I'm writing some descriptive reviews, based on the Prospect School process (oh, how my grad school teachers would be bouncing with glee to know that), and I'm doing it in place of the assessments that my director keeps insisting I produce. I can't help myself.
And I can't help but notice the difference in what her sheet asks me to write, and what I'm actually writing. For your reference, this is:
- fine motor coordination
- gross motor coordination
- concept development
- continued observation of relationships
- observations of activities
versus
- physical presence
- disposition/temperament
- relationships with others
- interests and preferences
(I'm not doing the fifth Prospect piece, which is about a child's learning style, though I have at previous times.)
It struck me just as I was writing about this child who is very funny. I mean, he cracks people up, adults and children alike. I don't know, is that supposed to fit under "concept development"? Should I say "he has a highly developed concept of how humor works"? I will admit this assessment isn't as awful as many that are out there, but... I don't enjoy chopping a child up into a series of skills and activities. It's like I say, "this kid is really funny," and the paper says back, "yes, but can he cut with scissors?"
It gets me thinking about the lens we use to look at people, children or adults. (Ah, now there's one of those stellar academic catchphrases, "the lens" with which we view things.) What Prospect's process does that so many do not is look at a child for who they are and what they can do, not how they measure up to an abstract category of ability. Being funny is one of those things that is so important and definitive of who this boy is, yet would go completely unnoted if I were to focus solely on his activities or his fine motor skills.
See, the thing is, there's no "yes, but" with the descriptive review. There's plenty of opportunity to mention things that might be of concern, but they are in the context of an entire person with strengths and weaknesses; it doesn't end up sounding like there's this broken part of a machine that we need to fix so that it works properly. When it comes to people, there's a hell of a lot of parts, and the descriptive review allows you to have a to look at what is, not some idea of what "should be," and go from there.
The phrase that I mentioned in an earlier post - people don't see what they're not looking for - is one that certainly applies here and will apply again in a future post, one that will take a slight diversion from children themselves into a personal issue of mine as a teacher. For now let me end by saying it is dangerous to summarize someone, child or adult, by what they lack, and especially to do so while overlooking the context of that person as a whole being.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Relax.
Greetings from Barbados!
When I told people I was coming here over the February break, I got a lot of "oh, aren't you lucky" kinds of looks and comments. And I very heartily believe part of that is weather-related; at this time of year, the novel thrill of cold and snow has long given way to a feeling of endless drab and dreariness, and the idea of a tropical climate is just heaven. But also, I think part of the reaction is a general perception of the Caribbean as a place where people (Americans) go to relax and get away from the responsibilities and pressures of their daily lives, regardless of the weather.
The truth of the pace of life here in Barbados (or anywhere tropical) is a much bigger topic than I am able or prepared to talk about; however, I do feel that in terms of the responsibilities and pressures Americans feel, there is more than a little that seems self-made in nature. Education is no exception. And so I offer this piece from Lisa Murphy, which speaks very well to how we might begin to unravel some of the tension we carry around and place upon children as well. The original link is here, and without further ado...
November 29, 2008
RESISTING THE URGE TO CREATE TEACHABLE MOMENTS
By Lisa Murphy
Ooey Gooey® Membership Musing #6 July 2007
A little bit of history: This piece was originally written for an Indiana newspaper. There were 16 of us asked to be contributors for a special Father's Day Sunday paper insert. The original title was "Using Everyday Moments to Teach". I am not sure if my piece actually appeared in the paper, but I wanted to share it with you. I also wanted to change the title.
============================
When asked to be a contributor for the special newspaper insert mentioned above, I was honored. When told what the title of my piece would be I found myself letting out a big heavy sigh. The idea behind the original title, of course, is that we can use what goes on around us to impart knowledge to our young, and don't need to "go buy stuff" in order to teach things to our children. All in all this is true. What then was the reason for my big heavy sigh? Well, right now amid testing frenzy, elementary school level expectations showing up in preschool classrooms, teachers being second guessed, districts pressured to purchase pre-packaged, dry curriculum aligned with content standards, recess being outlawed, tag and running on play yards being banned, pressure on babies to be reading, toddlers doing homework and three and four year olds plastered to computers all in the name of"learning" while at the same time our society as a whole is showing evidence of a lack of communication skills, social skills and a general disappearance of common sense, maybe instead of another article about teaching and learning what we really need is for someone to say,"HOLD ON A MINUTE!! STOP! Everyone just slow down for a minute! Stop just for a second and take a breath." Parents are frantic, children are stressed. Pressure is coming at everyone from all sides. Very few are immune from these recent outlandish expectations. As a preschool owner and educator for almost 20 years, I would argue that instead of another article about teaching our kids, what is needed is permission to be with our kids. Permission to stay strong and resist the urge to make everything a teachable moment. Permission to listen to the birds in the yard without needing to know their genus and species. Permission to build with Lego blocks without needing to count how many we used. Permission to plant flowers without needing to take the "What color are they?" quiz. Permission is hereby granted to appreciate everyday moments without the "moment" needing to be folded, spindled or mutilated into a learning experience. I would send a gentle reminder that in our hunt for these teachable moments we can miss the forest for the trees. I shudder at the thought of folks starting to"plan" (can you imagine??!) everyday experiences to make sure our children are "learning things." As adults we often forget that children are constantly learning from the world around them. More often we forget that children are capable of learning things and acquiring knowledge without adult intervention. Now before you denounce me as just another liberal, learn as they go, touchy feely educator, I challenge you to hear me out on this one. First off, we want kids to read and write. No one is saying otherwise. What I am saying is that instead of learning being a natural, authentic experience which children take part in, it has become something done to them. Truth be told, most folks, young or old, don't like things done to them. Learning has been reduced to a list of items to be checked off a to-do list. Colors? Check! ABCs? Check! The entire process got skewed along the way and has become very frantic and forced both for adults and children alike. From Dr. Maxine Greene, education professor at New York University, "You cannot teach them anything unless they want to be there." With this maxim in mind, if every single outing to the zoo becomes an unnecessary and exhausting day of drill and kill (How many hippos? What color are the giraffes? Where is the alligator? What kind of bird is that?) the honest truth is that eventually kids aren't going to want to go to the zoo any more. And neither will you. To paraphrase Joseph Chilton Pearce in his book "Evolution's End" : little learning takes place from willful forced attempts to make children learn. Provide an appropriate environment and appropriate experiences and you cannot prevent their brains from learning because learning is what their brains are designed to do. Cheers to you Mr. Pearce! And here's to all of you too. Permission granted. I'll see you at the zoo.
===========================
Lisa Murphy, B.S., educator and author, CEO of Ooey Gooey Inc. and owner of The Ooey Gooey® Playschools, can be reached at her office via phone (800) 477-7977 or through her websites www.ooeygooey.com and www.ooeygooeyplayschools.com
When I told people I was coming here over the February break, I got a lot of "oh, aren't you lucky" kinds of looks and comments. And I very heartily believe part of that is weather-related; at this time of year, the novel thrill of cold and snow has long given way to a feeling of endless drab and dreariness, and the idea of a tropical climate is just heaven. But also, I think part of the reaction is a general perception of the Caribbean as a place where people (Americans) go to relax and get away from the responsibilities and pressures of their daily lives, regardless of the weather.
The truth of the pace of life here in Barbados (or anywhere tropical) is a much bigger topic than I am able or prepared to talk about; however, I do feel that in terms of the responsibilities and pressures Americans feel, there is more than a little that seems self-made in nature. Education is no exception. And so I offer this piece from Lisa Murphy, which speaks very well to how we might begin to unravel some of the tension we carry around and place upon children as well. The original link is here, and without further ado...
November 29, 2008
RESISTING THE URGE TO CREATE TEACHABLE MOMENTS
By Lisa Murphy
Ooey Gooey® Membership Musing #6 July 2007
A little bit of history: This piece was originally written for an Indiana newspaper. There were 16 of us asked to be contributors for a special Father's Day Sunday paper insert. The original title was "Using Everyday Moments to Teach". I am not sure if my piece actually appeared in the paper, but I wanted to share it with you. I also wanted to change the title.
============================
When asked to be a contributor for the special newspaper insert mentioned above, I was honored. When told what the title of my piece would be I found myself letting out a big heavy sigh. The idea behind the original title, of course, is that we can use what goes on around us to impart knowledge to our young, and don't need to "go buy stuff" in order to teach things to our children. All in all this is true. What then was the reason for my big heavy sigh? Well, right now amid testing frenzy, elementary school level expectations showing up in preschool classrooms, teachers being second guessed, districts pressured to purchase pre-packaged, dry curriculum aligned with content standards, recess being outlawed, tag and running on play yards being banned, pressure on babies to be reading, toddlers doing homework and three and four year olds plastered to computers all in the name of"learning" while at the same time our society as a whole is showing evidence of a lack of communication skills, social skills and a general disappearance of common sense, maybe instead of another article about teaching and learning what we really need is for someone to say,"HOLD ON A MINUTE!! STOP! Everyone just slow down for a minute! Stop just for a second and take a breath." Parents are frantic, children are stressed. Pressure is coming at everyone from all sides. Very few are immune from these recent outlandish expectations. As a preschool owner and educator for almost 20 years, I would argue that instead of another article about teaching our kids, what is needed is permission to be with our kids. Permission to stay strong and resist the urge to make everything a teachable moment. Permission to listen to the birds in the yard without needing to know their genus and species. Permission to build with Lego blocks without needing to count how many we used. Permission to plant flowers without needing to take the "What color are they?" quiz. Permission is hereby granted to appreciate everyday moments without the "moment" needing to be folded, spindled or mutilated into a learning experience. I would send a gentle reminder that in our hunt for these teachable moments we can miss the forest for the trees. I shudder at the thought of folks starting to"plan" (can you imagine??!) everyday experiences to make sure our children are "learning things." As adults we often forget that children are constantly learning from the world around them. More often we forget that children are capable of learning things and acquiring knowledge without adult intervention. Now before you denounce me as just another liberal, learn as they go, touchy feely educator, I challenge you to hear me out on this one. First off, we want kids to read and write. No one is saying otherwise. What I am saying is that instead of learning being a natural, authentic experience which children take part in, it has become something done to them. Truth be told, most folks, young or old, don't like things done to them. Learning has been reduced to a list of items to be checked off a to-do list. Colors? Check! ABCs? Check! The entire process got skewed along the way and has become very frantic and forced both for adults and children alike. From Dr. Maxine Greene, education professor at New York University, "You cannot teach them anything unless they want to be there." With this maxim in mind, if every single outing to the zoo becomes an unnecessary and exhausting day of drill and kill (How many hippos? What color are the giraffes? Where is the alligator? What kind of bird is that?) the honest truth is that eventually kids aren't going to want to go to the zoo any more. And neither will you. To paraphrase Joseph Chilton Pearce in his book "Evolution's End" : little learning takes place from willful forced attempts to make children learn. Provide an appropriate environment and appropriate experiences and you cannot prevent their brains from learning because learning is what their brains are designed to do. Cheers to you Mr. Pearce! And here's to all of you too. Permission granted. I'll see you at the zoo.
===========================
Lisa Murphy, B.S., educator and author, CEO of Ooey Gooey Inc. and owner of The Ooey Gooey® Playschools, can be reached at her office via phone (800) 477-7977 or through her websites www.ooeygooey.com and www.ooeygooeyplayschools.com
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Smartest Things I've Seen
I mentioned better means of assessment than tests. I should add that I'm talking about cognitive assessment - there are many kinds of smart, and mental facility with language and mathematics and the like is only one kind. That's the kind tests are designed to measure, and that's the focus here. That said.
Better assessment often depends on our own powers of observation: people don't see what they're not looking for, so if you're not looking for a child's ability to make meaningful connections, you'll miss it. Three stories to illustrate my point.
1. The Napkin
The first classroom I ever worked in was a 3-year-old room. One day at the easel, we teachers had put out bits of different colored tissue paper for the kids to stick to their paintings. There was one boy who was very excited to try it, but by the time he got a chance to paint, the tissue paper had been used up by others. His reaction was to stop and look around. He went over to the sink, where we kept the supply of cups and napkins for snack. He grabbed a napkin off the top, tore it and wadded it up all over his painting.
2. The Teacup
The pitchers we use at snack have handles that slide off for easy cleaning. Some of the kids discovered they could take the handle off all by themselves. One boy took the handle and balanced it next to his snack cup. He called me over. "Look! A teacup!!"
3. The Rainstick
One girl in my class loves music. By now I've learned not to worry if I don't see her for five minutes after she comes into school: I know she's gone across the hall to visit, dance, and sing with our music specialist. So one day, she was playing with the periscope from our science center. She'd removed the two mirror pieces at each end, and was looking through it like a spyglass. She spied a pile of bits and bobs from the carpentry table where we were taking apart a computer; she put a few screws and things in the periscope, placed her hands at both ends, and turned to me as she rotated her new invention - "a rainstick. Listen, doesn't it sound like a rainstick?"
So why's that so smart?
When you learn something, you literally make a connection in your brain, a new neural pathway that wasn't there before. What the children did in these stories was make a connection in their brain that could be seen by anyone who was watching. The boy in the first story spoke Spanish as a first language, and it was difficult to assess his cognitive skills through language alone, since he was learning English as part of his first school experience. Yet clearly, he made the connection between what he wanted (little bits of paper on his painting) and something that often ended up torn and wadded up (napkins from snack), and solved the problem of having no tissue paper for himself.
Both of the children in my current class made a connection between something they've previously encountered (a teacup, a rainstick) and the materials at hand. These small moments are easy to dismiss, but these are the moments that reveal a child's thinking and learning. This is what they do naturally. If we're not looking for it, we don't see it.
I understand that on a large scale, it is difficult to assess children observationally. It is time and labor-intensive on the adults' part. But what kind of example are we for the children we care for, if our assessments are slapdash, our efforts minimal, our attention somewhere else? What message do we send? It is a message of value: your ideas are not worth investigating, we are only interested in the right answer to an arbitrary series of questions. And so children - who are always making connections - make the connection that value lies in a very superficial measure of their experience (like ignoring all the other kinds of smart). The smartest things I've seen are moments when a child thinks something through, figures something out, goes deep into the soup of their experience to ask, "where have I seen this before? how does it apply to what I'm doing now?"
I'll talk more about those questions another time, in relation to the "other" kinds of smart, since they're just as applicable. For now, I will leave you with a task: think of a time when you made a cognitive leap - when something 'clicked' and you understood something you didn't before. Then think about whether it was something you were tested on or not.
Feel free to share if you'd like.
Better assessment often depends on our own powers of observation: people don't see what they're not looking for, so if you're not looking for a child's ability to make meaningful connections, you'll miss it. Three stories to illustrate my point.
1. The Napkin
The first classroom I ever worked in was a 3-year-old room. One day at the easel, we teachers had put out bits of different colored tissue paper for the kids to stick to their paintings. There was one boy who was very excited to try it, but by the time he got a chance to paint, the tissue paper had been used up by others. His reaction was to stop and look around. He went over to the sink, where we kept the supply of cups and napkins for snack. He grabbed a napkin off the top, tore it and wadded it up all over his painting.
2. The Teacup
The pitchers we use at snack have handles that slide off for easy cleaning. Some of the kids discovered they could take the handle off all by themselves. One boy took the handle and balanced it next to his snack cup. He called me over. "Look! A teacup!!"
3. The Rainstick
One girl in my class loves music. By now I've learned not to worry if I don't see her for five minutes after she comes into school: I know she's gone across the hall to visit, dance, and sing with our music specialist. So one day, she was playing with the periscope from our science center. She'd removed the two mirror pieces at each end, and was looking through it like a spyglass. She spied a pile of bits and bobs from the carpentry table where we were taking apart a computer; she put a few screws and things in the periscope, placed her hands at both ends, and turned to me as she rotated her new invention - "a rainstick. Listen, doesn't it sound like a rainstick?"
So why's that so smart?
When you learn something, you literally make a connection in your brain, a new neural pathway that wasn't there before. What the children did in these stories was make a connection in their brain that could be seen by anyone who was watching. The boy in the first story spoke Spanish as a first language, and it was difficult to assess his cognitive skills through language alone, since he was learning English as part of his first school experience. Yet clearly, he made the connection between what he wanted (little bits of paper on his painting) and something that often ended up torn and wadded up (napkins from snack), and solved the problem of having no tissue paper for himself.
Both of the children in my current class made a connection between something they've previously encountered (a teacup, a rainstick) and the materials at hand. These small moments are easy to dismiss, but these are the moments that reveal a child's thinking and learning. This is what they do naturally. If we're not looking for it, we don't see it.
I understand that on a large scale, it is difficult to assess children observationally. It is time and labor-intensive on the adults' part. But what kind of example are we for the children we care for, if our assessments are slapdash, our efforts minimal, our attention somewhere else? What message do we send? It is a message of value: your ideas are not worth investigating, we are only interested in the right answer to an arbitrary series of questions. And so children - who are always making connections - make the connection that value lies in a very superficial measure of their experience (like ignoring all the other kinds of smart). The smartest things I've seen are moments when a child thinks something through, figures something out, goes deep into the soup of their experience to ask, "where have I seen this before? how does it apply to what I'm doing now?"
I'll talk more about those questions another time, in relation to the "other" kinds of smart, since they're just as applicable. For now, I will leave you with a task: think of a time when you made a cognitive leap - when something 'clicked' and you understood something you didn't before. Then think about whether it was something you were tested on or not.
Feel free to share if you'd like.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Recent History
Yesterday, one of my children was late coming to school because he was taking a kindergarten entrance exam. I don't think it's a coincidence that this article about kindergarten testing was the most recent cover story of New York Magazine. It speaks very directly to the issue of testing children at the age of 4 to determine their cognitive abilities. The focus is on testing for gifted & talented (G&T) programs and high-end private schools in the city.
In short, says the article, the testing is worthless.
More specifically, the test isn't totally worthless, but the way the information is used and never revisited makes it so. A child is tested once, at age 4, and never again; though children grow and their minds aren't static, the testing system treats them as if they are. From New York:
Those who are bullish on intelligence tests argue they’re “pure” gauges of a child’s mental agility—immune to shifts in circumstance, immutable over the course of a lifetime. Yet everything we know about this subject suggests that there are considerable fluctuations in children’s IQs. In 1989, the psychologist Lloyd Humphreys, a pioneer in the field of psychometrics, came out with an analysis based on a longitudinal twin study in Louisville, Kentucky, whose subjects were regularly IQ-tested between ages 4 and 15. By the end of those eleven years, the average change in their IQs was ten points. That’s a spread with significant educational consequences. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 85 would likely qualify for remedial education. But that same child would no longer require it if, later on, his IQ shoots up to 95. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 125 would fall below the 130 cutoff for the G&T programs in most cities. Yet if, at some point after that, she scores a 135, it will have been too late. She’ll already have missed the benefit of an enhanced curriculum.
I would broaden this to any childhood testing: a child's mind is not a static thing, and yet children are 'tracked' as if this were the case. The whole premise of education - the tacit thing we all agree to but never seem to articulate aloud - is that one's behavior can change, one's actions and abilities influenced, through instruction. So, if we believe that children's minds can change, why do we use a test, a small sampling of ability at a particular moment in time, to define their capacity, instead of treating them like the dynamic entities they are?
The short (and cynical) answer is because it's easier to measure a static moment than dynamic movement. And, I do strongly believe there are ways to gauge children more holistically. But, since I feel this is more than enough to chew on for now, my next post will touch more on what, exactly, that might look like. For now, all I know is that the boy who came to school late yesterday - I sent the link for the New York article to his mom. It's small, but it's something; maybe she will feel less alone, less anxious, when her child does not want to sit and be asked random questions by a stranger, as happened yesterday. Who knows.
It's a start.
In short, says the article, the testing is worthless.
More specifically, the test isn't totally worthless, but the way the information is used and never revisited makes it so. A child is tested once, at age 4, and never again; though children grow and their minds aren't static, the testing system treats them as if they are. From New York:
Those who are bullish on intelligence tests argue they’re “pure” gauges of a child’s mental agility—immune to shifts in circumstance, immutable over the course of a lifetime. Yet everything we know about this subject suggests that there are considerable fluctuations in children’s IQs. In 1989, the psychologist Lloyd Humphreys, a pioneer in the field of psychometrics, came out with an analysis based on a longitudinal twin study in Louisville, Kentucky, whose subjects were regularly IQ-tested between ages 4 and 15. By the end of those eleven years, the average change in their IQs was ten points. That’s a spread with significant educational consequences. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 85 would likely qualify for remedial education. But that same child would no longer require it if, later on, his IQ shoots up to 95. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 125 would fall below the 130 cutoff for the G&T programs in most cities. Yet if, at some point after that, she scores a 135, it will have been too late. She’ll already have missed the benefit of an enhanced curriculum.
I would broaden this to any childhood testing: a child's mind is not a static thing, and yet children are 'tracked' as if this were the case. The whole premise of education - the tacit thing we all agree to but never seem to articulate aloud - is that one's behavior can change, one's actions and abilities influenced, through instruction. So, if we believe that children's minds can change, why do we use a test, a small sampling of ability at a particular moment in time, to define their capacity, instead of treating them like the dynamic entities they are?
The short (and cynical) answer is because it's easier to measure a static moment than dynamic movement. And, I do strongly believe there are ways to gauge children more holistically. But, since I feel this is more than enough to chew on for now, my next post will touch more on what, exactly, that might look like. For now, all I know is that the boy who came to school late yesterday - I sent the link for the New York article to his mom. It's small, but it's something; maybe she will feel less alone, less anxious, when her child does not want to sit and be asked random questions by a stranger, as happened yesterday. Who knows.
It's a start.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Every Story Begins with a Word.
Children.
That is the word I want to begin this story, for children are the subjects of this blog, and in turn, this blog is to serve them. Serving the needs of children is what I do daily in my professional life; lately, I feel as if the children I see from Monday to Friday are not the only ones I can serve. I can do more. I can do this - speak directly to you, the parent, the teacher, the aunt or uncle, the adult who loves the child or children in your life and feels a bit lost in the sea of expectations and uncertainty involved in educating a human being.
I want to help, I want to create a resource and a forum for discussion, because I think we are all a little bit adrift. There's so much out there - information and ideas about how to best provide an education, what that education looks like, etc. - and a part of me asks if I am doing anything by adding my voice to the din. But then, a greater part of me feels that there needs to be more voices saying, Teaching a child to read at 'grade level' is not as important as teaching a child to read between the lines of their experience and make sense of it for themselves. Teaching a child how to divide fractions is not as important as teaching a child to prevent divisions within their community. So much of the current educational climate ignores anything that can't be measured with a paper test - surely, a cultural foundation made of paper skills will give out as quickly as a physical building would, were a ream of paper laid as its base.
And so I want to be clear about two of my deeply held beliefs, the premises that guide everything I will be posting here:
1. Children - future adults - have merit both in terms of what they can do now, as well as what they are capable of achieving later on.
2. Learning does not occur in a vacuum - regardless of age, everyone has the ability to learn, and learning is at its best when all aspects of our selves are engaged: cognitive, physical, emotional, social, spiritual... we are whole beings and we learn as whole beings.
As I post, I will most likely end up talking about something in 1., or 2., or both. I can't say either of those things enough. Because what education comes down to is value: how we display and transmit, in real terms, what is intrinsically valuable to us.
What is it we want to build with on the ground floor, steady and stable, yet with enough give to withstand the occasionally shifting movements of the earth below?
Every building needs a door; and so this blog is the door of my virtual classroom. This is the threshold between philosophy and practice - a space where thoughts and ideas, and the real-life stories to illustrate them, can go freely to and fro. Every building needs a door. Every story begins with a word.
Welcome.
That is the word I want to begin this story, for children are the subjects of this blog, and in turn, this blog is to serve them. Serving the needs of children is what I do daily in my professional life; lately, I feel as if the children I see from Monday to Friday are not the only ones I can serve. I can do more. I can do this - speak directly to you, the parent, the teacher, the aunt or uncle, the adult who loves the child or children in your life and feels a bit lost in the sea of expectations and uncertainty involved in educating a human being.
I want to help, I want to create a resource and a forum for discussion, because I think we are all a little bit adrift. There's so much out there - information and ideas about how to best provide an education, what that education looks like, etc. - and a part of me asks if I am doing anything by adding my voice to the din. But then, a greater part of me feels that there needs to be more voices saying, Teaching a child to read at 'grade level' is not as important as teaching a child to read between the lines of their experience and make sense of it for themselves. Teaching a child how to divide fractions is not as important as teaching a child to prevent divisions within their community. So much of the current educational climate ignores anything that can't be measured with a paper test - surely, a cultural foundation made of paper skills will give out as quickly as a physical building would, were a ream of paper laid as its base.
And so I want to be clear about two of my deeply held beliefs, the premises that guide everything I will be posting here:
1. Children - future adults - have merit both in terms of what they can do now, as well as what they are capable of achieving later on.
2. Learning does not occur in a vacuum - regardless of age, everyone has the ability to learn, and learning is at its best when all aspects of our selves are engaged: cognitive, physical, emotional, social, spiritual... we are whole beings and we learn as whole beings.
As I post, I will most likely end up talking about something in 1., or 2., or both. I can't say either of those things enough. Because what education comes down to is value: how we display and transmit, in real terms, what is intrinsically valuable to us.
What is it we want to build with on the ground floor, steady and stable, yet with enough give to withstand the occasionally shifting movements of the earth below?
Every building needs a door; and so this blog is the door of my virtual classroom. This is the threshold between philosophy and practice - a space where thoughts and ideas, and the real-life stories to illustrate them, can go freely to and fro. Every building needs a door. Every story begins with a word.
Welcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
