As we talk about rhythm, part of my yearly rhythm as
director of LifeWays is our annual YoungStar evaluation. You can read on our
website about my feelings about YoungStar and its one-size-fits-all approach to
early childhood education. My biggest beef is that for a program to be rated
five stars, the caregivers need to follow a very materials-driven approach to
caring for children. Since this doesn’t mesh really well with our model of
simplicity, we have been happy to settle for a three-star rating and be done
with it. Still, the YoungStar process always makes me ponder the mainstream
world of childcare.
For some time, I have been scratching my head over what
has become a compulsory item in the modern preschool classroom – the Sand
Table; a table in the room filled with sand that children can pour, dump and
run their trucks through. It seems that
what began as a novel concept some twenty years ago has now become a necessity
in a quality preschool program. When
early childhood colleagues from conventional childcare settings come to visit
LifeWays, they ask, “Where’s your sand table?” as if the absence of one is a
red flag that we’re not providing our young apprentices with all of the vital
experiences they need.
Now,
as a caregiver of small children, I love sand play. But as a caretaker of the
space the children inhabit, I’m not sure who thought it was a great idea to
provide it indoors. After all, how many
homes do you know that have a sandbox in the living room? Here’s the question
that seems reasonable to ask…can’t children play with their sand outside, the way they’ve done for
generations, along with the sticks, mud, puddles, ice, and other great tactile
experiences that Mother Nature provides for them? I’ve come to the conclusion that a sand
table, however incongruent with a clean and tidy living space, has become a
requirement in the early childhood classroom because it’s the only experience
many children have with the natural world. Sadly, most children do not
experience daily outdoor play in nature.
If it’s drizzling, chilly, or anything less “desirable”
than 75 degrees-and-sunny, most preschool programs keep children indoors,
opting for the sand table and the other modern miracle of childcare -- the
Gross Motor Room; a cavernous space with padded walls, riding toys and an
overwhelming din, as children expend their energy in a frenetic McDonald’s Play
Land fashion. When I was young and my
friends and I began running around with this level of energy, my parents
promptly sent us outdoors to play, where our shouts and cries were met with
wide open spaces, and where our play often became more purposeful and less
frenzied. The natural environment
invited us to do more than run around like chickens with our heads cut off. We
made mud pies and potions, created games, poked around in the creek with
sticks, climbed trees and took physical risks that taught us a lot about our
own strengths and limitations.
Were we deprived when the
sand was too frozen to play with for one whole season of the year? Nope, we simply learned to be creative with
snow and ice and sticks. And the sweetness of the spring thaw and the first
foray back into the sandbox is a pleasure I remember with great satisfaction.
How
unfortunate that we have so removed children from their roots they are being
raised under “house arrest.” That we
feel we need to provide every possible experience in a manufactured, synthetic
way because we’re too afraid, too controlling, or just too lazy to bring them
out into nature.
I
am so grateful for LifeWays, where children play in nature on a daily basis for
long periods of time because it’s considered as vital to their development as a
healthy diet and enriching learning activities.
Even when it’s raining or snowing or hot or cold or anything else less
perfect than a sunny 75 degrees. The
benefits are immediately visible, as the children are often more coordinated,
independent, verbal and imaginative and less hyperactive than their Sand
Table-Gross Motor Room counterparts. Oh,
and less obese, as well.
My
dream is that we’ll come to a place in early childhood education where educators
and legislators will realize the virtual world we’ve created indoors is a poor
substitute for the natural world right outside our homes and classrooms. In my dream world, colleagues and YoungStar
evaluators will enter every preschool classroom and inquire not, “Where is your
sand table,” but, “Why aren’t the children playing outdoors?”
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