You Can't Say, "You Can't Play"

"You Can't Say, 'You Can't Play'" is such an odd book. Truly, I do not, do not, understand Vivian Paley's style of writing. I love the topic and I love how she portrays herself in the classroom. Paley honestly sounds like a teacher I would have loved to have in second grade. Likewise, reading her story, I am making many mental notes on good teaching methods that I would like to use in my classroom.

But her writing style? Yikes! I mean, I am all for imaginative spelling and not following all the conventional styles of the "right" way to write. But, after a short Googling experiment it looks as if Paley's book is often used in an educational format-- IE, not for personal enrichment or entertainment. If this is her intended audience-- a professional academic audience-- I am very confused on her awkward style. This is not written as a fictional novel where the switch between creative story telling and straight forward narrative is more easily accepted. I am often confused between her two voices separated by nothing more than italics. No transition sentences, nothing-- just a bit of slanted text.

Okay, off my Daily editor soapbox. Content. Content. Content. I LOVE this concept. I had to read the title a few times to "get it," but as soon as I started reading Paley's ideas came to life through the dialog of her students. I work with toddlers, and at two there is little concept of "rejection" in the physical form or any of its euphemisms. Two year olds generally play with themselves and moderately include those who are within closest proximity. Yet I do see the beginning development of rejection. It's not like the 4-6 year olds who thrive on being asked, "Do you want to be my friend at recess today?" But you can see the little boy-- the one who has a hard time separating from mom in the mornings-- more often sitting in his own world, playing all by himself. In my class of 16, there are three boys in particular that I would claim are left to play alone more often than not. So I related Paley's kids to my class under this lens.

The first section of Paley's book is titled "The Habit of Rejection." I read it aloud trying to grasp the understanding. My mother, sitting on the couch next to me said, "Hmmm, interesting. Habit? Like the classroom creates rejection habitually..." I racked my brain, recalling my own schooling. There were times when I was left out of play groups in the classroom. Was that because of some structural, habitual reason within the classroom setting itself? Then I thought of my kids.

There are three teachers in my classroom. We have favorites. It happens. But we hide it, right? As Paley says, "We [teachers] all fawned over the popular children and were impatient with the unchosen." Which comes first? Do our "favorites" become popular among the students who respect their teacher's opinions, or do we as teachers find ourselves swayed by the same character traits that make a child popular among his or her peers? In my classroom, it is the full time, 8am to 5pm kids that capture our hearts. We spend more time with them then mom and dad get to-- we have seen them grow the most. Plus, they are most familiar with the school schedule-- they have grown up with it-- that makes them easier to work with. In my classroom, I think that it is the teachers who have made these kids "popular" among their peers. The "left out" boys are part time, less than 20 hours a week. Are their peers less likely to include them in play because they are less familiar? Or is it because the teachers do not treat them with subconscious favoritism?

I am going to take the blame on this one. Teachers are at fault. So teachers should step in to "fix" this problem, yes? I constantly tell my kids to "play together" when conflicts arise. And, as two year olds do, they are often happy to comply with my request. But what if its not so easy? Last week one of my secret favorites, "Danny" came up and gave the most adorable hug to another boy. I said, "I love it when my friends give such nice hugs!" A quieter, part-time boy named "Luke" leaned in for his hug from the Danny. Both boys were now looking at me, each confused. I said the typical teacher thing, "Danny, can you give Luke a nice hug too!" And Danny gives me a toddler head shake insinuating a "no." A sudden sadness came across Luke's face. Luckily another friend who had gained interest in our activities quickly stepped in and accidentally saved the day by giving Luke a hug. But talk about a sticky situation!!! You cannot force a student to hug another student and likewise you cannot force a student to play with another student. As a teacher you can, and should, highly suggest fair and inclusive playing. But what if the student does not want to buy in? In order to uphold the "rule" of "you can't say you can't play" it must be followed by all students. Distraction or redirection of the left out student does not solve the problem. Likewise, the rejecting student is not learning the lesson. How do you enforce personal policing of the rule?

I am interested to see how Paley's story unfolds. She seems like such a lovely teacher who cares about her students in such an insightful way. She draws on her own experiences in a useful way and battles her personal beliefs with her professional beliefs in a way that truly validates her writing. I know it's not the kind of book that will have a neat and tidy answer at the end, but I am very excited to see what Paley concludes.