A return to the playground
When I was 6, I was hit in the head when another student swung too far on the school swing. My parents took me to the emergency room for stitches. They didn’t sue the school: it was an accident, and we’d already been warned to be careful when crossing the playground.
I remembered my experience weeks ago, when a professor from another university told me that her nephew’s school literally did not allow them to play.
I shared this with a fellow Ateneo instructor. We both teach creativity and human-centered design, classes that require students to listen to people’s needs before making anything, to wait before creating, to be comfortable with uncertainty and the possibility that not everything will proceed according to plan.
In short, we are asking students to play—the way we did in playgrounds, at home with whatever we could find, in our backyards as we spent long afternoons running, talking, winning, or losing at games, getting scratched and bruised. Except now, play means doing something without fear of grades, correction, or critique.
We shared the observation that many of our students are so afraid to do anything without first asking what they can write, design, or say that will get them an A. They are intimidated by the notion that creativity is a process that they have to undergo independently, without asking someone to constantly reassure them or protect them from the consequences of their work.
“Takot silang sumugal,” my friend said. They are so afraid to take risks.
Her students seemed to think and design in terms of bite-sized nuggets of knowledge. My students seemed to cower in fear of an invisible, judgmental audience and therefore didn’t dare speak up.
All our students found it difficult to deal with a mess that they had to fix on their own. They couldn’t understand that knowledge, information, and data could come in overwhelming force; that people were more complex than video game characters who would simply obey orders when told; that their parents wouldn’t always be there to make things easy for them.
We shared stories we had heard from other instructors at the university, who had dealt with parents trying to protect their children from difficulty, shield them from penalties, and hover over every step their children take. Once, my friend said, a mother shouted at her over the phone, demanding to know why her child couldn’t simply be put in an already full class without asking the instructor’s permission first. Another time, a father tried to push her to extend her deadline for his son’s final project.
We talked of the times that our students seemed to rely so much on outside forces to support and validate them. When they had expected everything to be easy because the way had been paved by well-meaning parents who had not yet learned to let go. When they had been so afraid to engage in negotiation and conversation. When they had disengaged because their first draft was not perfect.
We agreed that our students just didn’t know how to play—and banning play from elementary school would make the problem worse for the students later, when they entered college and had to learn how to design even with uncertainty, to wrestle with ideas in their writing, to interrogate difficult concepts when they speak up.
Play is not a frivolous activity, and it is not the same as games or gamification, where students engage in competitions and comparison on a leaderboard.
Experts have raised alarms at how play has been removed from elementary schools around the world. Unstructured play has to begin early. It begins when parents allow their children to be bored, and encourage their children to find a way to entertain themselves without resorting to gadgets. It continues when parents allow their children to make mistakes so that their children learn to face challenges on their own later.
Play helps children converse, negotiate, and socialize, so that they know how to listen without interrupting, ask for permission, and understand consent. It’s where kids learn to gracefully correct and graciously accept correction, rather than expect to solve problems through brute force.
Without play, our students go to school for a grade rather than education. In college, they chase after scores rather than learning, and wonder why they are so burned out.
Last week, one of my students in Creativity wrote that her nephew’s school had told children to stay off the playground and instead play on their iPads.
“I worry about the next generation!” she said.
Our students are slowly learning to play again. They also see how lack of true play has stood in the way of genuine learning.
When I was six, I had to get stitches for an accidental hit to the head by a swing. My friends experienced scratches, bruises, teasing, and critique. Play taught us to experiment, to learn on our own, to accept where we needed to be faster or stronger.
We who had been given the time and space to play have never stopped playing. We hope today’s kids receive the same precious gift.
—————–
