making a sandbox castle

Does a child really have purpose?

Aimée, who is four, was playing in the sandbox. I stood at the door and watched her for a while. She was filling a plant pot with sand and talking to herself about making a castle. She carefully turned the pot upside down and pulled it away. The sand, which was too dry to hold its shape, fell into a shapeless mound.

I, as an adult, imagined that she would try to “fix” this problem and achieve the castle shape she was looking for. She didn’t seem interested in that. She just started pushing the sand around some other way, making a road or a river.

Purpose is a fairly mature concept. The process of having an idea, laying out a plan, and carrying it through several steps to completion is something that even ten-year-olds struggle to do. The child’s mind simply doesn’t have the stamina, or sequential organization, or global perspective necessary to do such a thing.

The purposes of a child are therefore much less fixed. They waver very quickly according to unexpected difficulties or barriers. The process of moving toward one goal may suggest other goals. Why strive for a castle if a road is presenting itself? Children seem to live in that kind of dialogue with the environment. In a way Aimée was letting her own inner purpose be guided by the sand’s purpose.

What that means for us is that we should not imagine that children’s purposes are like adult ones. I certainly don’t mean we should ignore them or thwart them. But we can, with well chosen words, help children redirect their actions in more suitable ways. We can also watch children’s real feelings, instead of imagining their disappointment or satisfaction at the outcome of their efforts.

: : : Take children seriously, but only as much as they do themselves.

negative responses

Why do children resist new things?

Sometimes when I introduce a new idea, my class erupts in a chorus of “No!” Of course I always stop them. “Every experience is a chance for you to learn and enjoy yourself,” I say. They are cooperative and willing to try many things. What I don’t do is change my mind to suit their momentary preference.

What often surprises me is that their reaction turns very quickly from a vocal negative one to a vocal positive one. I have learned over time that their first response is usually an imaginary one. They protest the unknown. They resist making new efforts. Once the unknown becomes known, and once the effort is made, they begin to appreciate what is happening.

I have another sense about these negative responses. Children constantly play with their power to change things, and sometimes that power is far more interesting to them than any plan or lesson I might have. For nine and ten year olds, the relationship with a teacher becomes a bit of a game. “Suppose I contradict you, what will happen then?” they seem to ask. Their identity is not yet wrapped up in becoming an individual, in the manner of adolescents, but they begin to question whether the adult is really in charge.

These plays for power are very important for growth, I think. I remember a passage in Laurens Van der Post’s A Story Like the Wind, where a man asks a boy to shoot a dangerous and enraged elephant. The man stands ready at a moment’s notice to take charge, but he is careful not to betray any anxiety to the boy. He allows the boy to experience the feeling of total responsibility.

: : : Respond to children’s motives, not their words.

avoiding math

Can children really have a preference?

Halley was now in her second year of this first/second grade class. I needed to make sure she was gaining math skills in a school that gave children a lot of opportunity to make choices. Her choices were never bringing her to the math area. She would much rather spend time in the greenhouse or in the art room or in the writing corner. Every time I went to request some math practice, she looked disappointed and dragged her feet.

For students like Halley, I began a system of requiring everyone to complete one activity each week, and I kept a checklist of those who had finished. It took some effort on my part, but Halley’s response was surprising. She began to get very interested in the math activities I was giving her. Instead of disappointment, she began to show real enthusiasm for her own math accomplishments, and I hardly had to remind her at all to complete the work.

When children express a preference for (or against) something, I really question how much they understand about their own choice. Often they give more value to what is familiar, since they know they will like it, in contrast with the unfamiliar, which may be pleasant or unpleasant. If they often get to choose for themselves, they can form ingrained habits, and become even more resistant to change.

The irony here is that choice makes them less free. Carried forward by unexamined impulses, children lose the ability to look deeply at anything. The desire for immediate satisfaction wins over the patience that brings real satisfaction. What Halley discovered was the joy of doing work and learning through the process. She would probably need many more experiences like that before she would challenge herself through her own initiative. The restriction I placed on her actually gave her opportunities that she didn’t know existed.

: : : Structure deepens a child’s freedom.

the social decisions

How do children make up their minds?

Our neighbor Celia had come over to play with Aimée. She was a little distracted by what was going on at her home. She went back to get something, and took some time to return. Then after a few more minutes wandering around our living room, she left again. Aimée waited patiently, knowing that she wasn’t allowed to walk out without a parent. Celia seemed to be exploring her freedom to go home whenever she liked.

The second time Celia came back, she told Aimée that her sister and dad were playing a very fun game that they rarely play, and would Aimée like to go over there and join it?

What I did not do: solve the problem for Celia by letting Aimée go to her house. (What is the learning from a difficult choice if we simply remove it?) I had several motives for keeping Aimée at home.

I told Celia that she would have to decide whether she really wanted to play with Aimée or stay at home. I also told her it seemed like she really wanted to go home, to give her some strong permission for the choice. Despite that opening, she said she would remain with us. A few minutes later, she disappeared again to get something and did not return until her mother brought her back to explain that she really wanted to be home now.

Choices are extremely hard for young children because they have difficulty weighing all the desirable aspects of one situation against another. Usually the thing right in front of them is much more enticing than the thing they can’t see at the moment. When their perspective shifts (as when Celia went home), their inclination shifts too. Sometimes only the decisiveness of an adult will make them content to remain where they are.

A choice can be very burdensome, especially when it affects other people. Children are often glad to have adults make choices for them. My students far prefer to have me pick their partners than to pick each other. The social stresses of acceptance and rejection are just too high otherwise. The authority and judgment of an adult strikes a child with a certain amount of awe, even in early adolescence.

: : : Decisions are temporary until they get the stamp of adult agreement.

parroting

Why do children mimic?

Aimée, who is four, sometimes mindlessly repeats what other children say. She is a child with a strong mind of her own, but some impulse drives her to act like a helpless echo of the attitudes and intentions she hears in her environment. Once she even started participating in a light form of bullying toward a child who was refusing to join a game. Her mother witnessed this and stopped her immediately and made her apologize.

(I do not normally make children apologize. Words have a sacred connection to meaning, and children have a special sense of words. Children are far more sincere than most adults, and the command “say you’re sorry” is in essence an encouragement for them to lie, even to themselves. On the other hand, I might suggest, “you could say you’re sorry” as a way of making atonement. Then the child has a chance to choose the intention before saying the words.)

Why does Aimée at some times exert so much willful determination and at others such stupid conformity? What is her goal? Well, as always, she must be trying to grow up. Growing up takes two things: being independent, and being aware. Sometimes it is easier to focus on one of these at a time. To be independent, all she has to do is contradict. To be aware, all she has to do is mimic. So here she has two very simple, concrete strategies for becoming a person like the rest of us.

On a deeper level, children are extraordinary receivers of energy. They absorb the influences of environment the way a plant absorbs water. It will take years for Aimée to become clearly aware of the choices she makes. In a way, she cannot really make choices; she can only experiment with them.

: : : Repetition is a path toward growth and understanding.

treating children like adults?

What is the balance between respect for children and parent authority?

I find sometimes that people tend to ask children unnecessary questions or give children unnecessary choices out of a sense of adult respect. In normal social interaction, we do not normally command other people; we suggest things to them. We count on the social and moral understanding of others to give our suggestions the proper weight.

Children have far too inadequate a social and moral understanding to respond well to a suggestion like, “Should we clean up now?” To a child, a suggestion like this is very confusing. Is this question really offering a choice, or is it simply a veiled command? How can the child really assess whether now is the “right” time to clean up? Does the adult not know the answer? I try to avoid such questions with children, and give my expectations in an honest and direct way.

I see parents struggling to understand what children are exactly, and what they can do. How do children make choices? How much do they use logic? What memories do they have? How much do their feelings last? What do their words mean? The answers to these questions have a lot to do with the way we treat them. (Or conversely, the way we treat them has a lot to do with our subtle answers to these questions.)

Children are not adults, but they will be one day. I think this is the crux of our dilemma.

Children are like adults in their spiritual qualities—their feeling of importance, their desire for love, and their search for meaning. They deserve respect for these qualities. They are unlike adults in other, more functional qualities—their ability to reason, their self-control, their understanding of language, and their awareness of consequences. They deserve guidance, not just respect, in their development of these qualities.

: : : Respect for children means appreciation for their limits.

make the truth your friend

Elmer was in kindergarten, and he had some difficulty holding to the truth. He would employ lying as a simple tactic for getting what he wanted. He would then look at me with a kind of guileless, tentative expression. It was like a grand experiment of his.

The truth is a fascinating thing for children—or rather, they are fascinated by what is not the truth. They gradually come to realize that other people—even adults—often don’t know what is in their minds. But how do we then keep a child from careening down the path of shameless deception and self-gratification? The answer to that could create a whole culture.

Here is what I did not do: tell Elmer that lying is arbitrarily bad, threaten him with punishment, show him anger, ignore what happened, or appeal to any outside authority (God included). What I did do has stayed with me as a helpful response to a child.

I asked, “Elmer, do you think if you tell the truth, the truth will become your friend?” He said no. I went on, “If you do make the truth your friend, it will always help you. But if you make the truth your enemy, it will always fight against you. I think it’s better to have the truth as your friend.” He agreed. Elmer was a child who liked to have friends.

I believe the only real moral guidance children can receive is based on choice. They are going to find out soon enough that they really do have a choice, regardless of what fears we put into their heads along the way. If we deny them choice, we become their prison wardens. If we grant them choice and leave them to discover the consequences, we become cruel onlookers. I try to explain to them in neutral, illustrative ways how a choice is likely to result, and make them aware that goodness is really up to them.