In the recent months, my boys have become particularly interested in hearing about what my own childhood play experiences were like. S in particular loves to hear stories of what types of toys I played with and what topics and stories I played about. Trips to our local thrift shop started to result in a growing collection of original cabbage patch kids (I am one doll away from having more cabbage patch kids than actual kids). I may or may not have begun grooming my boys to play with vintage My Little Ponies. They got the surprise of the summer when two brand new Pound Puppies arrived for adoption at our house in retro 1980s true-to-the-original packaging. And yes, I had to retro-actively order one more for myself, because I'm still jealous that my big sister had a big Pound Puppy, Cinnamon, and I only had a newborn, Fudge. I finally got my big Pound Puppy, a similarly colored breed with different ears and spots unlike the original Cinnamon, and if anyone asks, her name is Nutmeg.
And yes, I felt just a little bit foolish standing in the line to pick up my order from Walmart's Customer Service desk, holding onto my wallet and 30 plus years of little sister toy envy, but you know what? As soon as the grown man standing behind me saw what was inside my box he gleefully shouted
"Is that a Pound Puppy? In original 1980s retro packaging???"
"Yes, sir! And it still comes with the sticker sheet..."
And when I got in the line at the thrift store to buy two more original cabbage patch dolls so the boys would stop fighting over mine, the cashier had her own fond memory of being stationed overseas in Asia when cabbage patch dolls first came out and being able to purchase them at insanely inexpensive prices for the time since she was near the factory where they were manufactured. [Sorry to burst anyone's bubble who thought like I did that they were actually harvested from a garden bed...] Another woman remembered standing in line at midnight outside of the toy store when they first came out to buy one for her then two year old daughter. And when I posted a question to my Facebook page about earliest memories of play, the responses flooded in from favorite toys, games, play scenarios and more. How is it that on a good day, many adults cannot remember what we ate for dinner the night before or why we walked into the kitchen just now, but we can all remember playing as a child?
I believe this speaks volumes to the importance of play in childhood. Truly, child's play is more than just child's play. And the world's greatest pioneers of early childhood spoke to this truth. Voices like those of Fred Rogers, Maria Montessori and Vivian Paley all sang the same glorious tune, albeit in slightly different keys: play is the work of the child. It is where they discover and learn. It is where they feel and grow. It is where they grieve and overcome. It is where they worry and resolve. Play is the foundation upon which all else is built and it is truly the integrity of everything that emerges from it. If the foundation of a building is weak, the building itself will lack integrity. Play is where our children thrive, and yet, it is all but disappearing from childhood (not to mention all the years that follow).
Whereas early childhood classrooms once were a space of fantasy and storytelling, perhaps with some meaningful props offered and opportunity to reflect through various artistic, mathematical, literary, musical and scientific lenses, now there are desks and chairs and bodies made to sit still in them that are no more ready to sit still than a baby who's yet to sit at all is ready to walk. We've got so much. We've got research and data. We've got technology and industry. We've got scores to achieve and standards to maintain. What we don't have is time. There is not time for the luxury of play. What was once seen as the work of the child is now seen as an escape from that work. What once was the rule is now the exception to it.
My father is a psychologist, professor, lecturer, author and advocate. His area of expertise and interest is the world of work. His latest book, The Importance of Work in an Age of Uncertainty: The Eroding Work Experience in America talks about the massive climate change in our country's work and career force and how that has so greatly affected people across the board--from the CEO to the janitor and everyone in between. My father is truly passionate about the world of work and how it shapes who we are. So how did I end up an advocate for play? One might argue we speak from opposite ends of the spectrum, but I would argue that we are likely seeing and saying the very same things, albeit from varied stages of life.
And likely my own passion stems from the fact that two of the greatest advocates for my own childhood play were my parents. My mother also works in the field of early childhood education and greatly valued the role of children's narrative through play both in her classrooms and in our home. We did not have video games, though we did watch TV. We had plenty of toys and they spanned from those that are more open ended to those we craved and coveted as seen on TV. We did not always have someone standing over us and directing our play or dictating the story. We had times when we said "I'm bored." And we were allowed to dwell in that space and discover what could become of it.
We had two of the greatest assets any child can have when it comes to play: TIME and SPACE. We had the opportunity to engage in deep, meaningful and continued play and we had the ownership of that narrative. Certain games continued on and off for months and even years. (Don't get me started on the Barbie Sagas of the Early 1990s.) When something was worrisome or scary, we played about it. My dad played about allergy shots with me more times than I can account for. There were plenty of areas I was not particularly confident in as a child, but play was a safe haven. In play, I could be whoever I wanted to be. In play, the story could end when it stopped being fun. In play, all things were possible in a world that would gradually close in to cross at least a few of those things off the list: I would not be a ballerina, monopoly money does not work in the mall, unicorns are not, in fact real, and husbands do not really sleep in the bathtub (sorry, Ken, but on Barbie's behalf, Jerry Seinfeld said it best: sleep is separate).
This past July, the world lost a powerful voice in play advocacy and early childhood education when pioneering teacher, Vivian Gussin Paley passed away at the age of 90. In one of my favorite books of hers (and really, they are all favorites), A Child's Work: The Importance of Fantasy Play, she writes the following:
"...we discovered that play was indeed work. First there was the business of deciding who to be and who the others must be and what the environment is to look like and when it is time to change the scene. Then there was the even bigger problem of getting of getting others to listen to you and accept your point of view while keeping the integrity of the make-believe, the commitment to the other players, and perhaps the loyalty of a best friend..."
Indeed, the chasm between the cubicle and the playroom is not nearly as wide as we may perceive it to be. Playground politics and office politics are not so different. And the dialogue of play has not changed one bit in the last 100 years although the stage scenery may have. Listen in on any group of 5 year olds and you'll hear it:
"Pretend you are the mommy and I am the baby. And pretend that the baby wants to play but it's time for bed."
"No, I want to be a puppy! We are all dogs. Pretend you are the mommy dog and I am the baby dog and the baby dog wants to play but it's time for bed."
"Yeah, and the baby dog is really mad. Pretend you run away because you don't want to go to bed."
"And pretend when you're running away you get lost in the woods and it's really scary."
"And there's a witch!"
"And she's got a house made out of candy and cookies and dog treats...."
The characters' names and the plot lines may have changed subtly and significant world events have shaped the stories as they occurred. But one thing always remains the same and it truly fills me with wonder. It always begins with the words "Pretend..."
In "Pretend..." it is safe. Don't get me wrong--it can get dangerous. There are fires and storms and villains and weapons and people get sick and people die and people also come back to life and the plot can also change and the characters can shift and the story can even start over. And in a decade of teaching and working with children and now in 5 plus years of parenthood what has changed? Pedagogues come and go. Tools and technology emerge and just as quickly are replaced by updated versions. Across the board, most children do learn their letters and numbers and will read and write, albeit in their own pace and space. There's not one foolproof method to success, but more often than not the utilization of multiple methods is most successful. What is lacking? For many, it is the ability to "Pretend..." Who knew that was a skill? More and more, the absence of that TIME and SPACE has resulted in the absence of the ability to engage in and maintain that play narrative. And what is lost when we lose the story?
Perhaps we could argue that children don't need to play about being grown up and going to work--they are practically born already doing it, or at least with the expectation that they must be ready to by kindergarten. Blowing bubbles outside has been replaced by filling in bubbles on a Scantron sheet. Children do not lack for lessons on how to do that. They do lack for lessons on how to play--so much so that "play therapy" has become a common resource offered in schools for children displaying a deficit in this area. A deficit in play? How does that even happen? How did the world of "Pretend..." become a world in which children are taught to Pretend they are playing?
And Perhaps the nostalgia we all feel at the sight of a mint condition Care Bear sitting on the thrift store shelf or the vintage toy section displaying replicas of playthings past is not about the toys themselves, but the times that they represent. The days when bedtime always came too soon and even then, the game could always continue again tomorrow--right where it left off. The days when recess was not a privilege to be earned and likewise, taken away, but a standard segment of the daily routine--as necessary as lunch time and using the bathroom. The days when play was not an escape from the task at hand but, rather, was the task at hand. It wasn't a way to pass the time, it was the purpose of the time. And what I truly wonder is this: thirty years from now, what memories will come back to our own children when their little ones ask them "what did you play when you were little?"
Happy Playing!
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