The conversation about conversation continues today as I reflect on the powerful and important role this plays not only in early childhood, but down the line as well. Yesterday, I took you into a space in my former classroom known as The Conversation Corner. While most frequently this space was occupied by two children at a time, once in a while I would notice just one child sitting. It became an unspoken signal to everyone else that a conversation needed to take place. Sometimes it was a child looking for a friend to play with. Sometimes, it was a child needing to talk with me. In the photo on the left, I have just finished a conversation with a little girl who visited her pediatrician for a check up and vaccines. When I saw her seated there, she was giving a stuffed animal from our classroom a check up. He was about to get a shot and was feeling scared. I didn't immediately sit down, but when I was invited into the conversation, I joined the scene.
"Morah Michal, do you get scared of shots?"
"Not so much anymore because I've had a lot of practice with them. I had a lot of allergies when I was growing up and when I was a teenager, I had to get six shots every week. After a while, I figured out some tricks that helped me feel less scared, like looking the other way and blowing out really hard when a shot was coming, like this [blow]. But when I was a little girl, I did feel afraid of shots and still, even now, there are things at the doctor that I feel afraid of--like throat cultures!"
"Did you used to cry?"
"Yes, I did. My mommy or my daddy would hold my hand or let me sit on their lap. That helped me a lot."
"I sat on my Mommy's lap. Then I got a sticker and a prize."
And the conversation turned to talking about her new stick-on tattoo.
This conversation was a common one I had in classrooms, an experience most all of my students would share in at some point during the school year. Other conversations in my classrooms over the years were quite a bit more unique and involved some tougher topics to talk about. Like a father who was deployed. A parent in jail. Gun violence and domestic violence. Sexual abuse. A pet or a loved one passing away. A parent losing their job. A sibling in the hospital. Divorce. Moving. A new baby and where babies come from. A new "uncle" coming over the night before and staying in Mommy's room. The same new "uncle" leaving and another new "uncle" coming. Alcoholism, meth addiction, homelessness, loss of utility service due to unpaid bills, car accidents, cancer, disabilities, a house fire. And there are probably many other topics I can't remember off the top of my head.
The truth about conversation in early childhood is that you don't actually need a special corner for it to happen. It happens regardless. A child needing to talk about something will do so in one way or another. It may be through speaking, but it may also come up in play. Or behavior. Or emotions (some that "match" the topic and others that seemingly do not). We want our children to grow into teens and young adults who will open up and talk to us about "tough topics." We are, however, quite uncomfortable with these topics emerging in early childhood. This is a stage of "innocence" in which we don't want our children exposed to certain things. And yet, a child's experience is a direct reflection of their environment--an aspect we cannot always control. We tend to offer "fixes" in the form of what I would call conversation end-ers. Whether through stifling a topic, redirecting, projecting/reflecting our own adult understandings and experiences of a topic onto the child or even through directly trying to force conversation when it is not authentic, we give a very clear message without saying a word at all: there are some things in life you just don't talk about.
This does not necessarily even change as we get older. An acquaintance of mine recently posted something on Facebook about how unhelpful it is when someone is drowning to offer a list of things they should be grateful for. I remembered immediately one of the very best bits of advice I ever received from my father. Most of the time when I was growing up, like any other father (even one who is a psychologist), he wanted to fix things when I showed up broken in one way or another. But one time when I was in college, I called him on a weekend totally overwhelmed and hysterical. And that day he offered me exactly the lifeline I needed. "Let yourself be miserable. Let it be enough to just get through the day today and try again tomorrow." If I was drowning in that moment, I didn't want to swim. I was tired, I was sinking; it needed to be enough to just tread water for a bit and try again tomorrow. Someone drowning in a pond doesn't need to hear "well, at least it's not an ocean!" So why is it that our gut reaction to conversations about big feelings is to minimize them? Maybe it's an attempt to shrink the monster in the closet. Or maybe seeing someone in a vulnerable state reminds us that we, too, can be vulnerable.
And I wonder if some of that same feeling is what forces our guards up when children bring up tough topics. First off, there's no filter for when and where it happens. To the young child, it's all equal playing field. Votes for who has Veggie Straws at the lunch table can quickly give way to who threw up last Thursday to grandpa who went to the hospital and never came home. We [the adults] hold Veggie Straws on a very different level than Grandpa who passed away; not necessarily is that so for the children. But what is the teacher/adult's role in this? Do we intervene? When? Do we steer the conversation or just come along for the ride? Are we going to be a conversation end-er or a conversation starter?
When I was a little girl, I was terrified of thunder storms. No cute explanation of God bowling in Heaven was helpful, neither were offers of ice cream or even Benadryl. Nothing at all was helpful until Mr. Rogers explained through conversation what actually happens during a thunder storm. Fred Rogers is one of my greatest heroes. He is what I would call a conversation starter. He took all topics--tough topics, natural topics, fun topics, curious topics--and started conversations. That's all. Nothing fancy. Nothing particularly unique or obscure. He simply started the conversation and kept it going. He talked to children like he'd talk to anyone else. He held their thoughts and curiosities about the world on the same level as his own. It did not matter at all whether he happened to be taller and several decades older. To this very day, if you asked me who I would choose to sit on a bench with for an hour if I could do so with anyone in the world, past, present or future, I'd choose Fred Rogers.
I think that our desire to protect and to comfort and even to control all comes from a place of good intention. It is both selfless and also selfish. We just as much desire to protect, to comfort and to control ourselves. We also feel that as "the adult" we need to keep our own emotions in check (re: hidden) so we can't therefore talk about x, y or z... There's not an easy answer or a best practice here. It's touch and go. But my biggest rules of thumb are as follows:
Let it be authentic: Sometimes we think we need to "set up" these discussions in the same way we set up a craft project. Let it be authentic. Let it come up if it needs to when it needs to where it needs to. It may not be in our "adult" time frame. Children process and experience things at their own rate and in their own way.
Let the child be the pilot of their own plot: We want to control, to navigate, to avoid detours or potential hazards, but we need to let the child be the pilot. You don't need to "grown up"-splain things unless a child specifically asks a question. Give adequate answers, wait and see if further questions arise. Over-explaining and under-explaining are equally challenging ends of the spectrum to avoid. Let it be OK if the conversation needs to go further than planned or predicted; also let it be OK if the conversation seems to stop sooner than planned or predicted. It's alright to return to it later if it comes up, it's also OK if it doesn't come up again at all. Sometimes naming something is enough. Sometimes it just needs to be said. Other times, it needs to be revisited and explored again and again. Either way, leave that door unlocked--but let the child choose when to open it and when to close it.
Let yourself be genuine: We think, as the adults, that we need to put on a certain face for the children and let me tell you something--they are more perceptive than they seem. We certainly do need to maintain healthy and appropriate boundaries and handle our own adult feelings with other adult support systems. However, I do think it is OK--and even helpful--for children to see adults name and work through big feelings, talk about tough topics that come up in a way that is truthful and real and not to feel responsible at the same time for eliminating these woes of the world. You and the child as well have only one responsibility: to experience and get through the moment. You don't need to fix it, you don't need to erase it or negate it or deny it. Keep it on scale. Your experience of a topic is a different stature than a child's experience of it--but nonetheless, you can have a conversation on the same plane (even if you are taller and a few decades older). Children can know that adults also feel sad or worried or scared or mad or excited or nervous or embarrassed; they can even find comfort in this. And if something doesn't go quite as you'd hoped or you happen to think of something later you want to add--that's the beauty of conversation. It can continue...
Pass the Baton: This is such an important but oft forgotten bit of advice. If something feels out of your league, pass the baton. It's OK to say "I don't know" or "I'm happy to talk about this but I want to talk with someone who knows even more." If you're not sure--pass the baton. If you are sure and still you wonder if it's enough--pass the baton. And for yourself--pass the baton. Have your own continuing conversations about those conversations. It's important for you. And for your fellow conversationalists. And for the children. Pass the baton.
There will come a time when children learn that some topics are taboo in some environments. They will eventually reach a point where they don't ask "When is Tatty going to die?" in the middle of the bread aisle at Walmart on a Sunday afternoon. But I'd still rather be asked that question on the bread aisle at Walmart on a Sunday afternoon than not at all. It's OK that the question makes me uncomfortable. It's OK that the question didn't make the one who asked it uncomfortable. It's OK that my answer was "I don't know." And it's OK that less than 30 seconds later we talked about corn tortillas. And that 3 weeks later the topic came up again at the Shabbos table. Conversation is an art. It's not something to be perfected; it's something to be practiced. So keep conversing, and, as always...
Happy Playing!
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