Older threes. Gotta love 'em! They play beautifully and seem to enjoy working together. Some are bossy, some are meek, and others can seem brutal. What do you expect? They've only been on this planet for three years!
I was lucky enough to collaborate with a few last week.
While hanging out in a classroom, I noticed a small millipede on the carpet. Seeing an opportunity to role model how teachers can encourage scientific reasoning skills, I used my best "Oh, my" voice, went over to the carpet and announced, "Look, I see a creature (and an excellent opportunity for documentation!")
Funny how that sparked movement in the room. One teacher grabs the camera, while the other one as well as the director get their notebooks. Several children come over to look, and while the little guy was still on the carpet I wondered aloud "what should we do with him?" Someone suggests picking him up and tossing him outside.
"No, we can keep him," someone says to me. ( I love compassionate people.)
ME: What do I do now?
SOMEONE: Get a something to lift him up.
ME: Like what?
SOMEONE: I know! Here!
I am given a tool from housekeeping. Looks like a cross between a plastic spade and a pie knife. I get the creature onto the knife and lift him up.
ME: Where to?
ANOTHER SOMEONE: A bowl! He needs a bowl.I am handed a silver salad bowl. We put him into the bowl, and out of nowhere a rock lands next to him, bounces and hits his teeny little millipede head. What the ???
The 3 year old shotput thrower plops herself down beside me with a huge smile on her face, as if to say, "Yep, I just did that! Did you see that? And it bounced, too!"
All I can think of at that moment is that there is going to be a group of people protesting outside tomorrow with signs, chanting: "Don't support this school! They test on millipedes and other small animals."
THE FUTURE OLYMPIAD'S FRIEND: Don't do that. You will KILLLLL him!
That seemed to work. She puts her hand in the bowl as if to take out the rock, then reconsiders and tries to smush the millipede with her fingers.
Two thoughts occur simultaneously: 1) How did this guy manage to survive the initial blow to the head? and 2) How we are going to handle his funeral?
ME: Okay, sweetie, we can take a closer look at him once he is in a safer home. Let's move to the table so everyone can look.
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| Children learn best when they are excited about their discoveries. |
My friend agrees, and we move to higher ground. Everything stops as we all stare at him. A good 10 seconds of staring, Then, as if a switch went off, the children all started chatting at once.
What can we feed him? He needs water! He needs a bed! He needs toys! He needs a name!
"I know"! gushes a little girl, "We'll call him Vanessa!" Everyone tries out that name. 'Vanessa! That's great!" Someone eagerly suggests the name Kelly, but that one didn't seem to catch on. Vanessa it is!
This period of trying things on continues for a few more minutes. People bring him food - a plastic carrot? TOO BIG. A plastic tomato, maybe? Still too big. A plastic strawberry? Still too big. BAM! Another rock tossed into the bowl. OY.
ME: Sweetheart, can you please find something soft to toss into the bowl?
She nods and starts looking.
Then someone suggests we cover him. Brilliant idea my friends! I think I actually heard Vanessa cheer from inside the bowl. The children (I think we have about 6 of them still engaged) look around and find a jar with a lid. All is silent once more as we watch him get slowly poured into the jar. When I twist the lid I announce that it is really tight and I wonder if air is able to get in there.
SOMEONE: He's gonna DIEEEEEE. He needs AIRRRR!
Another SOMEONE: I know, I can put a hole in it. (Where do they get this stuff?)
I hand her the jar with the lid already on it. She smiles as if to say, "you amuse me, you sweet, unknowing woman." She asks me to give her just the lid. Using the spade/plastic knife, she eventually stabs a hole into the lid. She's 3. She's brilliant, and persistent, and right now, quite pleased with herself. At one point we heard her mumble, "If this was a real knife it would work better."
Ladies and gentlemen, I present our future!
This story goes on for another 7 or 8 minutes. We'll share more later. For now, let's unpack what just happened.
Each step of this activity was initiated by the children. My excitement helped fuel theirs, however, at no point did I dismiss their ideas. The millipede had several homes before he was safe in the jar.
I could have easily grabbed a jar in the beginning, but then we would have lost the experience with the
little rock thrower, (which was valuable, since her friends and teachers needed to see that she wasn't punished for her experiment, but rather accepted as an active participant that needed a little guidance.)
If I had put the guy in a jar from the get go, would we have had the opportunity to see him crawl and slide down the sides of the bowl?
Could all of our little heads fit over the jar as easily as it did over the open bowl? How would we all have shared that moment of watching (which led to the feeling of ownership) if we only could peek into the jar one at a time?
Had I put him the in jar at first, there would have been no way to test the hypotheses of appropriate food size. We needed to see him next to the carrot and the tomato and strawberry. While you, my adult learner friend, could tell it was too big, younger learners need that concrete experience in order to understand. And the little surgeon, the one with the knife? God love her. She had a plan, and followed through with it. How often do we stop these experiences in the name of TIME?
I am grateful to the teachers for allowing me to play in there. At any point they could have encouraged the children to go back to their painting or blocks, but they didn't. They realized, too, that something really cool was happening, and put their planned learning on hold. Good for them. And great for the children. :)
