly data meetings. Students were expected to be re-tested until they "passed," with the data taking precedence over actual knowledge retention.  We were encouraged to plot student progress on wall charts for all to see. Recess was fifteen minutes daily. Lunch was silent. Children who struggled with emotional regulation were to be sent to the time out monitor, not a counselor. There was required paperwork to track their referrals, and I was told this information was needed for when they "entered the system" later. 

We were not preparing children to be leaders, to be citizens, to be thinkers, to be voters.

We were preparing them to be prisoners. 

The students in Baton Rouge's public schools are predominantly black, predominantly poor. The schools here didn't even begin desegregation until 1981, and that effort has been largely declared a failure. 

These children are being denied their childhoods, their opportunities to play and strengthen social skills and emotional regulation. abilities. These young children, largely underprivileged children of color in a historically segregated city, are being prepared not for college, not for careers, but for prison. 

I had many seasoned teachers and administrators tell me that things HAD to be this way because Baton Rouge has such high poverty levels. "You must not have had poverty problems where you come from" was the common refrain, and I was never believed when I insisted that, yes, we did. Winston Salem has very high levels of poverty, and my school there was a fairly accurate representation of the city's demographics (we were a  "lottery" magnet, meaning selection was purely random, based on lottery). We had some of the highest test scores in the state. We let children play. We gave them ownership of their learning. We gave teachers the autonomy to teach in ways that were authentic to them and their students.

We believed in our students. We envisioned them as college graduates. As successes. As people. 

I keep in touch with former colleagues and students and am constantly impressed with the work they are doing (see linked articles above to read about two phenomenal young women I had the opportunity to teach at this very special school, representative of the accomplishments of the majority of that school's graduates). We also had fantastic family involvement that, yes, spoke to the kinds of families who were attracted to our school, but also spoke to the kind of atmosphere we created - one that embraced all students, all people. One that meshed with the surrounding community. This was very intentional. It was not luck or happy coincidence. It was our mission. 

We prepared students to be future leaders because we not only allowed them to think and to question, we encouraged them to do so. We not only allowed them to "goof off" and be kids from time to time, but we encouraged them to do so.

We embraced and nurtured their humanity.

The mistake of policy makers in East Baton Rouge schools is that they continue to do more of the same thing they've been doing for years and expect different results. 

They continue to emphasize conformity and control over connection and humanity.

They continue to expect failure from these kids rather than searching for their greatness, striving to control and manage them until they can pass them on, rather than nurturing them to their highest potential as human beings. 

They continue to take away recess, to take away teacher autonomy, to shame rather than uplift, to direct rather than collaborate, to declare rather than listen. Our children are suffering.

This quote is lovely and makes the rounds often. I'd argue, however, that all students come to school to be loved. And that we need to spend far more time listening to their needs and less time testing their recall of facts. Alfie Kohn writes about this here and here.

I didn't feel like I was part of the solution.

I felt like part of the problem.

I traded in my public school job for running my own tiny in-home playschool. My work has grown from a small group of kids in my own backyard to outreach programs throughout the city.

I'm sure there are some that wonder, in light of the systemic issues I describe, why building with cardboard boxes and climbing trees have become my focus rather than something larger and more visible. 

I found myself wondering this, too, as my city erupted in anger and panic over these past weeks as the long-simmering tensions boiled over. I wanted to help in healing this place I call home, and worried that I could not possibly do enough.

But the truth is, we all have to do our own small part. No person can do it all, and we all have to share whatever gifts we have. That's how we make an impact. That's how we make a change.

My city is hurting right now. We are in the news for recent tragic events but the pain is not new. People are angry, and rightly so. We are painted as being very much divided, but from where I sit, people on both "sides" want a lot of the same things.

They want to feel safe.

They want a better life for their families, for their children.

They want to feel that their voices are heard.

This is where we can be part of the solution. 

In the days following a string of tragedies both in my city and in other parts of the nation, from the shootings of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile to the shooting of the Dallas policemen and the protests and unrest that grew out of those events, I held a pop-up play day for Baton Rouge kids. 

We played.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

We built.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

It rained.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

And rained.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

And then we played and built some more.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

These kids worked together, helping one another to build forts and scale trees and fight off "bad guys."

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

Things like age and race and gender didn't matter much. at all.

Heat didn't stop us. Thunderstorms didn't stop us. 

Our city was hurting and afraid, and these kids reminded us that there could still be joy.

The next day brought more unrest and anger as peaceful protests turned agitated, as fearful police were directed to respond with force against citizens trying to be heard. As the voices of a few drowned out the reason of many.

Out of the pain and anger grew a call for unity. Local churches gave me an opportunity to hold a children's event alongside their worship service.

Again, it rained, and our outdoor service was moved into an oyster bar across the street with generous owners.

The rain stopped, and again, we played.

We chalked the walks with words of love and peace for all to see.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

We blew bubbles and made a banner and played some more. 

Photo Credit: Casey Meyer

Photo Credit: Casey Meyer

And it was all so beautiful.

You might still wonder why this is my response to all the hurting, the violence, the divisiveness all around me.

Why am I standing there blowing bubbles? 

Why am I still hauling cardboard and chalk out through rainstorms and cheering on kids climbing trees and wielding duct-taped "swords?"

There are so many reasons.

Imaginative play is one of the best ways for children to process their emotions during times of crisis and tragedy. The news right now in my corner of the world is scary indeed, and children need outlets to process their fear and grief. 

“The inherent desire to create – whether on paper or in scenarios with toys – is universal to us all. For this reason, play is an invaluable tool for communication.Children learn how to process complicated feelings through a playful filter and explore tough questions in a language that is easier for them to understand... And while the world and the threats it poses may change, children everywhere continue to try to solve its problems through imaginative games." ("How Children Use Play to Make Sense of Terrorism," Lizzie Enfield)

In play we are at peace. We are in a state of calm alertness; we are aware of all around us and awake, but not agitated, not stressed. We feel joy. We feel a sense of belonging.

That is healing no matter who you are. I challenge you to watch children at play and not smile at the very least, if not feel the urge to join in.

We build connections through events such as these. People gather and talk. They laugh. They feel together, not divided. We learn to truly SEE one another.

This heals. 

The greatest reason, however, is that play is an investment in our children.

True free, authentic play is how children develop a sense of empathy. This is something that cannot be taught, especially not in traditional schools. This is something that is only developed through play.

Empathetic children grow up to be empathetic adults.

They grow up to be people who can see things from another's perspective, who can bridge differences and solve problems with words. They grow up to be the helpers, the police officers who embrace protesters, the protesters who use words instead of violence, the teachers and social workers and ministers who speak out for making a difference. The citizens who help out their neighbors. 

These are leaders. These are peacemakers. These are the GOOD we wish to see in the world.

Opportunities for child-led play are also the solution for raising children who can regulate their emotions, especially fear and anger. 

This is the  "emotion regulation theory of play—the theory that one of play’s major functions is to teach young mammals how to regulate fear and anger.[4]  In risky play, youngsters dose themselves with manageable quantities of fear and practice keeping their heads and behaving adaptively while experiencing that fear.  They learn that they can manage their fear, overcome it, and come out alive.  In rough and tumble play they may also experience anger, as one player may accidentally hurt another.  But to continue playing, to continue the fun, they must overcome that anger.  If they lash out, the play is over.  Thus, according to the emotion regulation theory, play is, among other things, the way that young mammals learn to control their fear and anger so they can encounter real-life dangers, and interact in close quarters with others, without succumbing to negative emotions." (from "Risky Play: Why Children Love It and Need It" by Peter Gray).

Children given the opportunities for free play become adults who can control their fear and anger. Again, they become problem solvers, effective collaborators and leaders. They become peacemakers.

They become the solution.

My part may not be loud or flashy. 

But it brings me tremendous joy and it IS the solution for our nation's future.

A friend shared this with me as I was writing this post, and I want to close on this idea:

 “The future of our country is being built on our work in early childhood development. We all must play a role in helping every child succeed. We are overdue, my friends. Nearly 120 years ago, The New York Times wrote an editorial with these words: ‘Given one generation of children properly born and wisely trained, and what a vast proportion of human ills would disappear from the face of the earth.’”  ("Investing Early: The Best Sort of Nation Building" by David Lawrence)

This is my solution.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

This is my part.

Photo Credit: Sylvan Taylor

Want to learn more about organizations working to build a stronger Baton Rouge?

Together Baton Rouge

Beyond Bricks EBR

Front Yard Bikes

The Loveabulls Project

Love Alive Church

St. Luke's Episcopal Church

Anchor Chapel

Interested in my advocacy program, Red Stick Pop Up Play, or other advocates for PLAY in Baton Rouge?

Red Stick Pop Up Play

Sprouts Playschool

The Child Development Cooperative

Looking for resources to start your own PLAY Advocacy?

Pop Up Adventure Play

Play Empowers

Explorations Early Learning

Upstairs Studio Podcasts

Hear my first in a series of podcasts on this subject here:

Hosts Kisha Reid and Bardara Sheridan dish the dirt on play in this weekly show. Kisha's owner/educator at Discovery Early Learning Center and Barbara's founder/educator of Barrie Forest Kindergarten and Nature School. Their experience in the early learning profession makes for well-rounded discussion, plenty of stories, bountiful ideas, and thoughtful perspectives.