#113: The Child House

building1

The Child House

is so called because
the children in this
building outnumber
the adults about
thirty-seven to one.
Inside over a thousand
big children are
busy (or not) at some
purpose which often
remains mysterious
to them, but never-
theless is perceived
by many to be of some
importance. Many
of the kids love the
Child House, cherish
it, not only as a place
that effectively prepares
them for something,
but as a place where
they are nurtured and
cared for.  Other kids,
in the exact same
Child House, hate
their time there, and
hate the structure
itself and everything
within.  They do
nothing, get nothing,
achieve nothing, are
always at odds with
everything about the
Child House.  Arguably,
these are the children
who need it most and
who will fare the worst
in the world without it.
The adults worry.
Even though people
outside the Child House
think they know what’s
best for it and its children,
and do their best to impose
their will upon it in the form
of measurements of all
kinds funded by people
who know nothing and
have never set foot inside
the Child House, the Child House
works or it doesn’t work
resting on only a few key
factors: do the adults know
what they are doing, and
do the children know
what they are doing
and why they are
doing it? Then the
Child House is working–
beyond any kind of
corporate funded reform.
Only those inside
the Child House can
know what its children
need and no law
or measure or fix
prescribed from without
will ever change that.
The Child House
remains operational
and more effective
than anyone outside
its walls might ever know.
And its message
to all its detractors
and those intent
on tearing down its
walls:  Look inside.
Look inside the Child House.  

4 Comments

Filed under Education, Poetry, Teaching

4 responses to “#113: The Child House

  1. life long learning
    ~
    relationships
    start
    with caring
    and
    listening

  2. This is great. I was an elementary school teacher for five years and can remember very clearly the deep desire to meet all children where they were, and the conflicting directions given by the bureaucrats to feed them precise curricular elements at precise times…regardless of the children’s readiness (or lack thereof) for such material. It was like being thrown into the middle of the ocean with 500 pound barbells tied to my feet and then being asked to swim. Sometimes the only thing that kept me afloat was my love for those kids who tried so hard to be good, to learn, to grow…

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