One of my favorite pieces of furniture in our classroom is what I've affectionately come to call "The Cube." It's a cozy, well-made, inviting little nook of a space. When I introduce it to the children every year, I frame it in positive tones. It's a part of our classroom where you can take a break if you're having big feelings or need to be alone for awhile. You can look at books or cuddle up with a stuffed animal or relax with some hand-held fidgets. I am hyper-aware of avoiding any sort of punitive associations with The Cube; children come and go by choice.
So I was taken aback when, a few years ago, one of my young students was giving his parents a tour of the classroom. Eagerly pulling them by their hands, he gave a brief synopsis of each area they visited. "This is the potty. This is where you paint. And this is the box. When you cry, you gotta go in the box."
I was horrified. His parents burst into hysterical laughter. As we talked together about the role of The Cube, we all saw truth in both the student's and my interpretation. It was a wonderful moment, actually, because communication between all three parties - child, family, teacher - was happening simultaneously. This trifecta of relationships is the backbone of the school experience, but it is so often fragmented. Child and teacher talk. Parent and child talk. Teacher and parent talk. And we hope, somewhere in the collective narrative that emerges, we all connect. That we all feel heard. That we all feel understood.
So I was taken aback when, a few years ago, one of my young students was giving his parents a tour of the classroom. Eagerly pulling them by their hands, he gave a brief synopsis of each area they visited. "This is the potty. This is where you paint. And this is the box. When you cry, you gotta go in the box."
I was horrified. His parents burst into hysterical laughter. As we talked together about the role of The Cube, we all saw truth in both the student's and my interpretation. It was a wonderful moment, actually, because communication between all three parties - child, family, teacher - was happening simultaneously. This trifecta of relationships is the backbone of the school experience, but it is so often fragmented. Child and teacher talk. Parent and child talk. Teacher and parent talk. And we hope, somewhere in the collective narrative that emerges, we all connect. That we all feel heard. That we all feel understood.
It's fitting to me that The Cube is what allowed this moment to happen. We live in a world where reactions are instantaneous and opinions are shared widely. My finger can tap "like" in half a second. My phone's ellipses tell me how long it's taking you to formulate a response to my text, and notifications alert you the very moment I have something to say on a social media platform. The power to express ourselves so freely and so widely can have benefits. In many ways, we are more connected and informed and engaged than ever before. But the immediacy of it all is what gives me some concern.
In the classroom, we teach children to think before they act. It is an exhaustingly difficult task for them. It involves a literal rewiring of their brains. Imagine, for example, being asked to write out a thesis with your less-dominant hand or give a loved one's eulogy in a language you studied in high school. It is just as challenging for a young child to "use their words" when a peer takes a toy out of their hands or knocks down their carefully-constructed block tower. Yet, despite the difficulty, we teachers encourage this moment of pause. Reflection. Evaluation. We know the crucial ways that executive function is tied to learning and how self-regulation can impact social/emotional development. It's hard for all of us, but we keep trying. And offering sanctuaries like The Cube can help in giving everyone a respite from the rigorous but rewarding work of learning how to be in a community.
If these are the expectations for our youngest citizens, then, doesn't it then follow that we adults should do the same? Might there also be something to be learned from the adults in the room taking a moment to pause, reflect, and evaluate before responding? It might not be easy, but it's possible. And it might even allow us, like our students, to bring to light the very best in ourselves.
In the classroom, we teach children to think before they act. It is an exhaustingly difficult task for them. It involves a literal rewiring of their brains. Imagine, for example, being asked to write out a thesis with your less-dominant hand or give a loved one's eulogy in a language you studied in high school. It is just as challenging for a young child to "use their words" when a peer takes a toy out of their hands or knocks down their carefully-constructed block tower. Yet, despite the difficulty, we teachers encourage this moment of pause. Reflection. Evaluation. We know the crucial ways that executive function is tied to learning and how self-regulation can impact social/emotional development. It's hard for all of us, but we keep trying. And offering sanctuaries like The Cube can help in giving everyone a respite from the rigorous but rewarding work of learning how to be in a community.
If these are the expectations for our youngest citizens, then, doesn't it then follow that we adults should do the same? Might there also be something to be learned from the adults in the room taking a moment to pause, reflect, and evaluate before responding? It might not be easy, but it's possible. And it might even allow us, like our students, to bring to light the very best in ourselves.
