Preschool is a Place to Finish Using Society's Junk

Auke-Florian Hiemstra/Naturalis Biodiversity Center

There was a street light just outside the living room window of my second-story downtown Seattle apartment. On top of the light fixture were ugly spikes, fixed there to prevent birds from landing on it. As far as I could tell, it worked. Nearby trees were populated with urban birds, but they left this particular street lamp alone, even as just down the block an un-spiked light was home to a crow's nest for at least one mating season.

Not long ago, I read a fascinating article in The Guardian about corvids, crows and magpies in this case, using strips of these anti-bird spikes to construct their nests in the Netherlands, Belgium, and Scotland. What a stunning example of cross-species nose-thumbing! (If, indeed, corvids had noses or thumbs.)

The magpies seem to be particularly enterprising, building their dome-shaped nests while apparently positioning the spikes to project outward and upward in order to fend-off predators. It's almost like they took a look at our attempts to thwart them, thought "Good idea," and made it their own.

Birds are, of course, notorious for using human garbage in their nest building, just as rats, raccoons, cockroaches, hermit crabs, and other species have learned to thrive on our species' unique genius for producing massive quantities of waste. Homo sapiens have, throughout our 300,000 or so years of existence, always been prone to producing excessive amounts of waste. One of the primary ways anthropologists study our ancient ancestors is to study the kitchen middens (i.e., garbage dumps) they left behind. We don't know why this is the case, but my theory is that as we evolved the ability to perceive the arrow of time (something that physicists tell us doesn't actually exist) we began to prepare for the prospect of an uncertain tomorrow by producing more than we needed today instead of simply living in the "enough-ness" of the ever-emerging present as our animal sisters and brothers seem to do.

When I read this story, I couldn't help but reflect on the children I've observed playing over the decades on our junkyard playground. I always envisioned our school, and our outdoors space in particular, as a place where we "finished" using stuff that was otherwise on the way to the landfill. Just as corvids and other animals cleverly use our refuse, I've found that young children have a special genius for finding remarkable, creative ways to incorporate shipping pallets, old tires, parts of broken toys, containers, wine corks, bottle caps, and other societal garbage into their games. In fact, more often than not, when given the choice, they will prefer the "real stuff" of recycling bins, garages, cellars, and attics to the toys and games specifically manufactured for them. Oh sure, they've been taught to beg for the latest shiny toy and are thrilled to received it as a birthday gift, but we all know that by the end of the day, most children, most of the time, have at least as much fun with the boxes and wrapping paper, the excess we produce in the process of gift-giving.

Again, I don't know why young children, like corvids, so often express their genius through playing with our garbage, but I expect that the reason they prefer the boxes over the toys is that most toys (and most out-of-the-box playground equipment) come with a "script" built into them: there is a proscribed, or "right," way to play with them. Whereas when playing with refuse, children write their own scripts, and that, ultimately is the real story of human learning. 

In these magpie nests made from anti-bird spikes, I see the "nests" that young children create from the odds and ends at hand, the games they invent, and the stories they play using waste to create something new and meaningful. I see the power of a learning environment at work, supporting children to think critically and creatively, rather than directing them according to scripts. I see the opening up of new possibilities rather than the habit of the well-trodden ruts of "because we've always done it that way." I see the transformation of problems into opportunities -- anti-bird spikes into nests.

This is a natural habitat for learning. If you're interested in transforming your own space into this kind of learning environment, please join the 2026 cohort for my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning (see below). This is the kind of open-ended, real world learning environment in which not just corvids, but all animals thrive, including humans. 

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If you're interested in transforming your own space into a full-capacity loose parts learning environment, you might want to join the 2026 cohort for my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning. This is a  deep dive into transforming your classroom, home, or playground into the kind of learning environment in which young children thrive; in which novelty and self-motivation stand at the center of learning. In my decades as an early childhood educator, I've found that nothing improves my teaching and the children's learning experience more than a supportive classroom, both indoors and out. This course is for educators, parents, and directors. Group discounts are available. You don't want to miss this chance to make your "third teacher" (the learning environment) the best it can be. I hope you join me! To learn more and register, click here.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

Transforming Our Classrooms into Natural Learning Habitats

Psychologist Kurt Lewin, often recognized as the founder of social psychology and one of the most cited psychologists of the 20th century, developed what is known as Lewin's Equation: B = ƒ(P,E), in which our behavior (B) is a function of our personality (P) in the environment (E). 

In other words, behavior is the result of the interaction between our inner selves and the outer world. It's not a difficult concept to understand, indeed, it seems self-evident, but putting it into an equation does, for me at least, crystalize and simplify an important dynamic. And it also highlights why so many of our efforts to change or influence our own behaviors, or the behaviors of others, so often fail.

Weight loss diets, for instance, often focus on transforming our relationship with food by somehow training ourselves, our personality (in the broadest sense of the word), to view food or eating in a new, healthier way and through that develop new food habits. When a child exhibits challenging behaviors such as hitting classmates, a typical response is to employ some combination of positive and negative reinforcements, sometimes in the form of rewards and punishments, in order to create new behavioral responses, or habits, to certain stimuli. These are both examples of addressing the P factor of Lewin's Equation: personality, or our inner selves.

Personality, of course, is not a fixed thing. It can and does change, but the arc of that change in humans is typically long, and to shorten it, which is what we try to do with these diets and reinforcements, is notoriously difficult. This usually requires us to call on will-power, which is to say regularly and consciously overriding the habits and instincts that cause us to behave in certain ways. It's hard enough when we're self-motivated to change ourselves, but neigh impossible when we are trying to change personality by proxy, as happens when adults are trying to modify the behavior of a child. Rewiring personality is a very difficult task for us habit-forming humans.

Usually, it's far easier to change E, the environment, which is to say changing what a person sees, hears, smells, tastes, and touches on a daily basis. Indeed, whereas change in P involves lots of time and effort, changes in E can have an almost instantaneous impact on B.

For instance, we've all known children who bounce off the walls indoors, but who drop to their knees to study motes the moment they get outside. We've all known children who become "different people" when exposed to noisy, chaotic environments versus hushed, controlled ones. We ourselves find our behaviors altered, often in dramatic ways, when we find ourselves, say, at a cocktail party or in a confined space or on the penthouse floor of a skyscraper. 

Loris Malaguzzi, the founder of the Reggio Emilia approach to early childhood learning, postulated that each child has three teachers, adults, children (including themselves), and the environment. As early childhood educators and parents of young children, we tend to focus on the role of the adult teacher. Likewise, we know that it's important for the children in our care to have relationships with other children. However, that "third teacher," E, the environment, often gets short shrift. No where is this more evident that in cookie cutter classrooms and playgrounds, out of the box spaces that force children, no matter their personalities, to conform, and this has, obviously, a significant impact on behavior, including what and how children learn. A poor learning environment can mean that the adults spend too much of their time and energy on managing behavior rather than focusing on what we should be doing, which is observing and supporting the children as they go about the business of following their own learning instinct, their curiosity, through play.

If this sounds like something you want to explore, please consider enrolling in my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning, where we will be taking a deep-dive into both the theory and day-to-day practicalities of transforming our classrooms, playgrounds, and homes into environments that work with children, and ourselves, in the spirit of a "third teacher." We will be exploring both indoor and outdoor environments, as well as aspects of environment that are often neglected, with an eye toward making our spaces the kind of flexible, open-ended natural learning habitats in which all children can thrive. Not to mention freeing the adults up to be the kind of educators we've always wanted to be. I would love for you to join us!

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If you're interested in transforming your own space into this kind of learning environment, you might want to join the 2026 cohort for my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning. This is a  deep dive into transforming your classroom, home, or playground into the kind of learning environment in which young children thrive; in which novelty and self-motivation stand at the center of learning. In my decades as an early childhood educator, I've found that nothing improves my teaching and the children's learning experience more than a supportive classroom, both indoors and out. This course is for educators, parents, and directors. You don't want to miss this chance to make your "third teacher" (the learning environment) the best it can be. I hope you join me! To learn more and register, click here.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

Play-Based Learning Cannot Be Measured . . . And That's a Good Thing

Critics of play-based learning often express doubts about whether any "meaningful" learning happens through play. Or rather, they don't count it as learning unless we can prove to them that any individual child has experienced the transformation from ignorance to knowledge.

For instance, when I assert that a child playing with our cast-iron water pump is learning about hydraulics, they might press me for evidence of my assertion. I might then explain that they are learning about hydraulics because they are directly experiencing it, seeing it with their eyes and feeling it in their bodies. I might point out that they are engaged in trial and error scientific experiments by digging channels in the sand to direct the water, dams to block it, bridges to go over it. I might invite this critic to listen to how the children use their own words to describe what they are experiencing or planning. 

"Let's make a major overflow!"

"Hey, we made an island!"

"Pump faster!"

They are learning far more from their learning environment, "the third teacher," than they are from the human teacher. (See below for information about my course Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning if you're interested in improving your own "third teacher.")

Most people then get it, even if it doesn't look like the school they experienced or that they anticipate in their child's future. But there are many who still want to hear it from the child themself. They want me to test them in some way. They want to hear the words "hydraulics" or "water pressure" or "gravity" or "liquid" or whatever a textbook might call it. They want to know that this learning is in the children's conscious minds because, for these critics, the only learning that counts is the stuff we can prove we know that we know. 

This is the entire testing industry in a nutshell: attempting to prove what children are able to hold in their conscious minds. And really, if we're being honest, even then it only counts for these critics as learning if a teacher has intentionally "taught" it to them. All this playing with a cast-iron water pump might be educational, but unless the child can somehow articulate the learning in an approved manner, it ain't real learning as far as the testers are concerned.

Here's the thing: people who study learning have long known that there is simply far more information at any given moment than our conscious minds can process. Indeed, that part of our experience we call consciousness is an important, but tiny aspect of how humans learn. Most of the information we collect and store about the world is done unconsciously. 

As Annie Murphy Paul writes in her book The Extended Mind, "As we proceed through each day, we are continuously apprehending and storing regularities in our experience, tagging them for future reference. Through this information-gathering and pattern-identifying process, we come to know things — but we’re typically not able to articulate the content of such knowledge or to ascertain just how we came to know it. This trove of data remains mostly under the surface of consciousness, and that’s usually a good thing. Its submerged status preserves our limited stores of attention and working memory for other uses."

The more we learn about human cognition and consciousness, the more we come to see that the lion's share of what we we've learned is learned without us knowing we've learned it, which is how most learning happens as we play. From this perspective, standard schooling, the kind most of us remember from our own youth, is beginning to look more and more like a system designed to limit learning.

I've often heard parents ask their children at pick up time, "What did you learn today?" It's usually a fruitless inquiry, especially in a play-based setting. Even asking the more concrete question, "What did you do today?" often produces meager results. "Who did you play with?" is usually a more successful question, but parents who really get how learning through play works, will not ask a question at all, but rather say something like, "I saw there was easel painting this morning," or "I noticed the train tracks were out," or "Your teacher said there would be fresh play dough today."

The kids still might not give them what they want, but the odds go way up that these prompts will help them remember stories from their day. And it's by listening to the children tell their stories about what they did and experienced and wondered that we can gain genuine insight into what they've learned, what they are still learning, and what they don't quite yet understand. 

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If you want to transforming your own space into this kind of learning environment, please join the 2026 cohort for my 6-week course, Creating a Natural Habitat for Learning. This is a  deep dive into transforming your classroom, home, or playground into the kind of learning environment in which young children thrive; in which novelty and self-motivation stand at the center of learning. In my decades as an early childhood educator, I've found that nothing improves my teaching and the children's learning experience more than a supportive classroom, both indoors and out. This course is for educators, parents, and directors. You don't want to miss this chance to make your "third teacher" (the learning environment) the best it can be. I hope you join us! To learn more and register, click here.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

Exploring the World is How We Explore Our Minds

She stopped right inside the gate. In fact, her mother had to nudge her through and there she stood looking at our junkyard playground for the first time. She was only two-years-old and her mother had brought her to the Woodland Park Cooperative Preschool for the first time. She was not going to be left with us. Her mother was going to stay with her, side-by-side, bottom-on-lap, arms wrapped around one another if that was necessary, because that's the way cooperatives work.

The girl's mother waved to me, then bent to talk softly into her daughter's ear. The girl was probably listening, but there was no visual indication that she heard her mother, or even that her mother was there. She was studying this new place, probably, knowing the way humans work, looking for something familiar. That would be her entry point.

For some kids, the newness is so overwhelming that the only familiar thing they can see is the adult who arrived with them, but this girl, Paula, spotted a small stuffed bear lying on its face. She took her mother's hand and toddled down the short stairway. When she hit the ground, she freed herself and careened toward the bear, falling on her belly. It was her first lesson in the slope and unevenness that characterizes our playground. She lay within inches of the bear. She turned over and, from her seat, she picked it up with one hand. With her other, she brushed at it, knocking off wood chips, decaying leaves, and sand. She scowled into its eyeless face, then, still holding it in one hand pushed herself onto her feet and toddled back to her mother, not falling this time. Wordlessly, she offered the bear to her mother and her mother took it, who replied with a torrent of enthusiastic words.

Knowing what I know about humans, and especially young children, I recognized that Paula had made a first connection between life as she knew it and this new place. 

As the days passed, she would hand many more things to her mother, who wouldn't always be enthusiastic. Indeed, as her mother likewise became better connected to our space, she was less inclined to nervous enthusiasm and more likely to respond informatively. She would say things like, "This looks like a steering wheel," or "Ugh, that's disgusting." 

Before long, Paula began to connect me to her world by handing things to me as well. As she got to know the other children and the other children's parents, she would try out connecting with them too. None of us responded exactly as her mother had, even when handed the steering wheel. For instance, I pretended I was driving a car, saying, "Vroom, vroom" and "Honk, honk." The other children did even more interesting things in response to being connected to Paula through the steering wheel. Some banged it on the ground. Some tried to roll it down the slope. Many dropped it. Most, after putting it through its paces, handed it back to Paula.

Exploring the world is how we explore our minds. This lifelong expedition is about connecting what we know with the new things we come across until those new things are also part of what we know. No one needs to tell us, just as no one needed to tell Paula, that to really understand something, you must strive to have it in your hands and to look at it from a variety of perspectives, including those offered by the other people. And there is nothing more natural, more normal, than to do it alongside loved ones. Eventually, Paula would be experienced or confident or curious enough to explore without her mother immediately at her side, at her own pace, until she could securely explore both alone and in the company of this wider "family" that she had both discovered and created.

"A husband, a wife and some kids is not a family," writes Kurt Vonnegut, "It's a terribly vulnerable survival unit . . . I met a man in Nigeria one time, an Ibo who had six hundred relatives he knew quite well. His wife had just had a baby, the best possible news in an extended family. They were going to take it to meet all its relatives, Ibos of all ages, sizes and shapes. It would even meet other babies, cousins not much older than it was. Everybody who was big enough and steady enough was going to get to hold it, cuddle it, gurgle it . . . Wouldn't you have loved to be that baby?"

This is what our children need, this extended family, this village of connection, this place of love and connection that is our birthright. I share Vonnegut's wish: "I really, over the long run, hope America would find some way to provide all of our citizens with extended families -- a large group of people they could call on for help."

That is what I set out to create as an educator, a place for families to connect, whether for a few years or a lifetime. This is what I wish we all understood as not just education, but life itself.

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This happens tomorrow, so . . . last chance! . . . Let's make this year Our Year of Play! Early childhood educators, directors, homeschoolers, and parents of young children . . . please join me for this affirmative and informative live workshop. In the spirit of inclusiveness, I've kept the price as low as possible ($9), so share far and wide. This is a great way to get the whole team on the same page for the New Year. Certificates are available. A replay will also be available. For more information and to register, click here: Making 2026 Our Year of Play

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

This is Why Our Schools are So Threatened By Children at Play

"I know!"

"I've got an idea!"

"Teacher Tom, look at this!"

The soundtrack of a play-based preschool is punctuated by expressions of these "eureka moments." Sometimes the children run up to me in groups, grab my arms to pull me over to what they have collectively discovered or invented or understood, babbling their explanations and theories explaining with their hands and bodies as well as their words.

There is a myth embedded deeply in Western schooling that tells us that learning happens according to some sort of hierarchical progression, but that simply doesn't jibe with what we know about how humans, especially young humans, learn. If we are to really understand anything, we are best served by first experiencing it first-hand in a relaxed, exploratory, wholistic way, not as a series of discrete parts like the way we tend, for instance, to teach mathematics (first comes counting, then adding, then subtracting, then multiplying, etc.). When we break things apart like this, we remove the complex connectivity that stands at the center of life itself. We would never think to teach children about, say, soccer by first showing them a photograph of a ball. We all know, intuitively, that this removes the ball from the world of physics, sport, teamwork, and play, rendering it meaningless. No, first we play with the ball, according to our current abilities, in context. Only once the child has internalized this thing called a ball and its relationship to the rest of the world, can we expect a child to be inspired by soccer. The fact that we try to teach young children math through arithmetic and ciphering is why so few of us grow up to be inspired by math; indeed, a huge percentage of adults today report some level of math anxiety. 

As the great educator Bev Bos recognized, "If it hasn't been in the hand and the body it can't be in the brain."

This misunderstanding of how humans learn, stands at the center of the Western approach going back at least to the ancient Greeks. It leads us to believe that inspiration has no place outside of the art studio.

As Aboriginal author and researcher Tyson Yunkaporta writes in his book Sand Talk: 

"Inspiration is something that has been relegated to the arts rather than the sciences, although stories of 'eureka moments' in scientific discovery are still celebrated . . . But creativity is now widely regarded as a vaguely defined skill set falling randomly on individual geniuses. Deep engagement encompassing mind, body, heart, and spirit has been replaced by a dogged ethic of commitment to labor and enthusiastic compliance with discipline imposed by authority. While it may be proven that internal motivation is more productive than external pressure, the uncertain and unsettling sources of this inner power are threatening to hierarchies, so intrinsic control methods of organization are generally ignored in both education and the workplace. Or they are co-opted into "self-management" protocols that involve internalizing our administrators and doing the job of monitoring or managing for them -- an arrangement not unlike the child who always has the voice of an abusive parent in his head."

The boy who crawls around the playground in imitation of a spider; the girl concocting potions in an old coffee can; the children negotiating the rules of the game they are inventing -- this is what deep engagement encompassing mind, body, heart, and spirit looks like. Those eureka moments of "I know!" "I've got an idea!" "Look at this!" is how it sounds. We've all experienced those moments and know that feeling of inspiration, of learning, that emerge from our play, whatever our age. This is what lets us know that we truly understand.

Yes, it is uncertain and often unsettling. It can't be measured or standardized. Play takes control away from the institution and returns it to the head, hands, and heart of the learners, where it belongs. And that is why our system of schooling is so threatened by children at play.

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Just two more sleeps . . . Let's make this year Our Year of Play! Early childhood educators, directors, homeschoolers, and parens of young children . . . please join me for this affirmative and informative live workshop. In the spirit of inclusiveness, I've kept the price as low as possible ($9), so share far and wide. This is a great way to get the whole team on the same page for the New Year. Certificates are available. A replay will also be available. For more information and to register, click here: Making 2026 Our Year of Play

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

A Strong, Natural, Healthy Need for Autonomy

I met this four-year-old boy because he had been forced to leave his previous preschool. Apparently, he had taken to hitting, biting, kicking, and otherwise abusing the adults around him. From what I'd been told, and I didn't quite buy it, he got along well with other kids, it was just the adults. Whatever the case, I would know the truth soon enough. As he glared at me from under his bangs, I knew we were starting out from a place of distrust.

I said, "Good morning" to him without any extra enthusiasm, then let him go about his business. My original plan might have been to spend the morning getting him on my bandwagon, but that was out the window with his very clear signals to back off, so plan B was to observe him from afar. And sure enough, he began making friends right away. His father had told me that he was a "big fan" of Legos, so I'd dumped our entire collection of plastic bricks into the sensory table and that's where he spent most of his morning, talking constantly about the cool things he was making. He positioned his body as far away from the adult as possible without leaving the table entirely.

I've known kids who were suspicious of me before, who found my personality a little too big, my voice a little too loud, my presence a little too overwhelming. I get that, but I'd never met a kid who kept his distance from all adults, his own parents, of course, excluded. His father had told me that he felt the problem in his previous school was that the teacher "kept getting in power struggles" and his son "always wins power struggles."

The boy had a spectacular morning, frankly. He was charming and engaged, eventually moving away from the Lego table, making a little art, checking out the cabinets in the home center, playing a round of a board game. He even sought me out at one point to show me the Batmobile he had created from Lego. The family, in consultation with an occupational therapist who had found nothing "diagnosable" in her time with the boy, had come to Woodland Park in the spirit of getting a new start.

It wasn't until we hit clean up time that his glare returned. "I'm not going to clean up!" he shouted at me when I passed where he sat, sulkily against a wall. "Fair enough," I answered, "Maybe you want to read a book or something." This is my standard response to a child who opts out and wants me to know about it.

Later as we gathered for circle time, he said, "I'm not coming to circle time." Again, I answered, "Fair enough," adding, "Sometimes kids like to spend circle time in the loft where it's quiet. If you change your mind, you can always join us."

I was employing a technique, whether I knew it or not, that founder of Transform Challenging Behavior, Inc. Barb O'Neill describes as "Yes, and . . .," a technique she borrowed from her experience performing improve comedy. Too often, important adults in the lives of children become so focused on controlling a child's behavior that, as Barb says, we forget that our primary role is to help children get their needs met. When we find a way to tell a child "Yes, and . . ." we are letting them know that we are on their side, that we are not "opposition," but rather an ally. What we say after the word "and" is a suggestion for an alternative to conflict.

That first day, the boy simply glared at us from his stance of opting out, although he did take my suggestion to look at books as the rest of us tidied and took refuge in the loft during circle time. And he made those choices the following day and the day after that, as the rest of us went about the business of our community, tidying up, singing songs, and talking about important things. 

On his fourth day with us, however, our circle time conversation turned to superheroes. One of the kids asserted, "I like Batman because he can fly to the clouds." I'd noted that the boy had been listening to us from afar and this was something he clearly couldn't let stand. "No he can't!" We all turned as he came down from the loft to tell us, "Batman doesn't fly. He swings on a rope and drives a Batmobile."

As the other children took up further debate, he slowly made his way across the room, drawn in by the manifest importance of this conversation. He had chosen to join us, a choice he continued to make from that time forward.

He never lost his knee-jerk opposition to adults who would presume to tell him what to do. It would come out whenever we forgot that his healthy need to think for himself must first be met. Of course, all children have this need, but in this boy it was particularly pronounced. It's an instinct that might frustrate future teachers who don't know that "challenging behaviors" are almost always best addressed by examining ourselves and our environment. As Barb says, the key is "transforming how we think, how we feel, and how we talk about children who exhibit challenging behavior." And more often than not, this starts with stepping back from our urge to command and control to take a long hard look at what needs are not being met.

This is often a difficult thing to do. Our culture tells us that it is in the job description of any adult who works with children to "control" them, to make them behave, to insist upon obedience, to walk them in single file lines, to make them do their fair share. This attitude is reinforced everywhere. As classroom teachers we are often, first and foremost, judged for our "classroom management" skills, which is really just fancy jargon for compelling obedience. Parents are often judged by how appropriately their children behave and when they misbehave it's the parents who have "lost control." In other words, we, as a society, expect young children to instantly and without objection set aside their own needs, always, and upon command, in favor of the needs expressed by the adult, be it for quiet, stillness, tidying up, or whatever. No wonder some children, like this boy, rebel. Indeed, I worry most about the children who simply go along with whatever they are told to do.

When we see our role as helping children get their needs met, rather than controlling them, much of what we label as "challenging behavior" is transformed. By not engaging in power struggles with this boy, I discovered that he had a strong need for autonomy, to make his own decisions, a healthy, natural thing. When I offered, "Yes, and . . . ," I let him know that he was heard and, even more importantly, trusted.

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Let's make this year Our Year of Play! Early childhood educators, directors, homeschoolers, and parens of young children . . . please join me for this affirmative and informative live workshop. In the spirit of inclusiveness, I've kept the price as low as possible ($9), so share far and wide. This is a great way to get the whole team on the same page for the New Year. Certificates are available. A replay will also be available. For more information and to register, click here: Making 2026 Our Year of Play

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!

First We Must Admit We've Been Fooled

I stepped out into a windy morning. The sky overhead was swept clean of clouds, although they lurked around the fringes. But what caught my eye were the ravens. Dozens of them swirling in the wind that came, uncharacteristically, out of the south, wings spread, rarely flapping, but rather subtly changing shape to catch this or that gust. When the wind momentarily died, the ravens turned into it, moving into it like master sailors tacking against the wind. When the wind roared again, the ravens turned and abandoned themselves to it, tipping, flipping, and diving, embodied as acrobatic kites.

Behind them was the dome of blue. And then I noticed that it was peppered with ravens, soaring higher than I'd ever seen any bird before, hundreds of them, playing, there is no other rational explanation it.

Perhaps they were building brains, building muscles, making themselves more fit for survival, but like when humans play, really play, there is no reason other than joy. 

I want the children in my life to learn at full capacity, to soar to great heights, which is why I do whatever I can to set them free to play.

Mark Twain is thought to have said, "It's easier to fool people than to convince them they've been fooled." I think that's the position we are in with schooling. Despite ever-mounting evidence that the way we do schooling -- confined indoors, still and quiet, tested and graded, lectured and bored -- is perhaps the worst possible educational system anyone could devise. As I've written before, it's literally based on systems originally created to "break" animals to make them more docile and obedient. 

Things like joy, awe, curiosity, and wonder have no place in a system like this.

If our goal really is for our young to learn at full capacity, very few of our schools, beyond play-centric preschools, base what happens within them on the evidence of how humans learn. We've been fooled so long and so thoroughly that we simply can't admit it.

There are those who will read this and strenuously object. They will assert that their children experience joy every day, that they are learning at full capacity. I have no doubt that these educators are doing the best they can, but it's clear they've been fooled. If the kids were experiencing so much joy, then why do 75 percent of them say they have "negative feelings" about school (according to the lead researcher, "they are not energized or enthusiastic," key aspects of joy). If they are learning at full capacity, then why do so many children fail to earn top marks, fall through the cracks, and require remediation?

These ravens didn't need anyone's permission to play in the wind. When joy is at hand, it is their's to embrace. That is how life is meant to learn.

The plight of modern human children is that they need permission for everything they do, even play. In our schools, squeals of joy are stifled, leaps of joy are discouraged. Indeed, almost all expressions of joy, if not immediately curtailed through obedience, are grounds for punishment. 

Going outside to be in the wind, under the dome of blue, is limited to, at best, a few meager minutes of the day. The American Bar Association, the Association for the Prevention of Torture, and other organizations say that humane incarceration requires giving prisoners a minimum of one hour a day outdoors. Most of our schools don't allow even half that time to elementary school children. Some surveys show that the typical American child spends less than 10 minutes a day engaged in unstructured play outdoors, despite the fact that all the research finds that humans think more clearly while outdoors. Learning, not to mention mental health, demands time outdoors, yet our schools flat out ignore it.

It's a difficult thing to admit, that we've been doing it so wrong for so long. Tragic even, considering all the generations who have been subjected to it. It takes courage and humility to admit we've been fooled, courage and humility that many of us don't seem to have, even as we know in our hearts that it's true.

Can't we even, in the interest of education, give our children permission to play? It's joy that matters, not their damn test scores.

"(T)he imagination," writes George Orwell, "like certain wild animals, will not breed in captivity."

The evidence tells us that we must set children free, like these ravens, to find joy in the wind, and it's only from this that learning at full capacity will take wing. 

But first we must admit we've been fooled.

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Let's make this year Our Year of Play! Early childhood educators, directors, homeschoolers, and parens of young children . . . please join me for this affirmative and informative live workshop. In the spirit of inclusiveness, I've kept the price as low as possible ($9), so share far and wide. This is a great way to get the whole team on the same page for the New Year. Certificates are available. A replay will also be available. For more information and to register, click here: Making 2026 Our Year of Play

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