Why I'm Still Here
Reflections on a Sisyphean Life
To be clear, most days, I don’t really want to be. Here, I mean. No, not in the doom and gloom sense, as if life isn’t worth living. “Here” is doing this work, writing these pieces, answering questions, working with parents and teachers, and, unfortunately, thinking about this shit all day and often even all night. You might say it’s my curse. It’s actually more like a task. But I gotta say, I’m getting tired. Pushing a boulder up a mountain is rough, to be sure. But doing it for eternity is a whole other ball game. And it’s hard to ignore the reality of that destiny. But, yeah. Tired as all get out.
It’s not the kind of tired that can be relieved by sleep, or even art or swimming or travel, though those are excellent. It’s the kind of tired that comes from “tilting at windmills,” wasting energy on a battle that can’t be won. Perhaps it comes down to what my family admiringly calls my tenacity. Such a nice word. I see myself as more dogged, more stubborn, more idealistic. Being hypervigilant, just by virtue of the life I’ve had, tends to amp up those traits, because I notice everything. And I mean everything. I also suspect that I’m easily drawn in. Damnit.
So you’d think—You. Would. Think.—that there would be enough reminders of “the bad news” such that I wouldn’t be seeking it out. But, you know—of course you do—that I do that. I don’t do it because I’m a glutton for punishment. I do it because of that idealism. Every once in a while, I get a bee in my bonnet (I am just chock full of these idioms today!) and I think that maybe I will read and I will find that the world has changed for children, that the tipping point quietly arrived, perhaps while I was baking or watching TV, and there’s been a mass awakening. I know. It’s crazy talk. I’m just telling you the truth about my motivation. I don’t do it to depress myself. I do it because I really do think, in my childlike way, that people are “getting it.” And not just a few people, because I already know that a few people get it. I mean a sea change. Yeah. I sometimes think that may have happened. Ha.
So, amidst my already floundering state this week, I thought I would pick myself up by reading the pages and writing of some people who I do know “get it” and then bask in all of the hundreds or thousands of their followers, witnessing the power of their influence, and reveling in the beautiful prospects for our children. I shouldn’t have done it. But I did.
Before you point it out, yes, I do know that this angst could be reduced or eliminated by just avoiding the “noise” and staying in my lovely little bubble filled with the folks who are “all in.” When you’re inside that bubble, it looks like it’s a lot of us, and that’s encouraging. As the celebrities say, don’t read social media, don’t read what people have to say. I realize that that’s an option. It’s hard, though, without living a life in a tiny little corner with like-minded people. After all, I’m one of the people who is constantly bemoaning how polarized and divided life in the U.S. has become, and that is where that comes from, only talking to people who see things the way you do. So I know I could avoid it. And many days, I stay busy enough to do just that.
I’m thinking of some things that happened this week. Although the real issue is that they are always happening, they are always there. And yes, some of this is online, an absurdly predictable cesspool. And still, if the preponderance of opinion is “Yay Cesspool!”, I think we can safely say that something is going on.
It so often starts in such seemingly harmless and benign ways. This week, a couple of prominent educators and professionals wrote a post on Facebook decrying a poster in a classroom that offered children (ironically, children who likely cannot yet read) different ways they are allowed to sit at large group meetings, commonly known as “circle time.” I mean, one could argue it’s an improvement, since the endless recitation and enforcement of “criss cross applesauce” (sitting on a mat or a rug with legs crossed, usually with hands in lap—“keep your hands to yourself”—for the uninitiated) in preschool classrooms is epidemic. Hey, at least it’s a few choices, I guess that’s what they’re thinking. These Facebook posts were oh so innocently suggesting that we don’t need to police how children sit, that they should be allowed to sit and position their bodies any way that is comfortable for them, within reasonable and broad limits. Readers would say, “Well, they didn’t say there should be limits.” And that’s true, they didn’t. There are some things that are implicit— the most respectful and flexible of caregivers or educators are still aware of children’s safety and conflict.
And…you guessed it. It was as if these folks were advocating for mass chaos in the streets, anarchy run amok. It’s way too mild to suggest that this was simply defensiveness from teachers who are unfortunately subject to random requirements from administrations and districts. Why mild? Because, well, when you peel that back, you find out that it’s not that they are required to have all these arbitrary rules for children. It’s that they clearly see children through a lens of “children will be bad unless we control them”, a traditional control-based lens. It was incessant…and unfortunately far from unusual:
“Otherwise I have kids literally laying on the floor kicking their friends or the shelf or wall next to them,.”
“Should they know that the “teacher/parent/boss” is in charge? YES!”
”…so they can make sure the kids sit still and are listening.”“children also need to learn how to control their bodies, how to be quiet and listen.”
“….because multiple children will choose to…[insert every possible “wrong” thing children could do.]”
“kids rolling on the ground and playing and crawling and putting hands on one another.”
The bottom line here, for me, is that this is about lens. It’s about whether you believe, at a core or foundational level, that control, including “deciding what children need” or “adults always know better than children,” or “children cannot be trusted”, is a natural, inevitable part of working or living with children.
News flash: I don’t have that lens.
To begin with, and perhaps most importantly, I start from a different place. When you’re standing in a spot with a different view, the trek ahead looks different from the get-go.
Here’s what it looks like from where I stand:
