Student Work

A variety of picture and letter stamps with blank ink pad on construction paper

Sand Playdough muffins stamped with stars

Monochromatic collage (supposed to be green but some purple glitter got on there)

Dangerous Things Class

I came upon the book 50 Dangerous Things You Should Let Your Children Do last summer after hearing several people talk about it.  Author Gever Tulley offers 50 activities that might get labeled as "too dangerous" for today's kid.  All of the activities really are educational experiences, and they're all pretty damn fun too.  Most of them aren't even that dangerous, really.  We tried a few of them in the kindergarten summer camp that I was teaching at the time, but we barely even got our feet wet.

This year I have decided to teach a month long multi-age class (6 - 11 year olds) where we attempt to do as many of the 50 things as we can.  So far we have:  licked 9-volt batteries, microwaved strange stuff, spent a half hour blindfolded, climbed a tree, broken glass, made "bombs in a bag," baked "poison" cookies, and filmed dramatic sword fighting scenes.  We talk about what makes each activity dangerous, and what we're doing to keep everyone safe (like using cardboard tubes for the sword fighting or having "guides" while blindfolded).  Our only injuries so far have been a few scratches on the legs from tree climbing and a bumped head from the blindfold session.

For the most part, the children come to each class bubbling with excitement and enthusiasm, and ready to go.  I've tried to extend the activities in various ways.  For the 9-volts, we tested how much "juice" was in each battery by how strong the sensation on our tongue was.  We drew before and after sketches for the microwaved objects (which included grapes, marshmallows, ivory soap, and CD's).  We glued our pieces of broken glass and tile into weird sculptures.  We added powdered tempera to the "bombs in a bag" to make colorful explosions on white canvas.  Things like that.  Art combined with science, math combined with physical exercise, drama combined with danger.  All of it happening at once, and so quickly that we are always left wondering where the time went.

Next on the list:  throwing spears, experimenting with dry ice, performing on the street . . .

The Shiny Table

A lot of the ideas that I try out in our classroom are borrowed or at least inspired by ideas from other teachers.  The Shiny Table, however, is an original idea as far as I know.  Perhaps other teachers have tried something similar, but this idea came to me one day when I realized that I had a bunch of high quality reflective Mylar paper left over from another project.

I decided to completely wrap our sensory table with the Mylar.  This is not the cheap, wrinkly balloon Mylar.  This paper is like a perfect mirror.  You can look at your face and then touch the paper to distort the image in really interesting ways, kind of like funhouse mirrors.  After covering the table, I added loose strips and shapes of cut Mylar paper, as well as cardboard tubes of different sizes wrapped in the reflective paper.  I also added other reflective objects like old CD's, small make-up mirrors, clear glass beads, glass jars, and finally a circular flashing LED light.

I wondered if this would be one of those ideas where I get really excited, and I think it's really cool, but the kids could care less.  Thankfully this was not the case.  The Shiny Table inspired a lot of quality dramatic play and freeform exploration of the properties of light and reflection.  Plus, it was simply an interesting place to hang out, even if only for a few minutes.  The children's play at this table was also extended to other parts of the room. Many of them put the two large reflective tubes on their arms and became "robots."  We are lucky to have large windows that let a lot of light in, so as they moved around the room, their robot arms made light bounce all over the place.  There were rainbows (even more than usual) moving around us all morning.

Some spent their time at the table focusing on the glass beads, collecting them into the jars.  Someone asked for tape so I provided a roll of light blue masking tape and they sealed the jars of beads and even taped pieces of the loose Mylar to them.  Others were only interested in the LED light, watching as the flashing lights were reflected off all of the other objects in the table, turning it on and off, over and over again.  We only had the Shiny Table set up for a few mornings and I'd like to experiment further with this idea and see where it could go next.

Silly Billy

One thing I love about working with young children is that I get to practice my acting skills, taking on the role of strange characters that we create together.  When we play, I get to be all kinds of monsters, a wizard, a criminal, grandma, daddy, etc.  For years I've been employing a character who always gets things wrong. He's been called different names, depending on the class, like Mr. Wrong, Mr. Mixed-up, Not-Smart Guy, etc. He usually came out at snack time. He calls kids by the wrong name, mixes up colors and shapes, and gives outrageous answers to simple math problems. He speaks in a goofy " duh duh" kind of voice and sometimes falls over or runs into things.

This year's class has created a version of the character called Silly Billy. He's got more of a southern Indiana Hoosier drawl and he seems to get way sillier than previous incarnations. I'm not usually around when the kids eat snack this year so Silly Billy comes out on the playground. They all love him.  I only bring him out when they request him, which is often.

The other day I became Silly Billy as soon as we got out, carrying on about how beautiful the pink grass and blue dandelions were, and how freezing cold it was (it was 87 degrees). The kids began correcting Silly Billy, and as he thanked each one of them for correcting him, he mixed up all their names.

Then the kids start asking him math questions. "Hey Silly Billy what's 2 + 2?"
He answers something like "56 million." They all laugh and say "wrong!" and at least four of them shout the correct answer. After a few rounds of this, Silly Billy says "hey I can do math! Umm...squirrel plus flower equals bicycle!" and "toilet plus toothpaste equals pizza!" This usually gets the children to start coming up with their own absurd yet creative "math" equations.

As a teacher I've wondered and worried-- is this really an educational exercise? Does it need to be? Is it just confusing the kids? Then I was amazed to read on one of my favorite teacher's blogs that he actually does something very similar. He doesn't necessarily have a character but he frequently gets things wrong on purpose as a way to teach his preschoolers to question authority. In his class the adult is not always right. Seen in this light, my use of characters like Silly Billy forms an important part of the curriculum. Plus, as I mentioned, someone (usually a kindergartner) always shouts out the right answer, and the younger children' ears are there to hear it, and they are perhaps more engaged than ever thanks to the humor and playfulness of the whole exchange.

So, I shall continue to trot out characters like Silly Billy, to teach that adults are not always right, to inspire creativity, and to give the children an opportunity to teach each other math.

14 September 2005

I was born in the ancient forests
I know
I remember my mother,
Our first breakfast.

So much about "I"
Aye aye aye aye
Egos break as easily as eggs
A fragile shell concealing
Yoke of union
You and eye become one.

each morning for me:
a ritual invocation of Mars,
pentagram stretch, pull ups
at the bar and brewing
roasted bean stimulant

meanwhile Hanz goes
for his morning run
through suburban woods of
his parents hood then
he texts me from Texas

talkin bout royalties and
the future that never comes

Chris Fall Down

Some days I wonder if I'm a teacher or a slapstick comedian. I suppose I can be both at the same time.

Today I played the "swingset kick" game on the playground with a couple of 4 year-olds. It's a classic that I've spent the past few years perfecting. Basically it goes like this:

The children who are swinging on the swings start asking if they can "kick" me. Then I go stand in front of one of the swinging kids and start saying "but I don't wanna get ki----" and as their feet approach my face I make a smacking sound with my hands behind my back, battachio style, and go flying backwards into the sand without finishing my sentence. Then I get up and stumble around in a daze mumbling gibberish until I'm "kicked" again by a different swinger. Sometimes their feet actually graze my face but I have yet to be injured from this game. Children love this game. They laugh hysterically and request it again and again.

Also, I am often the butt of their jokes, many of which are actually about butts, and poop, and pee, and stuff like that.

When they mix up potions like the one in the picture above, they offer me a drink, and after I take a pretend sip they yell "poisonous!!!" I pretend to get sick and gag. Sometimes I'll even pretend to vomit, if I'm really feeling it.

We have the children dictate stories to teachers and then we read them out loud during our circle time. For a few weeks it seemed like almost every story they wrote was about bad things happening to me. I would fall down holes in the floor, get attacked by wild animals or monsters, and bonk my head a bunch of times. Even one of the youngest in the class, not yet 3 years old, composed a story that went, "Chris fall down. Chris fall in water." It got a lot of laughs at circle time. As did any story that featured me experiencing hardship of some kind.

So who am I to these children? Just some goofball, like, a weird uncle type who does the "pull my finger" trick and stuff like that?

I would like to think there is more to it than that. Maybe they are getting something valuable out of my silly behavior and their stories about me. Maybe they need to see the "all-powerful adult" --who is bigger and stronger, who helps them zip their coat and write their name, who reminds them of the classroom rules--they need to see him fall and fail sometimes, so they know it's okay to fall and fail. Or maybe I'm just trying to validate my goofball behavior. At the very least they are also getting lots of laughter, big full belly laughs, and laughing is one of the healthiest activities we do.

And I suppose I get something out of it too. The children are truly keeping my ego in check, smashing it to bits even. It's good for me to remember that I'm not all-knowing or all powerful. I'm not an authority figure. I'm down on the ground with them, face in the sand, sick from another poisonous potion.

You Know The Ancient Rhyme

You already know about
Jazz going with winter
The steam of an eerie night
The liquid tail of an eel

You have probably heard
The one about the little kitty
Who catches the mousey
Only to lose it again

A free life means
Free on the inside
Free to change willingly
Into anything instantly

You know the poetry
Of pure purposeless play
And so know that this poem
Belongs in the compost

You know the ancient rhyme
For 'twas you who first wrote it
With the ink of octopus on the back
Of a giant sea turtle.

Snap Painting

It's all over the preschool teacher blogosphere. Small medium and large size snap painting. I knew we would do it, was just waiting for the right moment, and the right materials.

Finally a pair of perfect sized baking pans arrive on the scene. Deep enough to contain some of the mess and the perfect width to fit the rubber bands I had on hand. The children played them like delicate instruments, looking positively serious in safety goggles and smocks. Snapping away as colors splattered the page in intricate design. Some not content with just snapping moved the bands to make way for fingerpainting, then snapped some more over the swirly mess.

I'm pretty sure we'll be snapping again this school year.