“So let them be little, cause they’re only that way for a while.
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love, every day.
Let em cry, let em giggle, let them sleep in the middle.
Oh, just let them be little.”
These are the words to a song by Billy Dean, and every time I hear them, something stirs deep within me.
The longer I live, the less I understand the rationale behind the “rushing,” the “hurriedness,” the “sense of urgency” that accompanies everything we do today. Why the fast lane? Where are we going? What are we racing to?
Many of us today are preoccupied—we are multi-tasking. There is too much to do, too much to know—all of it overwhelming to the spirit. And we can’t focus—really focus—on what’s right in front of us. Life is passing by and we are missing many of the ordinary moments—that, as we learn along the way, are anything but ordinary! These are the moments that make up the fabric of our lives.
I am most concerned what this “hurriedness” does to the youngest of our children. They are often swept along in the current of the adults in their lives. They have no control and no say in the matter.
But, this “rushing” does go against their child nature. There is certainly a disconnect to their own sense of time and their personal rhythm—which is, in a word, leisurely.
Can we slow things down—for them? Can we let them be little? Can we follow their lead?
I marvel at children’s powers of concentration and focus when they are thoroughly absorbed in something. Nothing can move them from the task at hand. And we celebrate that the children are so engaged, and are learning so much from the experience.
Yet, we disturb all of this by ringing a bell, clapping our hands, turning off the lights, or (one of my pet peeves) yelling across the classroom that “it’s cleanup time.” We tell the children that we need to hurry, so that we can get outside on time. And, we begin to hurry—in our voices, in our actions—as we disturb the child’s activity and the tone of the classroom.
The damage has been done—the magic of their moment has abruptly ended. Abruptly. No winding down; no opportunity for the children to figure out how they can continue their activity later in the day. No thought given to their interests, their imaginations, their conversations, their problem-solving—and their JOY!
We have to move on. Now!
We know this happens every day in our classrooms. But, does it have to?
Could we just let play, the children’s work, continue—for those who are so engaged? Must we interrupt their focus and make the transition to snack at exactly 10:00—for everyone? Could we think about another way to make snack available to the children—when they are ready for it?
Could we intentionally slow down our adult pace and consider the children’s needs (their sense of time and personal rhythm) when planning and carrying out activities and projects? Could we re-visit the amazing block structure later in the day—and not tear it down right now?
Could we provide sufficient time for them to be together with friends? To get things done with satisfaction? Could we allow the children plenty of time to complete their drawing, their book, their make-believe, so that they control the start and the finish.
Could we make the time for our young children to enjoy the process of learning? to experiment? to make mistakes and readjustments? to complete a task? to laugh? to engage with others? to have fun?
Lots to consider. Lots to reflect upon.
To my way of thinking, nothing is more important. Your thoughts?