“It is true that the children learn writing spontaneously…but what is really important is their changed behavior. Man is not made of culture alone; there is something much more essential. If this part continues to be disregarded and emphasis put only on culture, the more advanced man becomes, the more dangerous he will be. Man has discovered flight, he has discovered atomic energy, but he has failed to discover himself.” – Mario Montessori (foreword to The Secret of Childhood).
I still remember the first time that three-year old Monica’s mom went on a business trip and left her with the dad. The child instantly transformed from bubbly and affectionate to defiant and uncooperative. In one instance, after several temper tantrums and angry outbursts, Monica took off her shoe, looked me straight in the eye, and licked the grimy sole of the black Mary Jane. Externally, I didn’t react, but internally my heart broke for the little blonde.
At this point, I had not been made aware of what was happening at home, so I was at a loss to figure out the girl’s behavioral shift. I didn’t want to get the parents involved because they’re the typical ‘helicopter parents’ who would keep me on the phone for an hour. However, I caved and called them after four days of increasing behavioral issues. I asked the mom if they were trying something new at home or if there had been any changes to Monica’s routine. “Uh, not that I can think of,” replied the mom airily. Then she paused. “Well, I did just come back from a business trip last night, and this was the first time I had ever been away from her, but other than that…”
Duh.
Six months later, I received advance warning from the dad regarding mom’s upcoming business trip. As expected, 3.8-year old Monica came into the classroom on Monday and made one bad choice after another, playing with the materials, interrupting her classmates, and refusing to respond to adults’ requests. I observed her the first day and limited her freedom to help get her back on the right path towards productive work. Nothing I did seemed to be helping, however, and she came back the next day more wound up than the day prior.
At the first instance of improper behavior, I took her aside, crouched down to her height, looked her in the eye and asked point-blank: “Monica, do you miss your mommy?” She smiled and looked at the floor. “Yeah,” she said softly.
“How do you feel?” I prodded. “Sad…” was the semi-whispered answer, eyes still downcast.
That’s when I realized how I could help her. “Monica, do you want to write your mommy a letter?” Her blue eyes instantly met mine and widened. “Yes!”
Before I had finished saying “Let’s take out the movable alphabet” she headed towards the rugs, diligently set up her work area and materials, and found someone to help her straighten the letters in the large box.
“What do you want to write?” I asked her when she was ready. “Moni,” she replied, referring to her nickname, and began pulling out the letters to make the word. When she finished, she looked at me.
“What else do you want to write?” I continued. “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging.
“Do you want to write ‘Moni is sad’?” I asked cautiously. Again, her big blue eyes got even bigger. “Yes!” she said, and dove into the movable alphabet. As I spoke with nearby children, I could hear her sounding out the words: “sssss… sssss… here’s the ’s’!”
She worked with focus and a sense of purpose for several minutes, and called me over when she had finished her sentence. “OK, now I want to write it on paper,” she said. Because she had always written on the chalkboard and not on lined writing paper, I took out a sheet and got ready to show her how to use it. Before I could start, I was interrupted by a glass that broke across the room, so I stood up to help clean the mess (we don’t allow children to sweep glass). When I came back to Monica’s side, she had already begun to write her sentence on paper, in mangled, but to my eyes absolutely beautiful, cursive letters. I walked away quietly, content to be a silent observer. She spent another ten minutes focused on this endeavor, and when she finished she showed me the product of her work. I asked her how she felt. “Good,” was the energetic reply, accompanied by a genuinely happy smile and a spontaneous hug.
She spent the rest of the day choosing purposeful work, following the rules, and being a productive member of the classroom society. As she walked to her car in the afternoon, her little hand clutched the folder that carried her handwritten letter to mommy.
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