I was a huge Ani DiFranco fan in my early twenties. Her songs spoke so truthfully to my experiences as I navigated my first forays into adulthood: The heartbreak, the questions, the love, the choices. So many of her lyrics are still stamped on my heart and memory, and one that continues to come to mind so many years later is from Out Of Range:
"If you're not angry, then you're just stupid or you don't care."
With more life and experience under my belt now, I find the sentiment charmingly simplistic. After all, I'm working hard at this point in my life to challenge either/or thinking. And yet the truth is, I AM angry. A lot.
"If you're not angry, then you're just stupid or you don't care."
With more life and experience under my belt now, I find the sentiment charmingly simplistic. After all, I'm working hard at this point in my life to challenge either/or thinking. And yet the truth is, I AM angry. A lot.
Oh, Ani. I love you so!
I'm angry when I clearly can see a student struggling with something that I know could be supported through early intervention, and I cannot secure it for them. I am told to give it time, that they do not qualify for the services, or a setting that would best serve them simply does not exist.
I'm angry when teachers of older children tell me how fun it must be to play all day, have a class that sleeps all afternoon, or that they like to visit my room for a "break."
I'm angry any time my work gets called "cute."
I'm angry whenever I hear the implication that there is some kind of hierarchical difference between child care and early childhood education, and I'm angry every single time I hear the word "just" precede "daycare."
I'm angry when I have to justify having two teachers in my classroom at all times, as though licensing ratios are some kind of arbitrary means of enabling lazy teachers.
I'm angry that countless skilled, knowledgeable, talented early childhood teachers have to go to work every day and deliver curriculum that they know is not best practice because someone who has more power and is making more money doesn't know what learning for young children actually looks like.
I'm angry that so many early childhood educators are leaving the field every single day. Because they can't live on the pay. Because their employers are constantly short-staffed. Because they are on their own with no resources to help manage extremely challenging needs and behaviors.
I'm angry when teachers of older children tell me how fun it must be to play all day, have a class that sleeps all afternoon, or that they like to visit my room for a "break."
I'm angry any time my work gets called "cute."
I'm angry whenever I hear the implication that there is some kind of hierarchical difference between child care and early childhood education, and I'm angry every single time I hear the word "just" precede "daycare."
I'm angry when I have to justify having two teachers in my classroom at all times, as though licensing ratios are some kind of arbitrary means of enabling lazy teachers.
I'm angry that countless skilled, knowledgeable, talented early childhood teachers have to go to work every day and deliver curriculum that they know is not best practice because someone who has more power and is making more money doesn't know what learning for young children actually looks like.
I'm angry that so many early childhood educators are leaving the field every single day. Because they can't live on the pay. Because their employers are constantly short-staffed. Because they are on their own with no resources to help manage extremely challenging needs and behaviors.
Let's send another round of legislator emails, shall we?
Anger isn't inherently bad. I've learned that anger alerts us to our values - we feel it because something has happened that challenges what we feel is right and just. My anger flares when I sense that young children (and by extension, all those who work with them) aren't being given the respect they deserve. I also know that it's not healthy to move through life living only in a state of anger. I want to be in the present moment for the children I am working with, open to receiving and expressing love, joy, and wonder. And so I try to let my anger motivate me to action, use it to fuel my advocacy. Then I can release it, just for a bit, so that I focus on the children in front of me.
One of the best compliments I've ever received is from one of my colleagues, who wrote, "I love that you are Disney princess and fierce warrior all in one."
We can be both. We must be.
One of the best compliments I've ever received is from one of my colleagues, who wrote, "I love that you are Disney princess and fierce warrior all in one."
We can be both. We must be.