Pretend We're Together

Dear Brandeis community,

 

One of the joys of working in a school is the opportunity to learn and to bear witness to learning on a daily basis. Yesterday, a break in my schedule of meetings afforded me thirty minutes to wander the campus, stopping in to classrooms to see and hear what our students are engaged with. As I stood in the back of a fifth grade classroom where David Worton was answering questions about a recent trip he took to Bear’s Ears National Monument (as part of a shared project that he is co-teaching with Kaitlyn Huston on the history of the Pueblo tribes), a student turned to me and said “Dr. Glass! Why are you here?” And I responded with the lucky truth: “To learn.”

 

It was choice time when I stopped into a kindergarten classroom, with students scattered through an array of activities—some playing with letters, several engaged in dress-up and make-believe games, and others building with a variety of materials. I sat down at a table with some kindergarteners who were building with LEGO bricks (I can rarely resist building with LEGO sets, as my own children can attest), and picked up some bricks and started building alongside them. The students were engaged in a kind of associative play, telling each other stories of what they were building, but clearly working on separate projects. Several of the stories included weapons attached to structures and vehicles, and there seemed to be some present history of conflict between a couple of the children in their imaginary play. We admired one another’s creations as we built, and at some point, one of the students said to another, “Pretend we’re together, and we won’t attack each other.” And just like that, the game became cooperative, and the students started building toward a shared goal of a transparent fortress and its many vehicular guards. I was grateful to witness this small but significant moment between them, as they worked toward building a learning community of mutual trust and shared endeavor.

 

As I sat at the Lego table with this group of students, I was also looking around the room, and found myself very conscious of which spaces of play were gendered, and which were not. This summer, as part of our work week before school started, we took some time as a faculty and staff to study together about gender identity and expression, from bathroom use to transgender oppression. We had a thoughtful discussion as a professional community about how we could support students who do not identify within the gender binary, from the language we use (“students” rather than “boys and girls,” for example—you may have noticed that there are no gendered pronouns in my descriptions of the classrooms, above) to the materials and books we select. I was so impressed at the willing engagement from all of the teachers and staff in the room, and glad both for the opportunity to learn together and for their enthusiasm about continuing the dialogue, moving forward—which we will be doing with the support of educators and experts in the field. One small change I have made, starting today, is to include my preferred pronouns in my email signature, to unsettle the notion that gendered pronouns should be assumed.

 

Rabbi Katie Mizrahi of Or Shalom gave a beautiful Rosh Hashanah sermon this week, on the importance of joy in the work of pursuing justice. She reminded the many of us gathered together that we affirm the humanity of the oppressed when we allow ourselves our own humanness: by luxuriating in the small moments with our children, or appreciating a beautiful sunny San Francisco afternoon. I think of this as well in the context of educating our students—of teaching kids to be leaders and changemakers and stewards of democracy—that we must do so with neither a heavy hand nor a heavy heart, but in song, in joy, in play. As the great Martin Buber wrote, “Play is the exaltation of the possible.” In the curious, collaborative play of our students, I hear the possibilities of a world restored, repaired, and renewed.

 

Wishing you all weekends full of joyful learning, my friends.

 

Warmly,

 

Dan