Principle #3: Being present
IN THIS LESSON
Tend to your own garden.
If nobody asked you for help, your opinion or for advice, then let it be.
All adults engaged in activities within the children's area, whether they are parents, staff members, or visitors, respect each child's right to self-determination. This principle entails that any actions taken should stem from genuine personal interest, rather than from an agenda aimed at influencing children to perform tasks, acquire skills, or cease activities, except in cases of emergency.
The less we interfere, the more opportunity we give children do discover, learn and be their own master.
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A child can recognize when they've made a mistake and learn from it without needing a lecture on what they did wrong or how to improve next time.
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The explanation should be as long as a child is interested in what you have to say. In most cases, this means that a precise and age appropriate answer is the best.
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When we over-correct, we rob children of the opportunity for problem-solving and critical thinking. In order to give them this privilege, it's up to us to step back and take a look at the situation. Take a quick second before you intervene.
IF you do correct your child, it should be rarely and in a non judgemental, non ‘teachy’ way.
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Keep it casual. Find out her learning style (some children actually might like to listen to someone explain a lot, others might prefer to read, watch, do etc.). It might happen that a child wants to move while she’s listening to you, walk around or bounce on the sofa/trampolin/floor etc. This doesn’t mean she’s not interested or bored. You can then ask whether she’d like you to continue and if she says Yes, then continue. Don’t take it personally if she simply walks off or says ‘that’s boring’. Next time she asks you to teach or explain something, change the way you talked or showed whatever you were teaching. You could also ask her what she found boring and how you could improve next time. Be open and converse to find the optimal way for you to teach her when she asks you to teach her.
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A simple smile, a high five without a word or a small nod with your head is enough to make her see that you witnessed her proud moment.
If you’re seriously surprised and in awe of what she just achieved then don’t hold back. Most of the time though, if you observe your behavior - it’s your conditioning that makes you react in a rewarding way, so continue watching those thoughts and keep the praise to a minimum.
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Allow children to speak without interruption, whether they're conversing with adults or peers, and respect their playtime without interruptions.
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If a child asks you if you can test her then go ahead and do it the way she wants it but other than that there’s no need for it.
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Allow children to experience and learn from their mistakes rather than shielding them from failure.
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When a child is experiencing strong emotions, don’t make a big deal out of it. They might or might not want or need a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to, that will depend on the person and situation. Stay calm and don’t use distractions to divert the child's attention from their emotions, as this may hinder their ability to develop healthy emotional coping mechanisms in the long run.
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Steer clear of making judgmental remarks about yourself, others, your or any other child, as these comments can become ingrained in their minds and influence how they perceive themselves and others. Criticizing appearances, behavior, or actions should be avoided, as it can have detrimental effects on a child's self-esteem and their relationships with others.
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We don’t distract children unless it’s an emergency situation.
Photo by Dominika Roseclay
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In an excerpt from John Holt’s book “Teach Your Own” he writes on how he was pursuing an interest of his own - collecting leaves for his worm farm, when some boys befriended him and on their own volition integrated themselves into his hobby out of fun and curiosity:
“One morning I collected and piled up more than a dozen loads. Feeling rain in the air, I thought I would make a couple of trips and bring in four more cans full, while the leaves were still dry. When I reached the Public Garden I saw four boys (8, 9, 9, and 10, as I later found out), gathering leaves and putting them into the now dry sunken pool that surrounds a small monument. They spotted me and rushed over to ask if they could borrow my garbage cans to fill up with leaves, which would be quicker than dumping one armful at a time. I said that was a good idea, but that I needed the cans, because I was going to fill them up with leaves and
take them home. What for, they asked. To make them into rich dirt, I said. They thought about this for a moment. Then they asked if they could borrow the "wheelbarrow." I said, Sure, but that when my cans were full I would need it back. They agreed and went off with the cart, which they used to take their leaves to the empty pond. When I was ready I called to them and they brought the cart back. I took the cans home, dumped the leaves over the wall, and went back for more.
This time the boys came over to ask if they could help by loading into my cans some of the leaves they had put in the pond. I said that there were plenty of leaves left on the ground, and that I didn't want to take leaves away from their nice pile. They insisted that they wanted to do it, so I thanked them and said to go ahead. While they filled the cans, I raked up more leaves. Back they came in a few minutes with full cans, all talking and asking questions. I jumped up and down on the leaves inside the cans; the boys were amazed to find how much the leaves packed down. Then I began to fill the cans with the leaves I had raked. The boys asked if they could help me do that. I said, Sure. As we worked I told them I was going to use the leaves to feed the worms I was raising. They were fascinated by this. What kind of worms? How many did I have? Where did I get them? How much did they cost? What did they eat? How did I feed them? What did I keep them in? Why was I doing this?
When the cans were full and loaded on the cart the boys asked if they could help me take them home. I thanked them again and said, Fine. With very little arguing, they organized a four-man cart-pushing team. Two pushed, and two stood up at the front corners holding on, "guiding it," as they said. By this time they were so curious about the leaves and the worms that I decided to show them to them. They had been told to stay in the Garden, but I said that since I lived only a couple of blocks away we would be right back and I was sure their mothers wouldn't mind.
So they pushed the cart to the wall where I unload. One asked me to lift him up so he could see the leaf pile in the patio. I did, and he was amazed to see how big it was. Soon they all climbed or were lifted to the top of the wall, and watched while I dumped the leaves. When the leaves stuck a bit in the can, one of them helped pry them loose. All the while they asked questions about me. What did I do? I said I wrote articles and books. What kind of books? Books about children and school.
When we went indoors two boys insisted on carrying the empty garbage cans downstairs, while a third pulled the cart up some steps— a hard struggle— and put it away. When we went out to look at the leaf pile. I found a worm and showed it to them. There was a chorus of "Yuk! Slimy!" But in only a second or two they all wanted to hold one. I also found and showed them some egg cases, and one of them spotted a tiny worm, newly hatched, hardly bigger than a thread. They were fascinated by this, all four talking and asking questions at once. Soon they asked if they could each have a worm. I said, Sure, got one for each, gave each a little hunk of dirt to keep the worm in, some leaves to wrap the dirt in, and a paper bag to carry it.
As we walked back to the Public Garden they asked about how worms made more worms. I told them that worms were bisexual, boys and girls at the same time, and that any two worms could come together and fertilize each other, after which both of them could produce egg cases. Soon we were back at the monument and their leaf pile. After a bit more talk I said that I was sorry but that 1 had to go home and do some other work. I hated to leave these bright, friendly, curious, enthusiastic, helpful children. I loved working with them and showing them things and answering their questions. I think they were just as sorry to leave me. I remember, when they were pulling the loaded cart (which was quite heavy) toward my apartment, one of them said, to the others, not to me, and in the kind of voice that can't be faked, "This is fun, doing this!" They all agreed— much more fun to be helping a grownup do serious (even if mysterious) work than just playing around in a leaf pile. I hope they may have more chances to work with me, or some adult who cares about what he or she is doing. I hate to think of them ever becoming like the bored, sullen, angry, destructive teenagers who hang out every day at the Boylston Street entrance to the Public Garden.”
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At an early age, Cole learned to be self-sufficient, more to the fact that his parents weren’t able to do the things that parents usually do for their kids. Cole’s dad was wheelchair bound due to an unfortunate failed surgery when Cole was two. His older brother and mother were also disabled that limited their ability to do many of the things we do as parents/adults for children because it either saves time, or we think they are unable at “fill in the blank ____ age. “ Though he heard from other adults many times that he couldn’t ‘do whatever’ at his age such as; planting a garden at age 5, owning a business, owning property (he bought both a car and a house by the age of 10), he never heard that he couldn’t do something because of his age from his parents. He often heard that some of his early successes were due to luck. So in that frame of mind he credits his luck to being able to be unschooled, that he was born in a place where a poor kid can be born to disabled parents with the ability to look for opportunities, and the greatest luck was that his parents let him “do it” even though he was “just a kid.”
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I was present at the first moments of one little girl's working life. She was about two years old. I had seen her with the
women and girls, playing as they grated manioc into a trough. Now she was taking a piece of manioc from the pile and
rubbing it against the grater of a girl near her. The chunk was too big: she dropped it several times trying to draw it across
the rough board. An affectionate smile and a smaller piece of manioc came from her neighbour, and her mother, ready for
the inevitable impulse to show itself, handed her a tiny grating board of her own. The little girl had seen the women
grating as long as she could remember and immediately rubbed the nubbin up and down her board like the others.
She lost interest in less than a minute and ran off, leaving her little grater in the trough and no noticeable inroads on the
manioc. No one made her feel her gesture was funny or a 'surprise'; the women did, indeed, expect it sooner or later, as
they are all familiar with the $ct that children do join in the culture, though their approach and pace are dictated by forces
within themselves. That the end result will be social, cooperative and entirely voluntary is not in question. Adults and
older children contribute only the help and supplies that the child cannot possibly provide for himself. A pre-talking child
is perfectly able to make his needs clear, and there is no point in offering anything he does not require: the object of a
child's activities, after all Is the development of self-reliance, To give either more or less assistance than he genuinely
needs tends to defeat that purpose.
Care taking, like assistance, is by request only. Feeding to nourish the body and cuddling to nourish the soul are neither
proffered nor withheld but are always available, simply and gracefully, as a matter of course. Above all, the child is
respected as a good thing in all respects. There is no concept of a 'bad child', nor, conversely, any distinction made about
'good children'. It is assumed that the child is social, not antisocial, in his motives. What he does is accepted as the act of
an innately 'right' creature. This assumption of rightness, or sociality, as an inbuilt characteristic of human nature is the
essence of the Yequana attitude towards others, of any age. It is also the keystone upon which the child's development is
abetted by his associates, parental or other.
Jean Lieloff, The Continuum Concept
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The familiar expedients of praise and blame wreak havoc upon the motives of children, especially the smallest ones. If
the child does something useful, like putting on his own clothes or feeding the dog, bringing in a handful of field flowers
or making an ashtray from a lump of clay, nothing can be more discouraging than an expression of surprise that he has
behaved socially. 'Oh, what a good girl!' 'Look, what Georgie has made all by himself!' and similar exclamations imply
that sociality is unexpected, uncharacteristic and unusual in the child. His reason may be pleased, but his feeling will be
of uneasiness at having failed to do what was expected, that which makes him most truly part of his culture, tribe and
family. Even among children themselves, a phrase like 'Gosh, look what Mary made at school!', said with sufficient
wonder, will make Mary feel uncomfortably removed from her playmates, as though they had said in the same tone,
'Gosh, Mary's fat!' or thin or tall or short or clever or stupid but somehow not as she was expected to be. Blame,
especially if it is reinforced with a 'You always do that' label, is also destructive; with its suggestion that antisocial
behavior is expected. 'Just like you to lose your handkerchief', 'He's full of mischief', a hopeless shrug, a blanket
indictment like 'Boys will be boys', implying that the badness is solidly built in, or a simple facial expression
demonstrating that a misbehaviour was no surprise, work with the same disastrous effect as surprise or praise for social
behavior.
Jean Liedloff, The Continuum Concept