Wichita Sudbury School Reflective

It’s time.

It’s time to take a look back at what happened with Wichita Sudbury School. I have a lot of trauma around it, so maybe I can process a bit and try to heal through writing.

Why trauma? Well, WSS was my baby. It was an idea I conceived and tried to make happen. No. DID. Did make happen. For a year and a half. I can’t forget that we actually opened and ran a school and HELPED children. These students LEARNED from their experience at the school I co-created. Then why does it hurt every time I think about it?

Because I’m focusing on how we couldn’t survive. With our rotating cast of, at most, six concurrent students, all paying only what their families could afford, we literally couldn’t keep the doors open.

And more than that, I was second guessing myself the whole time.

Sudbury stands for freedom. Not just freedom to learn what you want to learn. Not just freedom from taking particular classes. Literal freedom. Inside the confines of rules of the Handbook, students are free to do anything they want, including nothing. As a human, this speaks to me, but as a Millennial, watching students spend the entirety of their school time playing Minecraft and Roblox was… upsetting somehow. I knew that at larger Sudbury schools, the students often get new ideas from watching others, but our tiny school didn’t have the variety of types of people and interests. The teacher in me longed to assign them portfolios and essays on what they were learning, an idea completely antithetical to the Sudbury name. So instead, I made my tea and read in the other room, pretending I was okay. For a year and a half. All while fundraising and talking with parents and trying to convince everyone that I believed in the process.

So that’s a large portion of where my trauma comes from then, is it? Being a teacher at a Sudbury school, trying to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing by allowing the students to play on the computer?

You know, what if we didn’t even have computers? This is my first time thinking of it. What if we weren’t donated computers? What if we only had one? What would the students have done? I can only speculate, as I’ll have no way of ever actually knowing. The issue can’t just be the computers. As Americans in 2017, we did everything on computers. Khan Academy, Codewars, YouTube, Google.. we wouldn’t be able to access any of it without computers. But what if.

We DID have plenty of things in person, though, like our weekly School Meeting, Judicial Committee any time there was a complaint filed, and classes like our martial arts and yoga, as well as Decorating Committee, which was regularly busy decorating the school. Yes, it hurt my Millennial soul that the students weren’t continually trying to better themselves, and there were days I didn’t see anyone for hours, but that’s not the end of it.

As long as we’re playing with hypotheticals here, what would have happened if you dropped my students into an existing school, like Hudson Valley or Clearwater? Somewhere where there was support for them. My guess is that they would have thrived. Sure, they still probably would have spent a lot of time playing their games, but perhaps not as much as they did here. Sudbury is a good model. Just maybe not for me, as a staff member.

So where, again, is my trauma coming from?

1. Trying to push with my whole self a model I didn’t 100% believe in

2. Watching something I created fail

Is there a 3? No, at the moment, I don’t believe there is. I’m not sure if I’m operating purely on logic brain at the moment or if writing this short piece really has helped me process through some of the hurt. But regardless, I don’t feel like crying when thinking about WSS for once. I’m tired of saying hiding all my pain. I want to acknowledge and say yes.

Yes, we made something. It was a school that operated for a year and a half.

Yes, I experienced burnout with trying to cheerlead for it.

Yes, it hurt when we had to close due to financial struggle.

Yes, I know for a fact (via their parents) that at least some of the students had an extremely positive experience at the school.

As for the future? I still want to remain in education, making the best decisions I can in a tortured career. I feel stronger as a teacher, however painful it is to me. I feel like I’m making a difference and that I’m where I need to be. So, as soon as I can, I’d like to get my teaching license renewed. I’m sure there’s somewhere that will welcome me, crazy radical ideas and all.

Edit, later that evening:

Okay. Point 3. Mourning what could have been. It could have been awesome. It could have been the best thing for Wichita and for me and for hundreds of students yet to come. But it wasn’t. And sometimes I forget that I’m still mourning that.

The Job of Sudbury Staff: Being an Authentic Human

Five months into working at a Sudbury school, I'm still learning how to authentically BE. I still find myself wondering, "What should I be doing right now?" with the back of my mind assuming I'm skirting some significant teacher duty.

The truth is, I never am. As a staff member at a Sudbury school, I don't actually have any duties. In fact, Hanna Greenberg once wrote that working at Sudbury Valley School, she does "nothing." The question of what a Sudbury staff member does has explored by Michael Sappir of Sudbury Jerusalem, the Hudson Valley Sudbury School blog, and nearly every staff member since the founding of SVS, according to Starting a Sudbury School (1998), so much so that it can be determined that each staff member may create their own job description.

Thus, the chief assignments I have given myself include:
-Being the legally required adult presence
-Solving any literal emergency in which anyone is in danger
-Making sure the bills get paid
-Being available for any questions the students have and offering advice when asked
-Modeling being a human

Not imparting specific knowledge. Not solving quarrels. Not making sure that the students are productive or accountable to anything. Not even cleaning the building, as was hotly contested in the early years of SVS (Starting a Sudbury School, 1998).

And not, as my brain keeps trying to tell me, supervising anyone. The students and I are "fundamentally equal," as the HVSS blog above noted. "I have no authority over anyone I'm hanging out with (or any other person at the school for that matter), anyone may leave for another part of the campus at any time, and I have no obligation to entertain, feed, supervise, etc. anyone at school." That's a line I remind myself of when I start to feel the public-school-teacher pull of supervising coming on. I think that's the bit of unlearning that's coming the hardest for me--the learning to trust that students are getting what they need on their own, that my supervision actually inhibits the lessons they need to teach themselves. I first tell myself, "My job is not to keep you out of trouble," and then I remind myself to trust. If the kids are in the other room, and something that they don't like happens, they know that they can talk about it. If it still continues, they know how to write the other student up for JC and even propose a new rule for the Student Handbook. There is a system for everything already in place, and if we come upon something that needs a system to be written, it will be brought up in conversation, and one will be created. (We're still in the process of writing the Open Campus Policy, for example.)

When in doubt, I try to treat the students as I would treat a good friend. I try to speak to them on the same level, with the same amount of respect, and give the same type of advice I would give a friend in the same context. That is, I treat them as humans.

Thus, what may be the most important of my self-imposed job activities, I try to model being human with equals.

Around the beginning of November, I had a bout of depression. I didn't try to hide it. I didn't put on a good face for the kids. I told them I was having a rough time and that to cope with it, I wanted to write in my journal. We talked openly about depression and anxiety, facing difficult topics head on. One day, I curled up into a ball on one of the couches and didn't get up all day. The students asked if there was anything they could do, and I thanked them but replied that I just wanted to be by myself for a while. They knew I had a therapist appointment later that week. This is part of who I am, part of being human, and I model my handling of it.

In early December, to help myself overcome that bout of depression, I realized there were two things I could do every day to help keep my brain chemicals balanced--a simple exercise of either yoga or pilates and at least 10 minutes of writing. I told the students I really wanted to do these two things but that I had to mentally fight the pushback my brain gave me about it. I wanted to find a way to keep myself accountable, and I wanted to do so transparently. After a short meditation on it, I created what may be considered a sticker chart. I know, I know. Sticker charts are a gross form of extrinsic motivation, but what if I'm the only one "making" myself keep it? Thus began a conversation about perseverance and pushing oneself to do things for the long-term benefits even if you "don't feel like it."

After morning tasks (turning on the heater/fan, putting away clean dishes from the drying rack, etc.) and chatting with the students, I do have quite a bit of time to myself every day. I try to use this time to demonstrating being an authentic human, that is, one with faults and flaws but also curiosity, love, and a continual striving to being the best version of oneself possible.

Justification Labeling

I am so thankful to be starting the first year of Wichita Sudbury School with our amazing families! Coming from a traditional teaching background, I guess I still really believed that once the parents realized I actually wasn't making their children do any traditional "work," they'd pull out of the program. Even though my board had campaigned all year, I still couldn't believe we actually found families willing to try it. It took me these six school days we've been open to honestly trust that they trusted their children (and me, as the adult in the building). I've been sending little snippets of how their kids are doing every other day or so, and the parents have shared my excitement for the little things--their children's growing autonomy, creative problem solving, and expressing the unique character traits that make them individuals. It is beautiful watching the students learn authentically, and I'm delighted I have parents that agree.

But what am I really doing by sharing these small moments? There is such a fine line between what I've been thinking of as "justification labeling" and trust.

When I taught in traditional classrooms, I felt the need to justify everything my students did outside the curriculum. I suppose, to be fair, I WAS hired for the purpose of teaching curriculum, but it was more than that somehow. I felt as though every aspect of play and creativity were under attack. I had this hero fantasy outlook where I was the only adult that afforded children this "luxury" of play in a bad, evil world of adults that didn't understand what children truly needed. I was only able to do so by disguising it under names that parents and administrators took more seriously. Outside play became an opportunity for strengthening muscles and spacial awareness, reading educational magazines became a chance to teach current events and other subjects in an authentic manner, using a flexible seating classroom arrangement increases student engagement and participation, and so forth. For everything I wanted to "give" the students, there had to be a justification ready to present to skeptical adults, both to allow me to continue providing the experience and to make my look like I knew what I was doing. (Of course I was just making it up as I went along, but isn't everyone?)

I did so even as I started getting into the Sudbury culture, which was why I was so taken aback when I visited a Sudbury school for the first time and saw students just... existing. They weren't playing and hanging out under the guise of learning, they just WERE. There was no forced curriculum, but nor was there a hero fantasy of adults providing students with something illicit by tricking the higher ups. Everyone was allowed to just BE. No judgments, no pressure to look further into an activity in order to apply an educational label. It was liberating.

And difficult to fully comprehend. I'm still not completely there yet. I told my students on the first day that just as this is their first experience attending a Sudbury school, it is also my first experience teaching at a Sudbury school. We're all learning together, and we all have power to shape our shared experience.

I just know that without active communication, my anxiety gets the best of me. By keeping an open dialogue with all the parents, I am doing what I can to maintain transparency. It felt awful when I was teaching in traditional schools and didn't have regular communication with parents. It felt like a job. And I'm not trying to create a job for myself here. I'm creating an authentic life. I'm creating authentic relationships with real people. I'm modeling being the best version of myself I can be, and what makes me feel like the best, most honest and transparent version of myself is sharing with parents that I think their children are on the right track. The only way I know how to do so right now is to put my own justification labels on their activities. I know that these labels are shallow and don't take into consideration all the nuances and complexities encompassed by the human experience, but it's what I have right now. It helps me to see that the students and school are succeeding and to share that with others.

Maybe eventually I'll be able to just allow the students to be without the crutch of needing to apply my labels, but for now I'm just thankful I have a wonderful team of people supporting me as we all explore the path to get there. <3

WSS: Summer Session 2017

Because Sudbury schools are such a vast departure from "traditional" education, before a student enrolls officially, they typically spend what is called a "visiting week" as sort of a trial period to make sure it's a good fit. As a start-up, we don't have this option yet. On top of that, we're still trying to raise enough money for first month's rent! Thus, to tackle both problems, Wichita Sudbury School is offering summer sessions where a few students can get to know each other in a relaxed atmosphere. Our first session was held last week in a board member's back yard.

Honestly, with it being the first school activity with students, with wanting so desperately for it to go well after having worked hard to make it happen, my brain kind of shut off  for a lot of the week. I was afraid of anything going wrong, and to avoid the discomfort, I went on auto-pilot. I auto-piloted my way through a lot of full-time teaching, too, so I wouldn't have to deal with teaching in a method I morally disagreed with, so I'm not concerned that I didn't "do my job." I can even connect with students on auto-pilot, just not to the fullest, most genuine extent I can while being mindfully present. As it turned out, though, and as I was finally able to start seeing on Friday, everything went really well, actually. What follows is some of my processing of the week.

We had four students with us, and I'm still trying to decide how I want to refer to them here. I think I've finally decided on a method that involves their age and gender, even though I dislike using either of those things as distinguishing features for people. It's the easiest for now, though, so it will have to do. Thus, I got to hang out with 4m and 8f (siblings), 10f, and 13f this past week. A few of the other board members also dropped in and out as they were available.

Monday was probably the most difficult, as to be expected with learning a new environment, set of people, and expectations. 4m was not used to staying outside for such an extended period of time, and I had to explain to him multiple times that we were only to be in the house to use the restroom, and then we needed to come right back out because this house belongs to someone else. After the first day, he mostly respected that boundary, though there were other issues of throwing fits, having others do things for him like putting on his own shoes, taking food from others, not respecting boundaries of when others tell him to stop a behavior or action that affects them, etc. Even though he will be 5 by September, that these persisted throughout the week with no discernible effort to change, despite being talked to about it every day, shows me that he's not ready for the school. That's the point of visiting week, after all, so success!

There were other times I felt uncomfortable, and after a couple of days I realized that it was because I was actively supervising the students! These students and their parents signed a waiver reminding them specifically that they wouldn't be supervised constantly. That's not how Sudbury works. They need to be left alone in a safe environment so they can learn from making their own choices and mistakes. After I realized that, I started trying to focus more on doing my own thing, which in this case was reading. It was difficult having everyone in one, large area, though. When I visited a Sudbury school, if a group of students came up to adults with "he said / she said" problems, the adult would send them away with, "You guys need to work this out on your own." The students would go to a different room and solve the problem themselves (or write up a complaint to JC if need be). Being all in one area, I had to pretend to not take any interest in my students' squabbles. Of course I could "solve" all of the problems by dictating what everyone needs to do, as I'm used to doing at traditional schools, but that doesn't give the children any chance to learn how to do it themselves. It doesn't prove to them that they are strong, capable, individuals with the capacity of problem solving. Instead, it teaches them that if they have a problem, they need someone else to solve it for them. So I tried very hard to focus on my book. I'll get better at this as time goes on.

One interesting time when this came up was while the students were playing in the shed, which had a latch that automatically locks from the inside when closed. They called for me to come let them out once, which I was fine with, but when it happened a second time, I decided I wasn't comfortable with them playing in a way that requires them to ask for help. As I walked across the yard, I contemplated what I was going to say. I didn't want to say, "I'm not going to let you out again," because I knew I wouldn't be able to follow through with that. If they got locked in and needed help, of course I would help them. What I finally came up with when I unlocked the shed for the second time was an honest, "I don't want to keep getting up to let you out. I'd like to sit and read my book, so don't keep getting yourselves locked in, alright?" Back at my blanket, I pulled up my book and noticed that the door was immediately shut again. I sighed, but since they weren't calling to me, I didn't head back over. It took them five or ten minutes, but they finally burst triumphantly from captivity. They were so very excited to let me know that they didn't need my help getting out anymore because they had figured out how to trigger the latch from the inside using a stick. "That sounds like some creative problem solving," I smiled.

Another thing we worked on this week was the democratic process. 8f got outvoted several times when the others wanted to walk to the park, and she had to come along with us even though she didn't want to. She came to sit by me a lot when she wasn't getting her way, and I straddled a thin line between discussing the ideology of the school and just being a calm, nonjudgemental body she could sit by when feeling uncertain. I'm still finding my comfort zone with that. It's also difficult for me not to side with the underdog. In politics, we have to stand up for the minority to make sure they have their voices heard. But that's a discussion for another time. 8f made it clear that she didn't want to be at the park, but she didn't present any arguments convincing enough to persuade the majority, so we went to the park. Each time, I made it clear that we were going because the majority wanted to go. Likewise, when on the second day, she started a motion to go to the store to buy ice cream with her own money, I made it clear that those arguments had convinced her friends, and she had the majority on this issue. I wanted her to know that democracy works both ways. We went to get ice cream because SHE made it happen.

Speaking of getting ice cream, that issue came up again on Thursday. All four students wanted to get ice cream, and they had their own money to pay for it again. They just needed me to drive. This time I wasn't so sure. I told them that it wasn't enough to just convince each other, they needed to come up with a way to make it happen. If I'm the one driving, I needed to be convinced, too. I just so happened to have an appointment that afternoon, so I left them, unconvinced, with the other board members. By Friday, they had strengthened their arguments. They reminded me that they had learned how to convince each other, and that learning about democracy was one of the main goals of this week. I agreed that was true, but I told them that I wasn't sure I wanted them spending all of their money on ice cream. 10f told me that it wasn't actually her money. It was given to her by her neighbor specifically FOR ice cream after she had told him about Tuesday's events. Oh really? Now that was a little more persuasive. Before I could respond, she presented her next argument, "And I can use some of it to buy you something. Would you like me to get you something?" I disliked the idea of taking money from children, but I could see that she was putting a lot of effort into coming up with tactics. I complied, drove them to the store, and allowed her to buy me a cherry limeade for $1.25 as compensation. They enjoyed their second ice cream day.

I think I was also successful at modeling effective communication language, as well. This is a separate issue from language in general. It didn't take long for 4m to realize that I wasn't going to scold him for cursing. The Sudbury-esque stance I've seen taken and have adopted myself for that goes something like, "If they are left to play with language as they please, cursing won't seem as powerful as if it were taboo. Let them get it out of their systems and don't pay them any heed." Thus, 4m cursed up a storm. The girls were skeptical. I doubt they'd ever seen an adult take this stance. I explained that he wasn't hurting anyone with his language. If it bothered them, they could move away from him or say something to the effect of, "I don't like that language. Please don't say those things to/around me." My modeling of I-statements caught on quick, and I was happy to see them being used more and more as the week went on, especially by 8f.

Everything culminated in a pool party on Friday afternoon. 10f brought an inflatable pool from her house, and 13f found a shop vac in the cellar with which to blow it up and a hose in the shed with which to fill it. They asked for help retrieving the shop vac because there were boxes on top of it and finding the water spigot because it was hidden under a cold-weather sealer. The rest they solved themselves. (Well, I also recommended 13f find an old shirt for 4m to wear because he didn't bring a swimming suit and wanted to just play in his underwear.) They used the shop vac themselves to blow up the pool. They filled it with water. They even worked together to move the pool into the sun when they realized it was too cold in the shade. I stayed off to the side reading my book. Like the instance with the shed, they knew I was there if they needed anything, but they had the confidence and independence to try it on their own first.

One of the games they played involved the older students picking up the younger ones and throwing them into the pool. I heard it as I read and ruminated on how a supervising adult would probably make them stop because "the little ones will get hurt." After having spent all week together, though, they knew each other well enough to play this way. The maternal instincts of the older girls kicked in and they were careful of how hard they threw the younger kids. There was one point where 4m sat down on the side of the pool and said, "No!" 13f replied, "Come on," and moved to pick him up again, but 10f stopped her. "No, he said, 'No,'" she spoke up. "We have to leave him alone now." 13f complied, and they kept playing until he was ready to join them again. The four of them played until they were finished and then sat out in the sun to air dry in a peaceful, happy daze until it parents started showing up. What a perfect end to a wonderful week of real learning.

What else is there to say? There were epic stick fights, climbing and standing on railings, sliding down the cellar door, eating lunch in the grass, hand turkeys made of construction paper, and plenty of being bored. I'm learning to let the kids have their play and not get too involved myself. They need their time to be kids, and my influence isn't necessary. I'm looking forward to our next summer session. <3