The Power of Conversation in Classrooms: A Lost and Dying Art

Language is power. We know from the moment a child is born and even before then, while still in the womb, that spoken language is immensely important for physical, cognitive and emotional development. Very few milestones are as exciting for parents of infants as those very first words. And language is a tool we value throughout life--as children grow from communicating through representative sounds and then words eventually toward reading and writing. We care so deeply about language that we devote entire areas of education toward teaching what words mean, how to spell them, how to say them, to perform them, to collect them in prose and poetry and even in arithmetic and science. But if we value language so very much for even our youngest of children, why is there very little room--if any at all--for the lost and dying art of conversation in our classrooms?

I have a friend who is currently studying language development, a topic I love to learn about and discuss. As we were talking yesterday, we were discussing language nuances that children pick up and repeat. Some of these are cute and some are quirky and sometimes, you hear yourself in a whole new light--a light that is not always flattering. I recalled a time in my earlier teaching days when a mother relayed a story she found cute about how her 4 year old son was playing with his blueberries at the breakfast table. There were several student blueberries and one teacher blueberry (that would be me in a bluish shade) and as they ran through the songs and rhymes of the morning routine, Teacher Blueberry stopped to say "and we don't interrupt!" Color me a little more red at this point.

One of the most frequent questions I am asked by fellow educators in regard to classroom management is how to handle "interruptions." It's several versions of the same story. "I'm reading a book to the children and I'll stop to ask a question about it but then the conversation goes on and on and on and no one is listening to the story." "I'm running my circle time and little Johnny raises his hand to tell me about a boo boo he got playing basketball last night after dinner and I lose the whole group. Now they're all talking about getting boo boos and going to the doctor and I still have to finish Calendar Time." "Little Mindy and Rochelle love to sit together at Morning Meeting but they talk nonstop! I end up having to move their seats away." And then, Teacher Blueberry who Used to Instruct that We Don't Interrupt asks the tough question: who's interrupting whom?

We value language. We value literacy. We value learning. But only when it comes from us (the adults). We want the children to listen to the story without interrupting, but every other page, we're interrupting the story to ask "what do you think will happen next?" or "did you notice what Hedgie is doing over in the corner of this page?" We have to sing about the days of the week so the children will learn about the concept of time and the difference between yesterday, today and tomorrow but we have no time to discuss something that happened yesterday. And does Tuesday mean anything to a 4 year old? Not necessarily and it may be totally out of their frame of reference. But playing basketball after dinner and getting a boo boo is totally within their frame of reference and experience. It may have even happened on a Tuesday. We want the children to "use their words" and share with each other so they develop pro-social behaviors, but just not at Morning Meeting.

And even after Teacher Blueberry here stopped interrupting the children to tell them to not interrupt, I still thought I was being incredibly benevolent when I would "honor" the child interrupting a gathering time to share a personal anecdote by saying "I want to hear what you have to say. Hold it in your head and tell me about it at lunch/snack/outside on the playground." Yes, I made the time and stuck to my word to share in that conversation later, but it had no place and no value at my Morning Meeting or Circle Time. After all, I had scoured Pinterest boards for this activity and by golly, we were going to do it!

But once in a while, in fact, quite by accident usually, I'd get it right. Like the one time in my days of teaching in an inclusive preschool program when the special education program was off for a day and the general education students were still in school. I had my teacher crate of Calendar Time activities and a Pinterest Plan for afterward. We had a small group, so I felt I could move at a slower pace. My Attendance Helper was up and we were sorting name tags into piles of Here and Not Here. When we got to one name, he said "Not here. And I'm glad he's not here because he hits me!" Another student chimed in, "and he stepped on my foot!" And another, "yesterday So and So pushed me and I was so mad!" And I stopped the rote monotony of Calendar Time that day because our time was better spent talking about keeping our bodies safe and how to ask for help. It was a tough lesson to swallow for me as a teacher knowing full well that this classroom was a place where some of the children (and even some of the teachers) often felt unsafe. But it was a lesson I swallowed along with my pride, nonetheless. And I will tell you with full confidence that my classroom completely changed that day. Not just because the number 17 never got put on the calendar...

Conversation, many say, is a lost and dying art. We live in an era where I can talk to someone I've never met in a country halfway around the world in real time, but do I know how to carry on a meaningful discussion with my neighbor? Actually, I've never even made eye contact with one of my neighbors... I tell my children how important it is that they use their words with me so I can help them but then I'm busy responding to a message on my phone, they need to wait...

I am an educator like many others who valued the theory of child-led emergent curriculum so long as I dictated how and when and where it emerged. And as I began to reach the early stages of understanding my own hypocrisy, I realized I needed to make a place and a space in my classroom for conversations to happen if this art were to be learned at all. It just so happened that when we would teach letters in my previous place of employment, per their curriculum, the hard pronunciation of the letter C came first in the school year. I decided I would introduce the word "conversation" and I also decided that in order to make a place and space for this in my room, we needed a physical place and space. And thus, the Conversation Corner was born. Two rocking chairs and a table. It began with an object set in the middle that I would choose, a conversation starter, so to speak. I introduced it to each student individually, with me, sharing the new, big word: conversation. I explained as an exchange between two people where one is the talker and one is the listener, but those roles switch again and again and again. You share ideas, you might share objects, you learn and you wonder. You ask questions and give answers. And out of conversation would come another long and beautiful Hard Letter C Word: Connection.
It began as something I "directed" per the curriculum, but it ended being the place where the curriculum emerged. It transitioned and transformed along with the children. The conversation starter in the middle of the table would sometimes be an item brought from home or something carried over from another area. At times, children asked to bring additional chairs. Sometimes the Conversation Corner was a place for practicing a knock knock joke or playing a game. It was a place where children talked about losing a first tooth or going to kindergarten registration or a beloved pet dying. There were giggles and whispers and cackles and fart noises. There were arguments and feelings that were hurt and tears. There were memories shared and memories created. One day, there was a jar of stick puppets and two girls sat down together. They began to use the puppets to act out quarrels between friends--the classic (and then current) playground politics of "you're not my friend anymore!" These puppets stayed at the table for weeks as children took turns sitting in pairs--not always the same pairs--and role playing these scenes again and again and again.
I've seen most of these children continue to grow over the last several years and they are still some of the most close knit and caring friends to one another I've ever known. A great deal of that is the role their parents play and their teachers and the community connection at large. But I like to think a small part of that is due to the power of conversation.

So what if we made a place and a space for that conversation? What if we genuinely honored and respected the children in our classrooms enough to see that conversation happening is not an interruption to the lesson: it is the lesson. From the time it is in the womb, a fetus can begin to recognize familiar voices. Those first words are pivotal and even the first time they say "no" is positively adorable. Until we want them to sit down and shut up. We argued over which they would say first, "Mommy" or "Daddy," and then we wish they'd just for once call the other parent over and over and over again. We love their curiosity until around the age of 4 or 5 when they incessantly ask "but why?" And for all the time we spent waiting and wishing and hoping for them to talk, we begin to "shh" them and finish their sentences for them and eventually restrict them from blog length to Facebook post to 140 characters or less on Twitter to maybe a hashtag if we're not too busy to hear it. Better yet, just pose for a photo and we'll add a caption later...

It's an area I would still say I am growing in. I taught my students the art of a conversation, but I still struggle personally with the Listener Role and sometimes--a lot of the time-- I do interrupt. I want to fill my classrooms and my home and my hours with the best most important and valuable things in the world--when I could let go of those Pinterest plans altogether and simply grab two rocking chairs and a table instead. The power of conversation in our classrooms, in our homes, in the car, on the bus, at the table, in the woods, on the subway, in the library, at the park, in the grocery store--is connection. It is the tiniest of exchanges between me and a Walmart cashier that makes me feel human again when I leave the house without kids for the first time after giving birth. It is the simplest offering of "I think you're doing a great job!" that gives that cashier the strength to stand the final hour of her shift after being berated by an irate customer ahead of you. It is the anger still being held from an unfinished argument in the morning with his girlfriend who just wasn't listening that made the customer irate in the first place.

Conversation is connection. We live in a world of technology that strives to keep us connected 24/7 wherever we go. Can you hear me now? But the feeling of disconnect and discontent is wider than ever. With more and more information at our fingertips, we know and feel sure of less and less. Two rocking chairs and a table. Set aside the smart phone and the laptop and the educational apps and the tablets. Two rocking chairs and a table and the art of conversation as something shared by two people who take turns being talkers and listeners again and again and again.

Happy Playing!