Have you ever worked or lived with a child who is viewed as special, different, hyper, distracted, impulsive, disruptive, socially challenged or exhibits social anxiety? Have you ever tried to maintain their attention or interest in a classroom, gym, or organized setting? Have you tried to instill discipline or explain rules, procedures, and guidelines to them? If you have, you know this is the most challenging thing in your life.
Have you ever sat back and allowed them the freedom to do what they want in nature? In a wooded area, with a creek, some hills, fallen trees, broken branches, leaves both alive and dead everywhere. Bugs, insects, small animals, and some not so small. Sheltered from the rain, the sun, and the wind. Maybe it's the air, a stunted wind, that doesn't blow so much as massage. The coolness on a hot day and the slight warmth on frigid ones. Don't speak of rules or directions, just watch. A tree to climb or jump over, depending on its state. Leaves to kick, throw, or run through; a mess that needn't be cleaned up after. Sit back, watch and listen. Sticks become swords. Logs, rocks, and leaves become a wall, a fortress, house, or a nest. Groups form or maybe it's all in one child's imagination. Ten, twenty, then thirty sticks, assembled in such a way that from the adult point of view, a box has been created. From the child's, it's an impenetrable tower. For some, they become the father or mother, but others become mayors, presidents, even kings, and queens. Some are more than happy to be loyal subjects. Some play alone, with complete control over their fantasies. No other thoughts or opinions to change their perfect land.
The children behave differently. Some quite demonstrative, but never in what us adults would view as any of the words in the first line of this blog. Some quite silent, also never reflecting anything that would be deemed negative. They coexist, as do their fantasies. At times crossing over, maybe even breaking character, to discuss boundaries or recruit forces or simply friends. Age doesn't matter out here. A six-year-old is more than welcome to join the 10-year-olds. There are jobs, but there is no burden. Seven or eight, go down to the creek to fetch water, or is it a potion or even a poison for their enemies. All is calm out here.
A static noise comes from my side and a voice beckons one of the children, then another. I relay the message and they seem upset, as I unwittingly step foot in their Narnia. They put their swords or staffs in a place for safekeeping and scamper off, yelling instructions for those lucky enough to stay. The remaining few feverishly work to finish their project of the day. The numbers dwindle and finally, there are one or two, so we head back. They cross out of the cover into the light and everything changes. They join the larger group and their behavior changes almost immediately. Some get disciplined by others who were not present for the past 90 minutes. They look at me for help and I try, but it's too difficult for adults to understand the freedom they just experienced. I just tell them there is always tomorrow. There's brief relief, then it's back to normalcy, but there's nothing normal about this building or the echoing voices and the commotion caused at every turn. They yearn for the creek, as do I. I understand, in my own way, that adults just don't get it. I'm just lucky enough they've allowed me to stay.
Have you ever sat back and allowed them the freedom to do what they want in nature? In a wooded area, with a creek, some hills, fallen trees, broken branches, leaves both alive and dead everywhere. Bugs, insects, small animals, and some not so small. Sheltered from the rain, the sun, and the wind. Maybe it's the air, a stunted wind, that doesn't blow so much as massage. The coolness on a hot day and the slight warmth on frigid ones. Don't speak of rules or directions, just watch. A tree to climb or jump over, depending on its state. Leaves to kick, throw, or run through; a mess that needn't be cleaned up after. Sit back, watch and listen. Sticks become swords. Logs, rocks, and leaves become a wall, a fortress, house, or a nest. Groups form or maybe it's all in one child's imagination. Ten, twenty, then thirty sticks, assembled in such a way that from the adult point of view, a box has been created. From the child's, it's an impenetrable tower. For some, they become the father or mother, but others become mayors, presidents, even kings, and queens. Some are more than happy to be loyal subjects. Some play alone, with complete control over their fantasies. No other thoughts or opinions to change their perfect land.
The children behave differently. Some quite demonstrative, but never in what us adults would view as any of the words in the first line of this blog. Some quite silent, also never reflecting anything that would be deemed negative. They coexist, as do their fantasies. At times crossing over, maybe even breaking character, to discuss boundaries or recruit forces or simply friends. Age doesn't matter out here. A six-year-old is more than welcome to join the 10-year-olds. There are jobs, but there is no burden. Seven or eight, go down to the creek to fetch water, or is it a potion or even a poison for their enemies. All is calm out here.
A static noise comes from my side and a voice beckons one of the children, then another. I relay the message and they seem upset, as I unwittingly step foot in their Narnia. They put their swords or staffs in a place for safekeeping and scamper off, yelling instructions for those lucky enough to stay. The remaining few feverishly work to finish their project of the day. The numbers dwindle and finally, there are one or two, so we head back. They cross out of the cover into the light and everything changes. They join the larger group and their behavior changes almost immediately. Some get disciplined by others who were not present for the past 90 minutes. They look at me for help and I try, but it's too difficult for adults to understand the freedom they just experienced. I just tell them there is always tomorrow. There's brief relief, then it's back to normalcy, but there's nothing normal about this building or the echoing voices and the commotion caused at every turn. They yearn for the creek, as do I. I understand, in my own way, that adults just don't get it. I'm just lucky enough they've allowed me to stay.
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