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freedom

17 Jul

Parenting Advice from America’s Worst Mom

Avatar by Lenore Skenazy | Montessori Blog
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Here’s a lovely little letter I just received that ended thusly:

….People like you that just send their kids out for the vultures of the world because you THINK you are doing them a favor, are horrible, lazy, undeserving so-called parents. What a shame that God would bless you with something for which you show such little disregard.

And you have a nice day, too!

paperback free range kids -mediumWhat occasioned such a screed? I’m “America’s Worst Mom.” (Feel free to Google it.) I got that title after I let my 9-year-old ride the subway alone and wrote a newspaper column about it. Two days later I was on The Today Show, MSNBC, Fox News and NPR (you know something’s hit a nerve when they BOTH pounce), explaining that I love my kids and want them to be safe. I just don’t think children  need a security detail every time they leave the home.

That idea turned out to be so controversial that I started my blog Free-Range Kids to figure out: Why? Why is letting kids make their own forts, fun, play-dates, snacks and mistakes suddenly considered too hard or dangerous?

Turns out that, for a lot of reasons, we have recently lost faith in our kids and our communities. Let’s talk about faith in our kids first.

Walk into a Babies R Us store (a store that did not exist when babies were most of us — the first one opened in 1996). There you will find 10,000 different items, many devoted to safety. There are baby knee pads, as if today’s kids can’t crawl safely, and “Walking Wings” — a harness you put around your baby that has two strings attached. You use those to pull him up like a marionette when he’s learning to walk.

This gadget promises “fewer falls,” as if falls are too much for a toddler to handle. The marketplace knows that if it can plant a worry in parents’ minds, it can always sell a product or service to assuage it. Ka-ching! That’s one big reason we are being conditioned to believe our kids can’t do anything safely or successfully on their own: There’s money to be made “helping” them.

At the same time, we have come to distrust society, too.  The 24-hour news cycle tells us that our kids are in constant danger. In news-land (as well as in TV-drama-land)  every adult is a threat.

Real world consequences ripple forth. I’ve heard of day care centers where parents are instructed not to hold the door open even for the parent and baby right behind them — you never know who’s out to snatch a kid or blow the place up! Meantime, one of the big parenting magazines told a reader she had every right not to let her child sleep over at the home of a girl living with her divorced father. A man alone with two girls? It’s just too dangerous! Don’t trust anyone!

The outdoors has become “dangerized” too. Only one child in ten walks to school anymore and part of the reason is this everyone’s-out-to-get-your-kids panic. A Mayo Clinic study found that nearly three out of four parents are worried about their kids being abducted  — even though crime today is at a level not seen since before the advent of color TV.

That’s right, the crime rate is lower today than when most of us parents were growing up in the ’70s and ’80s. It just doesn’t feel that way, with all the terrible stories you see on TV. (Or, being Montessori parents, the terrible stories you read in the paper.) And here I must add that people sometimes think crime is down now because kids are constantly supervised. But crime is down against adults, too, and they are not helicoptered.

Flogged with fear, we end up hovering over our kids, even though what they REALLY need is a chance to grow and become part of the world. It’s a basic drive we’ve been thwarting.

Think back to your most own most powerful childhood memories. I’ll bet most of them do not involve a time your mom was sitting there right next to you. I’ll bet you flash on a time you did something hard or even scary on your own. Those moments become the building blocks of who we are: “I’m the kid who got the cat out of the tree.” “I made up the game we played all summer.” “I got lost on the way to the library, cried, and then found my way home after dark!”

Kids are naturally curious and striving for competence. Give them love and guidance — that’s our job — but then stand back and they will amaze you.

They probably already do.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: childhood, community, curiosity, free-range, freedom, growing, helicopter parenting, learning, mom, montessori, parenting, worst

19 Nov

Matches, Needles and Knives

Donna Bryant Goertz by Donna Bryant Goertz | Montessori Blog
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The Foundational Preparation for Car Keys

How does the early introduction of matches, needles and knives prepare our children for the responsibility of car keys at sixteen, eighteen or later? What qualities do we hope for in a young person to whom we hand the car keys?

  • Trust in us, appreciation for our trust of him, confidence that our concerns are real and well-founded;
  • Intention, attention, and responsibility, and at such an early age, for the machine that kills and maims so many each year, and will likely do so to young people he knows well;
  • Concentration, focus and perseverance in holding those;
  • A strong confidence and deep understanding of who he is—that he is capable and skillful and worthy, so that he is not attracted to doing something dangerous to prove himself to his companions

Those are the very qualities we are building into the character of our children in our school by the use of such tools as matches, needles and knives.

First, let’s begin with the introduction of each into the children’s lives in their Montessori community.

Knives: A serrated table knife or other serrated knife with a rounded tip is a standard tool in the Youngest Children’s Community. It is introduced following the child’s mastery of the two-handled chopping blade, which comes first because both of the child’s hands, and therefore fingers, are occupied well above the blade during the chopping process. As safe as this is, it is introduced with an air of caution and a hint of danger. The materials laid out for this activity feature the blade in a specific place, oriented in a specific direction. The strength of the guide’s intention that this is a dangerous tool and must be handled with precision and care is brought to bear. The presentations with the two-handled chopping blade are always given with fullest attention to detail in the lifting, holding, handling and using of the tool as well as its placement on the tray while at rest.

©MariaMontessori.com

When the child is seen to be responsible and skillful with the chopper, he is introduced to activities that include the blunt-tipped, serrated knife. It is more challenging because it has only one handle and that handle is close to the blade. One hand can be kept safe by holding that handle securely away from the blade, but the other hand must be kept safe by placing its palm on the non-cutting edge of the knife and holding all fingers and the thumb curved upwards. To distinguish the non-cutting edge of the knife from the serrated edge, the cutting edge, is not left to observation for a child so young. The non-cutting edge is marked with a thin stripe of red plastic tape. In the activity set, the knife is placed always in the same place and in the same position on the tray. While in use it is always set down in exactly the same place in the same position. The guide does so with utmost attention and intention, conveying with her facial expression her exquisite care and respect for the knife and her recognition of its danger.

In turning the knife over to the child, the adult conveys this approach of seriousness respect and attention. She steps aside and observes to insure that the child is using the knife in this manner and with this attitude.

All of this intention, attention and precision gives the child knowledge of several things:

  • He is trusted by the adults in his life;
  • He is recognized by the adult as capable of keeping himself and others safe through his own self-discipline;
  • He is trusted to remember and persevere in taking great care with a dangerous tool;
  • The adult has confidence and faith in him;
  • He can trust that when the adult says no, there must be a very strong reason because the adult has shown respect by giving him dangerous tools to be used with great care and shown him how to use them;
  • The adult will always do the very best to respect his desire to learn and do if it can possibly be made safe;
  • He can use dangerous tools to carry out dangerous tasks because he has skill and intention.

Needles: At the very end of the Youngest Children’s Community, the child is introduced to the use of a needle. It is blunt but still it is a needle and it is dangerous. The needle is kept in a small wooden cylinder with a tight lid. While in use it is inserted into a pin cushion when set aside for a moment. All the care of manner and method and bearing described above is given by the guide in introducing the use of the needle to the child.

The child moves up to Children’s House and continues to build his skills at using needles and knives. He uses many other tools as well, each posing a new challenge and building his healthy self-esteem. He augments his understanding that he is trusted, worthy, skillful and responsible. Adults will not underestimate him. He need not show bravado in order to prove himself to himself or others. He need not take secret risks, hide his interests from adults or take what has not been presented to him. He will always be taken seriously and prepared to challenge himself when he is interested. He is supported to believe the adult.

When I was a Children’s House guide in the first five years after founding the school, a little girl in our community poked herself with a needle while sewing on a button. She left her work on the table and went round the room showing the children the tiny drop of blood on her finger and telling them to be careful with the needle because look what it could do! It was impressive and I was glad. The children could see that adults could be trusted to show children how to use a dangerous tool and to trust them to take care, even when they could get a safe little hurt, so when an adult said no, there must be a really strong reason.

Matches: In the elementary level, between the years of six and nine, most of the children learn to use a match for birthday candles and science experiments. The guide shows the children how to make themselves safe by rolling up their sleeves high and tight, pulling back their bangs with a head band and their hair with a ponytail holder, and belting their loose shirts and blouses. The matches are kept in a certain way and never opened without having a little dish of water or sand right there at hand. When striking matches children sometimes become panicked and want to throw the match as it suddenly bursts into flames.

Only one match at a time is kept in the striking box. The guide shows the children in a stylized way, slowly and dramatically, how to take out the match and close the box; how to hold the end of the match by the thumb and middle finger; how to support the match up toward the head with the index finger; how to remove the index finger from proximity to the flame as soon as it lights. This is done first with a match that has a burnt-out head. It is practiced over and over until the movement is automatic, programmed into the muscle memory.

Next, the adult shows the child how to light a match, hold it vertical so it is oriented in the direction of the flame, then turn it horizontal so it can be pointed at what is to be lighted, and then put it in the sand or water. When these actions become automatic, set in the muscle memory, it is time for the final step—lighting the candle. If the candle doesn’t catch before the flame gets too close to the child’s fingers, the child puts in into the water or the sand and lights another match. Each match is taken from the supply of matches one by one and put into the striking box.

Once the child can light a candle and snuff it out with a candle snuffer with confidence and ease, he is ready for further challenges. A nice refinement is for the child to learn to blow out the match, which can be quite funny because the first few times the child holds the match in front of him in front of the candle so that when he blows out the match, he also blows out the candle. It takes a few practices for him to remember to turn at a right angle from the candle before blowing out the match. Always the bowl of water or sand is right at hand.

During the elementary years, both early and upper, the child carries out science experiments which are progressively more challenging. In upper elementary the child must pass a science safety test and receive certification before going forward to more challenging experiments.

So, over the long years from Youngest Children’s Community through Children’s House, Early and Upper Elementary, and the Adolescent Program, our children grow confident and capable, strong in their sense of who they are and trusting of the adults who have been their supporters and empowered them along the way. This is the best way to prepare children for the day when we put a set of car keys in their hands. This is the value of matches, needles and knives, and the uses to which we put them!

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: candles, car keys, care, danger, freedom, knives, maria, matches, montessori, needles, trust

05 Oct

If At First You Don’t Succeed… GREAT!!

Pilar Bewley by Pilar Bewley | Montessori Blog
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Mistakes: we make them every day.  Regardless of their magnitude, they all share one common characteristic: they teach.

“We learn from failure, not from success,” wrote Bram Stoker in Dracula.  Mistakes are essential to our growth and development, and yet in our society, they are taboo.  At some point in our lives, most of us have passed the buck instead of taking responsibility for our errors; in our culture, messing up isn’t something you readily acknowledge.  Since we have such a negative view of failure, we try to protect our young children from making mistakes, and this is the biggest blunder of them all.

©MariaMontessori.com

An entire industry of mistake-proof products for young children has sprung up in the past few years.  There’s the snack bowl with the cross-cut plastic lid so that your child’s cereal doesn’t fall out if the bowl flips over; the ubiquitous sippy cup that doesn’t spill when knocked down; and even a spoon with a rotating handle so the food stays on the spoon no matter how your child turns his wrist!  In addition to giving children a false sense of competency, all of these items and most toys on the market are made of plastic.  Plastic doesn’t break easily… It also doesn’t teach.

In a Montessori classroom and home, emphasis is placed on using real objects for work and play.  Glass breaks if dropped, so a child learns responsibility.  Sharp corners poke if you bump into them, so a child develops self-control.  Wood floors scratch if mistreated, so a child learns to move furniture carefully.  Paper tears if tugged, so a child understands he must be gentle with books.

The child in a Montessori environment (at home or in school) is not punished or reprimanded for breaking an object, but the entire activity (aka, “material”) to which the object belonged is removed from the shelf until the object can be repaired or replaced.  Because it is the only material of its kind on the shelf, the child understands that his classmates or siblings will now miss out on that activity.  He develops a sense of social responsibility and accountability that no amount of preaching can instill.

My favorite moment as a Children’s House guide is when a child approaches a Practical Life material that he has once broken accidentally and which has recently made its way back onto the shelf.  The little three-year old boy eyes the beautiful pitcher and the fragile glass on the tray.  He knows how fun the activity can be, but remembers what happened the last time he was careless.

He holds his breath, lifts the tray, and turns his body.  The pitcher starts to slide and the child freezes.  His eyes widen as he waits for the pitcher to stop moving.  He resumes his trek to a table, unaware of the poise and control with which he moves his body.  He reaches his destination, gingerly lowers the tray, and exhales.  A wide smile of satisfaction and triumph covers his freckled face, and he sets about to pour to his heart’s content.

Nobody praises his achievement, but nobody needs to.  The lessons learned from his mistakes, and his ensuing success, are his rewards.

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.” Mahatma Gandhi

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: failure, freedom, glass, learn, maria, mistakes, montessori, plastic, real, responsibility, sippy cup

03 Aug

Excerpt from “Montessori Madness”

Trevor Eissler by Trevor Eissler | Montessori Blog
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A Home. A School.

I remember setting foot in that Montessori classroom. I sat down on a chair—a very, very small chair—near the door. I had just stepped into someone’s living room. Or was it a science laboratory? Or maybe an office building? I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was different at first, but this was unlike any classroom I had ever seen. It felt different too. Peaceful. Purposeful.

©MariaMontessori.com

What there was not struck me as much as what there was. There were no rows of desks lined up. There was no wall-to-wall chalkboard at the front of the room. There was no teacher’s desk at the front of the room. There was no teacher’s desk at all. There was no teacher!

Then I found the teacher. She was sitting on a very small chair to one side of the classroom, whispering with two students. She hadn’t interrupted her conversation with them when I walked in, so I settled into my chair the best I could and began to notice what was there. Low bookshelves wended their way around the classroom, hinting at a partial partition of several areas. The shelves were not all stacked with books. A few were, but the rest held an astonishing assortment of blocks, pitchers, beads, pencils, paper, sandpaper letters, cloth, paints, wooden numbers, maps, globes, flags, bug jars, fish tanks, plants, bells, chalk, flower arrangements, and various objects that I could not identify. It was all in perfect order! Everything was small. The chairs were child-sized. The desks were child-sized. A few low tables graced the open areas. Hand towels, light switches, window shades, door knobs—all were within reach of the youngest child, as was the highest bookshelf.

The room was square, with large picture windows along three sides, allowing in a flood of natural light. A door in the rear wall opened onto a flower garden, a vegetable garden, and a small grassy area surrounded by several trees. The side of the room without windows had a door for each of two restrooms and a third door connected to a kitchen area shared with the adjoining classroom. Three faucets with large basins and tiny footstools stood in a corner. Three faucets! (I recalled a videotaped interview from the 1980s of my late father, who at the time was the architect for the Memphis City Schools. He described a major renovation project he was attempting to spearhead throughout the city’s schools, tearing out walls and putting in a faucet and sink in each of the classrooms of these ancient, neglected buildings. His face had lit up at the prospect of inner-city kids being able to mix sand and water, splash, fill containers, pour, watercolor, and do all the “wet things” young kids need to learn how to do. This had not been possible with the existing faucets sequestered in the community bathroom down the hall, and a hall pass needed to leave the room. His jaw would have hit the floor to see three faucets.)

Thirty children were in this class, but I counted no more than ten desks. I was reminded of the outraged pleas of teachers and parents in “under-funded” schools, begging for more money because some students did not even have a desk at which to sit. Here, there weren’t enough desks by design. I looked to my left. There a child lay, stretched out on the floor, reading a book. (When I was a child, you got sent to the principal’s office for this sort of thing. Here, it was encouraged.) In front of me two children crouched on the floor arranging cut-out letters to form words on a board. Other students would remove objects from the shelves for use, or return them after use. One or two were at the sinks or in the bathrooms. I even saw one child stand up, walk to the back door, open it, and go outside into the garden! The teacher never batted an eye. In various places around the room groups of two or three children huddled, discussing this or that or working on something of interest.

I gasped. To my right a child of no more than four sat at a chair, alone, brandishing a needle! Actually, it became apparent she wasn’t brandishing it at all. She was sewing. And she was entranced by her solitary work.

Across the room I spied two children with a knife! I soon realized these two little children, surely no older than three, were taking turns using a rounded butter-knife. They were slicing carrots and celery, which they would later serve to the class as a snack.

Everything here was real. The flower vases were not plastic, they were glass. Even the glasses were glass! The pitchers were ceramic, as were the plates.

The comings and goings of the children were remarkable. They seemed so assured and confident and decisive. No one was telling them where to go or what to do. It was hard to believe that I was observing a room of children ages three through six. If a child chose to do his “work” on the floor, he would first get a rolled up mat the size of a doormat from a bin of several, bring it to his chosen location on the floor, and meticulously unroll it. Then he would go get the work (or the “material” as the various pieces of work from which to choose are called) he had chosen and bring it back to the mat on the floor. Whenever he decided he was done, he’d put the work back where it came from and then re-roll the mat, placing it back in its bin. When something spilled, or it was noticed that a spot on the floor was dirty, a random child would choose to get the broom and dustpan out, or maybe hand towel, and simply clean it up without waiting to be told. I almost had to pinch myself.

The noise level was also notable. I remember two noise levels in elementary school: very loud and very quiet. When the teacher’s back was turned, or she was out of the room, pandemonium broke out. As soon as she turned around or came back in the room and shouted, “Quiet! NOW!” there was a terrified hush. The noise bounced from one to the other: loud, quiet, loud, quiet, loud, quiet—punctuated by the teacher’s occasional shout. In this class there was a hum. It was neither loud nor quiet. I think this is why “living room” and “laboratory” and “office building” initially came to mind. They are all places where there can be activity and communication without necessarily having distraction. There certainly was activity, as I’ve described. Communication was actually encouraged, not discouraged. It was expected that children work with a friend or ask for help, or give help, or talk with the teacher, or read aloud, or daydream aloud. Yet at the same time, many of the students were working quietly by themselves without seeming to be distracted by the hum of activity flowing around them. Whispered strains of classical music floated across the room from a CD player. As I sat there, I saw a child walk over to a set of bells and play a few notes before moving on to something else.

The teacher was like a chess grand master. A grand master is one of only a handful of elite chess players so accomplished they can play five, even ten chess matches simultaneously. They stroll around a room of tables, each with a chess board and a determined challenger, glance at each board in turn, make a move, and stroll to the next board. This teacher reminded me of that type of demonstration. She had keen skills of observation and quick analysis. She glided about the room giving a nod here, a whisper there, a glance, a suggestion. Then she would sit on a chair and observe the room, taking notes. In the thirty minutes I was in the room for that initial parent observation, the teacher may have actually “taught” (in the traditional sense) for ten minutes. These were seemingly spontaneous lessons, given to only a child or two at a time: help for an older child spelling a few words, demonstrating the whisk broom and dustpan to a younger child.

Five or six of the children came up to me at different times; some peered at me briefly and then went back to their work. One child asked my name. Another asked why I had come to her classroom. A boy brought something he was working on over to show me. Another girl asked me to watch while she accomplished some sort of task folding a stack of napkins in a basket. However, for the most part I was left alone, a mild curiosity. These kids were seriously intent on what they were doing.

When the thirty minutes were up, I inconspicuously rose and slipped out of the room, feeling relaxed and refreshed. I met my wife back at the school office and asked, flabbergasted, “What just happened?”

THE ROOTS OF MONTESSORI’S METHOD

We had each just experienced a classroom dynamic designed a hundred years ago. This model has been repeated all over the world to great effect in decade after decade, in various cultures, religions, economic systems, and political systems. It is successful with children who are wealthy or poor, energetic or lethargic, of high intelligence or of low intelligence, extroverted or introverted. It is a class, a community of children, designed by Dr. Maria Montessori.

Maria Montessori grew up in Italy in the late 1800s. She was the first female in Italy to graduate from medical school. She shifted her focus from becoming a medical doctor to becoming an educator after working with children in the insane asylums of Rome (she always used the formal “children” and “child” rather than the casual “kids” common today). She had stumbled upon some interesting techniques for teaching these mentally deficient children and realized the positive impact possible on the general population. Her breakthrough came when she seized the opportunity to run a school for children in one of the slums in Rome. These children were housed in a tenement with their families. When the adults left for work during the day, the children stayed behind and got into mischief. The owners of the building wanted to reduce the amount of vandalism and graffiti by somehow controlling the loitering children. Creating a school for them so they could be watched all day seemed an easy and cheap solution.

Montessori created her first Casa dei Bambini, or Children’s Home, in the early 1900s. It was soon successful and warmly received by the struggling parents in this tenement. They began to take a bit of pride in their new school as their children became more accomplished. Montessori built on this early success by opening other schools, refining her teaching methods, and eventually expanding her method worldwide, becoming a sought after speaker in the process. She traveled abroad, lived in several countries during her later years, and incessantly worked to establish Montessori schools in dozens of countries from India to the Netherlands, Australia, and the United States. Though she was a fascinating lady and led an extraordinary life, her work is really not about her. She was the first to acknowledge that she was not the author of her method so much as the children she observed were. That’s what she did: observe children.

A fundamental truth permeates Montessori’s work: children are desperate to learn. This is the beating heart of Montessori schools. But this fundamental truth is not universally recognized. In fact, our traditional schools are built upon just the opposite assumption: children avoid learning. Therefore, they must be taught. They must be motivated by offers of rewards and threats of punishment. They require great teachers with charisma and pizzazz to inspire them and to create interest in learning. It is essential to recognize this split in philosophy at the most fundamental level in order to appreciate the differences in teaching and in classroom style that emanate from this initial difference. Why? Because the Montessori classroom can appear downright wacky to those of us accustomed to traditional schools. However, keeping in mind that children are naturally desperate to learn—and to learn on their own—we can begin to appreciate this unfamiliar method. Indeed, eventually we can recognize that it has been a part of us all along, since it is based on the way we naturally learn. We are actually all familiar with Montessori teaching, whether we know it or not.

The years from birth until kindergarten are everyone’s experience with Montessori-style education. Take bike-riding for example. Let’s look at snapshots of the process of learning to ride. A child may receive a tricycle by the age of two or three. The parent will help him sit on it, place his hands on the handlebars, and show him how to step on the pedals. The child will lurch a little forward or backward, but the parent now steps back and watches. Over the next year or two the child becomes better and better at riding the tricycle. He becomes more daring. He can ride down slopes at breakneck speed, feet pumping so fast they’re a blur. He can ride uphill, putting a lot of effort into each stroke. He can ride backwards and turn, even at the same time. He can put objects on the tricycle and carry them from place to place. Through all this he rides when he wants to, and for as long as he wants to. However, there are restrictions such as not riding in the busy street. Wide latitude for exploration is bounded by firm safety limitations. At some point over the years, he’ll get a bicycle with training wheels and lose interest in the tricycle. Then he’ll notice that the older children don’t have training wheels and he’ll start asking his parents to take them off. Once the wheels are off, he’ll need a few pushes, he’ll fall down a few times, and he’ll get a bloody lip and a bloody nose, but he’ll soon ride effortlessly. There is no syllabus and no schedule, just the external input of providing a tricycle, a bicycle, some other kids to observe, a couple of pushes, and the safety rules of wearing a helmet and not riding in the street. The parent gets out of the way so the child can do it by himself. Children need no urging from parents to want to ride a bicycle. They are eager to do so, and to be able to do so without help.

Toddlers similarly learn to walk and talk solely when they decide to do so. Preschoolers confound us with their individualized timetables for developing verbal, social, and physical skills. We are amazed and surprised by each new “trick” they learn. Even twins follow their own schedules, as I have learned with our own kids. Children are genetically programmed to be masters of their own development. However, we make sure they don’t practice walking beside a road; we have them wear helmets when they ride a bike; and we establish a bedtime routine. It is a freedom with limits. Instead of limits with some freedom tacked on, it is first and foremost freedom, with limits to protect kids’ well-being, not stifle them. When this freedom bumps up against someone else’s rights, or a social custom, or the safety of the child, there is a limit.

This “system of education” for babies and young children is simply daily life. It is in many ways much like a Montessori classroom. It is largely self-directed, and its success is astonishing. Prior to laying eyes on his first teacher, a young child has learned a couple thousand words of a new language, along with proper grammar; the social customs of his time and place; and the ability to lie, cheat, steal, comfort others, bike and swim if he has had access to bicycles and water, feed and dress himself, count, tell stories, throw a ball, play games, and sometimes even to read and write.

Now, fast-forward twenty years and take a look at graduate school, where we are also familiar with Montessori’s style of education. We have world-renowned graduate schools here in the United States where students go to earn their doctorates. There is broad consensus that we are doing something right when it comes to education in graduate schools. Graduate students are expected to literally further human knowledge through the submission of a doctoral thesis. This thesis—the topic of which is self-chosen—should contribute in a tangible way to the academic area of their choice. They are able to work on this thesis for many years. It may take a decade for some to finish. A professor or adviser is available to help out with suggestions or advice, but usually does not teach from a syllabus or lecture or have any of those duties we regularly assign to teachers. Comparing the bookends of our education system, the similarities are evident. Both have a Montessori feel to them: self-direction, self-motivation. The nearby parents and professors are helpful observers, but tend not to equate learning with lecturing or following lesson plans.

The Montessori-style process of learning that is so successful for young children and graduate students alike can be equally successful for those in between. The roots of Montessori’s method are in the natural way children learn. The entire middle section of traditional education, from kindergarten through college, would benefit tremendously from this method. The gaping hole in the middle part of our education system—the part with the desks, chalkboards, tests, and report cards—continues to vex educators and reformers. We continue to dig the hole deeper by arguing for more money, better textbooks, better qualified or paid teachers, smaller student/teacher ratios, or even busing, race, and cultural fixes. We even argue for longer schooldays as if more time in the traditional system will somehow counter its ill-effects! This is futile. It is the fundamental nature of the classroom that needs to be changed. Luckily, we have hundreds of examples of successful and effective Montessori schools around the country. These schools are bridging the gap and bringing this revolutionary method to more and more children. The method began as a children’s home, designed by Maria Montessori over one hundred years ago in a tenement building in the slums. It is now a model for educational success.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: eissler, freedom, learning, madness, maria, materials, montessori, trevor, work

27 Jul

Too Much Structure? Or, Too Little?

Peter Davidson by Peter Davidson | Montessori Blog
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On a recent morning I had two sets of prospective parents scheduled to observe in the same primary class (mixed-age of 3-, 4- and 5-year-olds), a half hour apart. One of the more satisfying parts of my job is to meet with prospective parents after their first observation in a Montessori school. I usually start the conversation by asking, “What did you see in the classroom? Did anything surprise you? What were your impressions?”

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On this particular morning I was struck by the complete contrast in the impressions of the two couples, for while the first said it was too structured, the second said that it wasn’t structured enough! How could two couples have such different impressions of the same classroom on the same day? I needed clarification, so I asked each couple some questions to try to better understand what they meant by structure.

To the first couple I asked, “Was there a teacher standing over the children making them all do the same thing activity at the same time?” “Oh, no,” the couple responded. “Well then, were the children making individual choices of activity,” I continued, “and did they seem to be engaged and enjoying the activities they chose?” “Oh yes,” they assured me, “but it was too calm and quiet.” And so I had an opportunity to remind them that when people, whether children or adults, are engaged in activities that satisfy their inner need to grow and self-actualize, they don’t run around and shriek and giggle. Instead they display a demeanor of self-assurance, satisfaction and calm enjoyment, just like they saw in the Montessori classroom. Upon reflection, they conceded that I had a point, and that what they reacted to as too much structure was actually just the right amount as it freed children to pursue their own interests and find engagement and satisfaction. I could tell that they left the school pondering a new insight into the nature of childhood, and were impressed despite themselves.

Then it was the second couple’s turn. When they made the comment that, “There doesn’t seem to be any structure!” I had to smile. I shared the comment of the couple before them and asked, “Were there children running around shrieking and giggling, fighting and taking things from one another, crying or misbehaving?” “Oh no,” they assured me, “but they weren’t all doing the same activity. In fact, there were 24 children doing 24 different things! It took us a few minutes to even find the teacher!” And so I described for them the underlying, nearly invisible structure of a Montessori classroom that combines freedom and responsibility, and calls forth self-direction, self-discipline and cooperation from these little beings. They too conceded that I had a point and went away equally thoughtful and impressed.

This is not an unusual reaction and it always makes me smile, because it occurs to me that as long as we continue to get both kinds of comments — to some parents it looks like too much structure and to others not enough – then we must be doing something very, very right indeed.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: freedom, little, montessori, much, responsibility, structure, too

25 May

Freedom and Discipline

Marcy Hogan by Marcy Hogan | Montessori Blog
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Freedom and Discipline are two words that are not usually used together, at least in regard to children.  It seems counter-intuitive—how can you give kids freedom and still have discipline, or be disciplined and have freedom?  It is generally understood that children can only “behave” when strict discipline is imposed on them, meaning their freedom taken away– this is the thinking of traditional schooling.  But Maria Montessori discovered that the two, freedom and discipline, indeed go hand in hand.

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In traditional schools discipline is imposed by the teacher/adult and onto the child.  His own motives and feelings do not matter.  He must do as his teacher says, and obey unquestioningly.  True discipline, however, comes from within the child.  This inner discipline takes much longer to achieve than it does to simply tell a child “Sit down!  Be quiet!” using threats of punishment.  But it is much more beneficial and long-lasting, both for the child and those around him.  This level of discipline cannot be achieved through commands and orders, but through experiencing freedom.

In the beginning the young child is still struggling to gain control over his own movements.  It is useless to urge a toddler to sit still, for he does not have the self-control and co-ordination over his mind and his body to attempt to obey such a command.  At this time the child needs our help and care, not our scoldings, to help him achieve discipline.  The child needs to experience the freedom move at will and to choose his own activities.  Through his work (in the montessori classroom, helping with chores at home, through his own self-guided play) he develops himself physically, learning how to control his muscles and coordinate his movements; and also mentally and emotionally, as he practices thinking through problems, choosing how to spend his time, and experiencing how others react (both positively and negatively, important social cues) to his actions. This freedom requires a set of limits, just a few simple rules for what is and is not acceptable behavior, which must be explained to the child in a way that make sense to him (after all, it is much easier to follow rules when we understand the reasons behind them- this goes for children and adults alike). Experiencing the natural consequences to his actions helps the child connect cause and effect, and eventually be able to think through and predict the possible consequences before he acts so he may choose more wisely.

At first it is the guide and the parents who enforce these limits and their natural consequences, but over time we can hand over more freedom and responsibility to the child, waiting until he is ready to accept it. The only way we learn to make responsible decisions is through practice- it is not a skill that can be taught, but one each individual must learn by trial and error. And so, it is through freedom that the child learns how to discipline himself– how to control his body and movements; how to think through his options when making decisions; how to be a responsible person who is respectful of himself and others. He develops his own inner compass for what is right and wrong, without needing external rewards or threats of punishment to do the right thing.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: behavior, consequences, discipline, freedom, limits, montessori, punishment, responsibility, reward

30 Oct

Freedom of Choice Must Be Based on Knowledge

John Long by John Long | Montessori Blog
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© MariaMontessori.com

Students direct their education at Manhattan Free School

That is what people FEAR Montessori education to be: comic-book making instead of calculus.

It is not.

E.M. Standing collaborated with Dr. Montessori on the book Maria Montessori: Her Life and Work. The chapter about elementary education includes this section:

Freedom of Choice Must Still Be Based on Knowledge…Some of the new educationists—says Montessori– in a reaction against the old system of forcing children to learn by rote a tangled skein of uninteresting facts, go to the opposite extreme, and advocate giving the child “freedom to learn what he likes but without any previous preparation of interest….This is a plan for building without a basis, akin to the political methods that today offer freedom of speech and a vote, without education—granting the right to express thought where there are no thoughts to express, and no power of thinking! What is required for the child, as for society, is help towards the building up of mental faculties, interest being of necessity the first to be enlisted, so that there may be natural growth in freedom.”

Here, as always, the child’s liberty consists in being free to choose from a basis of real knowledge, and not out of mere curiosity. He is free to take up which of the “radial lines of research” appeals to him, but not to choose “anything he likes” in vacuo. It must be based on a real center of interest, and therefore motivated by what Montessori calls “intellectual love.”

Montessori was a revolutionary thinker. And she pointed to the middle path: FREEDOM…within limits.

Filed Under: Montessori Blog Tagged With: freedom, Maria Montessori

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