Choosing among roads less traveled

Shawna Pitts is a parent and current staff member at Clearview Sudbury School here in Austin, Texas. She joins us on the blog to share her thoughts on unschooling, Sudbury education, and a great podcast episode that discusses both of these and more. The podcast was produced by the Alpine Valley School in Denver, Colorado, where a group of Clearview students and staff recently spent a week.

The more I learn, the more I understand learning as a journey rather than a destination. It is wonderful to live and learn in a time and place where there are so many options for education, and so much recognition that there is not a single way that works for everyone. As a parent, I’ve traveled many paths with my children to help them find the right one. In their early years, a hybrid school led us to homeschooling, which led to my reading about homeschooling and unschooling, and then discovering the Sudbury model of education through the book Free to Learn by Peter Gray. My first entrée to the model was in 2016 through Clearview Sudbury School, right here in Austin.

I appreciate the similarities and the differences between unschooling and Sudbury education. Both paths have been a key part of our family’s journey. There was a point at which it made sense for us to move from our more family-based unschooling to community-based learning in a Sudbury school, but I don’t know that I could have articulated exactly why it felt right to me.

That is, until I heard this interview about one mother’s transition from unschooling to Sudbury schooling. Her insights resonated deeply with me, especially as my own children moved from the parent-focused phase of human development to the peer-focused phase. I found it difficult to give them freedom to follow their interests without facilitating and coordinating all of it.

I think that anyone interested in alternative education will enjoy this short episode of the Alpine Valley School podcast. It’s particularly poignant for me to share, as it features two of my treasured colleagues: Marc Gallivan of Alpine Valley School in Denver, and Cara DeBusk of the former Houston Sudbury School. Even better, the content mentions my family’s own beloved learning community, Clearview. I recommend listening to this as a great way to spend 12 minutes.

Shawna Pitts | Clearview Sudbury School

When we dress up, do we become someone else? Or do we become more ourselves?

Marie Catrett, a frequent guest contributor here, has been looking back over ten years of documentation from her work with young children, compiling these stories into a book. She generously turned some of that material into this special photo essay about supporting young children in processing their feelings and questions about Halloween (and “dressing up” in general). Marie is the founder and lead educator at Tigerlily Preschool. You can meet her at this Saturday’s 2nd Annual Small Schools of South Austin Tour.

 
March 8, 2012

Willa: Is it a ghost or is it just Emerson?
Nayeli: No, it’s Emerson.
Willa: Let’s say boo to him, then the ghost will be Emerson again.

August 28, 2012

A set of magic wands appears in the dress-up corner.

Willa: Marie, what do you want to be turned into?
Marie: Hmm . . . turn me into a butterfly.
Willa: Okay, cause I’m a flying fairy.
Willa waves her wand over me and dances off.
Marie: Now I’m going to be a butterfly?
Emerson: Now not going to be a butterfly. (Emerson waves his yellow wand over me.)
Marie: Did you turn me into something else?
Emerson: No!

I take Emerson to be saying here, “Marie, I need you to be my Marie.” He will often do this when monster play happens if someone in the play begins to refer to me as “the monster coming.” Emerson will tell them no, she’s not a monster, she’s Marie. He will ask me directly, with concern: you’re not a monster, Marie? No, Emerson, I reassure him. I am Marie.

Elias (who finds great meaning in interpreting the world through train talk): We can’t get on this train. This train is too small. We can’t get inside; we don’t have tickets. (His bubble wand is a train.)

Willa: Emerson, what do you want to be turned into?
Emerson: I don’t want to be something.
Willa: Okay. But this is real magic. You could be anything. Even a princess!
Marie (gently): Emerson, I hear pretending. You can choose about if you want any pretending.
Emerson (ponders, then): You could turn me into a BIG princess.

Later during the day
Emerson: (Waves wand): I turn you into a princess Marie.
Marie: Now I am a princess? Are you a princess?
Emerson (spinning happily): No, I’m not a princess. I’m nothing.
Willa: Are you air?
Emerson: No.
Daphne: Are you just Emerson?
Emerson: Yes! Just Emerson!

November 2, 2012

We return to school after Halloween. The children begin telling each other about what they saw.
Marie: There could be more drawing about this, to show what you’re remembering about Halloween?
Yes, the kids say, oh yes, we’ll draw about our Halloween!

Daphne: Me and Daddy maked happy faces for our pumpkins and Mommy made a monkey face. And Mac didn’t carve any because he’s a baby. My pumpkin had fire in it.

Wyatt: I had a scary face of a pumpkin. A vampire face. My pumpkin had its eyes closed. My pumpkin had a triangle eye.

Willa: I saw a lot of shapes in the pumpkin faces on Halloween.
Elias: My pumpkin had a quiet face. I saw a witch. I will draw a witch. With black.
Daphne: I saw a witch! I will draw about a witch too.

Daphne: That’s the witch that I saw on Halloween.

Elias: With a tall black hat on its head!

Nayeli: I saw a spooky house.
Willa: Did you see a real ghost that someone didn’t dress up as?
Nayeli: No.
Willa: Did you see a spider? A monster?
Nayeli: We had to reach in a spider’s web to get candy!
Willa: Was it just a costume spider web?
Nayeli: It was just a pretend spider web with no one inside it. Look how black my picture is.
Willa: Are you making the black night?
Nayeli (adding black lines over the orange ones): It’s making dark orange.

Willa (adding the spooky person, black figure in the lower right corner, with looser black lines, “the black night” wrapping around him, very pleased with the feeling she’s captured): Look what he looks like! When I went trick or treating there was a spooky person wearing all black. Outside. On their porch. He looks like a real haunted. I looked for a dark color to make it. And there was a sunset. I’m making colors because it’s sunset. All sunsets have color. And I make the black night, see? Moon, moon, a bright glittering moon! The moon is gonna be making a yellow sky.

I am struck by how deeply this Halloween stuff matters to the children and make a note to prepare more on this for our next Halloween together.

Here’s what that looked like, one year later.

October 30, 2013

“Me in my Little Red Riding Hood costume and I’m skipping, see? With roses on the basket and candy bread inside.” —Nayeli

Nayeli: Tomorrow is Halloween day.
Daphne: And we’ve been waiting a long time.
Marie: People are thinking about wearing a costume to school tomorrow if they want to. Elias thinks he might be a station master, Nayeli will be Little Red Riding Hood.
Nayan: I will be a giraffe. A costume of a giraffe.
Elias: I will be a costume of a station master.
Marie: And tell your grownups, bring extra clothes. Because maybe you want to be in your costume a long time or maybe you will want to change after a while.
The subject of “What will you be, Marie?” comes up.
Marie: You know, I am usually saying “I will be just Marie” as your teacher, here, when children are pretending.

Dear three-year-old Emerson, you and the other children taught me the importance of this last year!

Nayan: Just wear a little hat.
Daphne: Like with a headband. A headband, and how about different shoes?
Marie: Will you still know that I am me?
Daphne: Wear the same clothes. Your usual clothes.
Marie: If someone is wearing different clothes, are they still the same person?
Daphne: I’ll know everyone because I have really good hearing and really good eyesight.
Nayan: We’ll know you by your talk. Or if you took off your shoes or your hat or your headband.
Nayeli: Marie could be a Marie for Halloween!
Daphne: You just need to put on the same things. If we could go upstairs and see them, we could pick them out for you.
Elias: You have a double-decker house. At night you go upstairs.

Marie: What if I wore a shirt that kids had not seen before, would that feel okay?
Kids: Yes! One we haven’t ever seen before?
Marie (ah ha, I do have an idea now!): Yes. See, I have a new shirt that I just got but you haven’t seen it yet.
Daphne: Like your piano shirt? (There’s a photo of me in some documentation on the wall wearing a concert shirt the children admire.)
Marie: Ah, a little bit like that, yes. But not a piano . . .

Later
Marie: So, we were talking about a costume for me, and people said I should wear shoes, maybe a hat. Here are some different hats of mine.

Nayeli (recognizing my garden hat): This one we know already!
Marie: Yes, you know that one. See the straw hat with the polka dots? This is a hat I like to wear when I go to Barton Springs. It gives me a lot of shade. Now, here’s just regular me, right? And here’s me (putting it on my head) wearing my Barton Springs hat. Am I the same me when I put on the Barton Springs hat?
Daphne: Yeah!
Nayan: ’Cause I see some of your hair.
Daphne: And I see your shoes. Those shoes that I know.
Marie: Ah, ’cause my shoes didn’t change. But you’ve never seen my Barton Springs hat.
Nayan: But I do still know your shoes and your hair.
Nayeli: I would know you even if those shoes were pink.
Nayan: I would still know it was you if your hat was green!
Daphne: I would know you if you were a giant! Because you’re pretty giant.
Marie: What do you think, Elias, is it still me if I put on this hat?
Elias: Yes! It just has this polka dots around your hat.
Nayeli: Your face stays the same. But your face is bigger than ours. Parts of your face is bigger than ours.
Nayan: And my face is smaller than yours.
Daphne: And your hands are bigger than us. Because you’re older.
Marie: Am I the same Marie in my garden hat, in the hat you know?
Kids: Yes! ’Cause of your face and your shoes and the garden hat that we know.
Marie: Okay, and if I take my hat off, here’s just me again. And now here’s the third hat. This is my running hat.
Daphne: Oh, now you look different!
Nayeli: Much different.
Marie: I’m different when I put on the running hat?
Nayeli: But you are the same Marie, though.
Marie: I am the same Marie, but I look different in my running hat.
Nayeli: You look so different in the running hat because there’s no hair coming down.
Kids want to try on my hats.
Daphne: Right now, I can’t see the underneath of the garden hat because I’m wearing it.
Nayan (the Barton Springs hat hangs down over his eyes): Right now, I can’t even see where I am going!
Daphne: And I can’t even see where I am going!
Nayan (laughing): Where am I? This hat kind of looks like a cowboy hat.

Marie: So, tomorrow on Halloween you’re going to see people you know but they might be wearing something different. I’ve never seen Nayeli in a Little Red Riding Hood costume.
Daphne: Have you ever seen me in a butterfly costume?
Marie: I have never seen you in a butterfly costume.
Nayan: Have you ever seen me in a giraffe costume?
Marie: I have never seen you in a giraffe costume.
Daphne: Or in any costume!
Marie: Elias, I have never seen you in a station master costume.
Elias: No . . .
Marie: That is going to be different! Here’s a song I like to teach (holding the Barton Springs hat up over my face).

Who is underneath that hat, hat, hat?
Who is underneath that hat, hat, hat?
All together: Whooooo is it? Marie!
(Marie taking hat away):
I see Marie underneath that hat!
Marie is underneath that hat, hat, hat!

Nayeli: I know that song, I know that song!

We sing many verses, with all our hats, together.

 
Marie Catrett | Tigerlily Preschool

Why should I take an art class? I don’t want to be an artist when I grow up!

Alison Pilon Nokes teaches art, among other subjects, at Huntington-Surrey High School in Austin. Her guest contribution here is adapted from her recent post on the school’s own blog.

After about ten years in the visual art education world, I feel pretty strongly that everyone should take an art class—every year, if possible!

Throughout my own educational and professional experiences, I have always felt freed by the opportunity for creative problem solving and exploration of visual media provided through the visual arts. I was, and still am, able to process many different parts of my life through an art outlet. And while I do, personally, as an adult, identify as an artist, I think the benefits of working through an artistic process—much like the experience of working with the scientific method in a science course—are worthwhile for everyone to experience as they venture through their education, no matter what they end up doing and becoming. 

We are living in a rapidly changing world. In many ways, we cannot even imagine what the work force and daily life are going to look like for our kids when they come of age. This year of rapid adjustment to virtual learning and social distancing has certainly given us all a taste of how flexible we need to be and how quickly our world can change. What we do know is that students who can think critically and creatively about a variety of complex problems are going to have the best chance for success in just about any setting. 

Not every student who is taking an art class is planning to apply to art school for college. In fact, most aren’t (just as not every student who is taking a biology course plans to become a biologist). It is with that in mind that I design lessons and projects for my art students. My lessons provide students with opportunities to play with materials they may not have used before, discover for themselves how those materials work, and consider how they can use them to meet their needs. My lessons present students with a problem, a dilemma, or an obstacle and ask them to come up with an out-of-the-box solution.

As much fun as it is for families and friends to walk into a student art show at the end of the year full of beautiful finished work, the reality of art is that most often what students make is messy and strange. For every finished work of art that is “pretty,” there are often several unsuccessful attempts (I’m purposely avoiding the term “failures”). Those unsuccessful attempts—those messy and strange drawings, paintings, and sculptures—are what show the important lessons of art: the processes of working out a solution to a problem. As a teacher of art, the most important thing to me is not what the final product looks like. Rather, I want my art students to put forth their best effort, maintain a good attitude about trying, and work through the hard process of solving problems in innovative ways with materials that may be new to them.

Alison Pilon Nokes

An honest look at the fall

Pam Nicholas is an extraordinary educator who serves as executive director of Huntington-Surrey High School. Below, she shares her candid thoughts and feelings about the challenges and uncertainties of the coming school year amidst the COVID-19 pandemic that is currently surging here in Central Texas.

I, like many other parents and people in the education community, have been glued to any news or information about what school district plans are looking like for the fall. As both a teacher and an administrator for our small private high school, I have so many emotions running through me about the idea of returning to school in the fall.  I know that many kids learn best when they are face-to-face. I miss hugging my kids (okay, students) every day. I miss seeing them face-to-face, and I even miss going on my occasional Starbucks runs for them. It was hard to see them only online in the spring and to know that they too were emotionally struggling with so much going on in the world.

On the other hand, having my own personal health issues, I am not one to take my health or anyone else’s for granted. I was proud of the fact that my school managed to both help flatten Austin’s curve in the spring and provide our students with an excellent virtual education with no missed days of school. Now, these summer months are leaving me with time to reflect on what went well, what could be improved, how we can keep our students engaged, and how we can best support our kids, our teachers, and our families in these very disconcerting times. 

With hospitals in Austin getting close to being overwhelmed, it is troubling for me to hear elected officials talk about having schools return to face-to-face classes in the fall. There is so much talk about how the virus is mild in children, but the facts of the matter are that some children do get quite ill and children can transmit the virus between one another, to their families, and to their teachers. There is no way to predict right now which one of us will have a mild case, who will have severe illness or ongoing medical issues to contend with, and who will die. As a private school administrator, could I ever live with the fact that I did have the “luxury” of keeping school virtual but I chose not to, and someone were to get seriously ill or die because of that choice? I know some of my parents are really wanting to return to face-to-face instruction because, of course, it is the best way for their kids to learn and there is nothing like face-to-face social interactions with their friends. However, I’m not one to gamble, and I am certainly not feeling comfortable gambling with the lives of the people in my community. 

As a private high school, we were and are extremely privileged in the sense that our kids are old enough to be home by themselves, if need be, and our kids are already extremely familiar with technology. With our very small student-to-teacher ratios, we could still pay a lot of attention to each student during class times and were able to be available to them outside of regular class times for extra help. I won’t say everything went perfectly transitioning to live, online classes (we were Zoom-bombed only once, thank goodness!), but I know that our kids knew we were there for them, got to have some pretty interesting conversations, still managed to learn new skills, and were able to practice those skills with the live support of their peers and teachers. 

So, what were some lessons learned, and what can we, as parents, educators, or, like me, both, do this coming fall? All of us need to have some positive interaction during the day. Having good, interesting conversations, even virtually, keeps kids engaged. Teaching using Socratic methods also helps to keep them engaged. We’ve learned that some kids are still going to struggle, especially those with ADHD. Our ADHD students can spend hour upon hour on a screen playing Minecraft, but it is quite different from taking an online course. We have found that having them attend class via cell phone in a well-lit room with just a table or desk really helps with mitigating the temptation to use other apps during class time.

Parents helping kids stay organized and on top of their homework as they adjust can help a lot, too. When kids were out and about during the day, it was easier to make sure they were doing their independent work at a regularly scheduled time. Now with them home all day, it is easier to assume they will just get it done. That really isn’t the case. Parents with children of any age can help their kids find success by having them on a consistent routine, including time slotted specifically for homework. Regular sleep times, physical activity times, and homework times can go a long way.

Another way to help our kids in an online environment is for teachers to record their classes. Our school will be posting them online so that if a student wasn’t able to focus, for whatever reason, the class is there for them to see at a better time. We are also continuing our study halls during the school days so kids can get their homework done with a teacher live to help them and make sure progress is being made on assignments. It’s important for schools to be able to provide one-on-one help if they can, even if it isn’t academic help. Our teachers will continue to simply check in with each of our students to find out how they are coping. Offering frequent “just for fun” opportunities can help, too. This summer and beyond, we will continue to offer online social opportunities for our kids to virtually get together. Working hand-in-hand with our parents, students, and faculty, we will give our students the best possible educational experience we can provide.

Times are tough right now for most of us, and alt-ed schools have a lot of difficult decisions to make over the coming days and weeks. The balance between the grown-ups having to work, the children needing in-person attention, and everyone wanting to help keep everyone safe is an exceedingly difficult one to find. I know we are all going to try our best, and hopefully working together with a lot of patience and empathy, we will make the best of what seems like an impossible situation.

 
Pam Nicholas

Hiding scary things from kids

Deborah Hale, founder and director of the Inside Outside School, kindly granted Alt Ed Austin permission to republish this timely and soul-searching piece. It originally appeared on her school blog earlier this month, soon after large protests against police brutality and racism began in Minneapolis, Austin, and many other communities throughout the world.

 
Recent events following the murder of George Floyd have offered me, a white woman born in the 1950s, an opportunity for self-reflection. I am not doing a good enough job of growing anti-racist children. I’ve always taken the approach with environmental education that we don’t focus on what is wrong like glaciers melting; instead we help children fall in love with nature, so that one day they will harness that love in a way that actively protects the environment. Playing in a creek, gardening, and feeding chickens are our methodology of raising an environmental activist.  We address race issues mostly through literature. We teach respect for everyone. The students study the Civil Rights movement, Jim Crow laws, slavery, the Underground Railroad, segregation, and prejudice. 
​ 
In her book Not My Idea: A Book about Whiteness, Anastasia Higginbotham shows a mother saying, “Oh no, not again.” Her daughter hears her and says, “Mom. What ‘not again?’” The mother doesn’t want to tell her child about the George Floyd, Breanna Taylor, Mark Ramos news break of the day. She wants to “hide scary things” from her kid. Boy, do I get that! I really want children to enjoy their sacred childhood, running, playing, laughing. The dangers they face at school are poison ivy, sharp rocks under their bare feet, snakes, and puss moth caterpillars. Their parents might worry about that a bit, but they don’t have to worry that their child will be murdered by police. I can protect them from the horrible, frightening details in today’s news, but because there is not a lot of diversity, I cannot help them fall in love with people of color through direct experience. Our school isn’t free, there is no free breakfast or lunch, we are not on a bus route. We lack socio-economic diversity. As a private school, we serve privileged children. That’s not what I want, but that is what I created.

Our family has recently had our own run-in with racist police brutality. Like many white grandparents, we have grandchildren, daughters-in-law, nieces, and nephews who are people of color. Our grandson was peacefully protesting in Austin and was shot at close range by a police officer’s rubber bullet.

Our grandson, now 20, is a photographer. The bullet hit his right arm. He required emergency surgery to save his arm. He has a huge scar which runs down the center of his Texas tattoo. He was holding a camera, not a gun. 

He is a peaceful man. He eats a vegan diet so that he may do no harm. I adore my grandchildren. They matter to me deeply and personally. Our grandson recently shared with us how difficult it has been for him, growing up black. I heard his pain, the things he has faced that our other grandchildren will never have to face because they are white. I do want them to know what happened to their cousin. I know it is a scary thing, but knowing about this is important. We cannot let them grow up thinking that the color of your skin doesn’t matter. It makes all the difference if your skin color isn’t white. I knelt in the grass on a recent Sunday at Huston-Tillotson College listening to the heartbreaking words of Brenda Ramos, whose son, Mark, had been killed by police in Austin 6 weeks earlier. Mark was unarmed and had his hands up in the air.  There has been no justice, no arrest. My heart is hurting for her and for all mothers and grandmothers whose children are people of color.

One of the reasons we don’t teach our students at IOS about deforestation and climate change is that these big problems can paralyze children into a fear that they can only shut down around. I feel this paralyzing fear about our world right now. Are we facing civil war? Are people trying to stir up such an unimaginable evil in the year 2020? I cannot remain frozen in fear. I have to use my voice to speak out against racism. It was not my idea, and if you are reading this, it was not yours either. We do not support it, but are we fighting it?

My grandfather introduced racism into our home when I was in kindergarten or first grade. He said the N word at the dinner table in reference to his co-workers at the post office. My mother bravely ripped her father in law a new one in front of his granddaughters. It made an indelible impression on me. I thank God that my mother shaped my belief system, not my grandfather. When we saw the race riots on the television, she did not send me out of the room. I saw. I see. I cannot look the other way.

Our next module in our Wit and Wisdom curriculum at the Inside Outside School is “Civil Rights.” We will open with this integrated theme in our pandemic world classroom, whatever that looks like. I will help shape the belief systems of my students. I will continue to teach them the Three Respect Agreements of our school: Respect Yourself, Respect Others, Respect the Environment. I will continue to teach them about a growth mindset and about the Dimensions of Human Greatness. But, when we talk about interaction, I want them to actually have interactions with people of color. I don’t want it to all be book learning. 

My semester reports are all written, and now I am trying to plan for a world where students can’t be closer than 6 feet from each other, where I may be teaching with a mask over my mouth and nose in triple-digit Texas heat. But just as importantly, I also am imagining how to plan a world where the student population at our school reflects the diversity of our wider community. I can stand against racism by not being satisfied with my white privilege. I can ask for the means to serve more intentionally in creating a more just and loving world. I can reach into the greater field of life where this school originated and find the next upgrade. Through our shared intention, let us see that manifesting. 

Please join me. Namaste.

Deborah Hale

Something there is that doesn't love a wall

Guest contributor Laurie Filipelli is on a mission to help writers of all ages transform their experiences into meaningful poems and personal narratives—and mightily crafted college application essays. She holds an M.F.A in Poetry and an M.A. in English and has taught high school, college, and pedagogical courses. Laurie is the author of two books of poems—Girl Paper Stone (Black Lawrence Press, 2018) and Elseplace (Brooklyn Arts Press, 2013)—as well as the Mighty Writing College Application Essay Guide, in collaboration with Irena Smith, Ph.D. Her weeklong Kids with Pens poetry summer camp will take place July 20–24 and is now open for registration.

It’s happened to most of us at one time or another: you return to a cherished place after an absence—maybe a weekend, maybe years—and you find something irrevocably changed. The place no longer feels like the place you knew; a line is drawn between before and after.

After winter break, my daughter and I went back to her school and found a new chain-link fence. Given the age in which we live, this is not a surprise. People want to feel safer, and this feeling, some psychologists (and fence makers) tell us, is achieved with a strong perimeter. If we know our boundaries, we can flourish. 

As a poet, it is hard to believe this is true. Our writing may benefit from the limits of form, but it is the breaking of barriers that gives words life. We use repetition so we can augment variation. We limit our imagistic palette so that the brightest colors shine through. The impositions of an artist are self-imposed, not stifling. The most meaningful work requires not safety, but risk.

My daughter and her friend walked along the fence, gathering old balls, lots of sticks, and a busted pick-up/drop-off sign. Near the soccer goal, they erected a shrine, topping it off with a placard of painted wood on which they wrote a dedication to a time “before the fence.”

Weeks later on the playground, I couldn’t help but quote Robert Frost’s ‘Mending Wall” to a friend, not the oft misused part about good fences and good neighbors, but the part that sums up the steady work of nature in the face of artificial boundaries. Something there is that doesn't love a wall. The shrine by now had long been disassembled (the placard, serendipitously, found a home on a loving parent’s Twitter feed), but the fence itself was adorned with muddied sweatshirts. I watched with pleasure as a kid who’d mastered the art of tree climbing attempted to hurl himself over.

In our fenced-in world, it takes effort to make mischief, and imagination to move beyond our fears and longings for the past. We can’t remove most fences, but we can ask ourselves, as Frost asks in his poem, what “we’re walling in and walling out.” We can chip away at boundaries in our own minds, and, with some effort, even learn to climb.


Laurie Filipelli