Essential Questions

What happens in the early years?
The early years of life are critical. Early intervention specialists often speak of the window of opportunity before a child's third birthday to address delays and disabilities in ways that positively alter the course of a child's life. Yet those early years are important for more than developmental milestones. They set the trajectory of a child's character, competence, creativity and ability to collaborate.

They're just kids. Doesn't character happen later?
For millenia, individuals and societies have recognized that character formation begins at birth. In the Biblical book of Proverbs, King Solomon wrote:

Even a child makes himself known by his acts,
by whether his conduct is pure and upright. (Proverbs 20:11)

Even a young child can have a reputation as noble, kind and helpful - or as whiny, selfish and violent. I think of one of my students, Alejandro, who has on more than one occasion confessed to something that I didn't know he had done. Even though he is a child, I trust him implicitly because I know that he has integrity.

So why are the early years so important?
In the context of a family, a child learns to make sense of the world. From his parents (or those who act in their stead) he learns what is valuable, true and beautiful. In a very real sense, he inherits those values which shape his virtue. Perhaps this is most vividly apparent in resolving conflict. A child in one family learns to resolve conflict by asking questions, proposing solutions and respecting others. A child in another family learns to complain, threaten, or throw a tantrum until she gets her way. Each has learned a way of seeing the world that informs a way of being in the world. The early years are critical for character development because they set the baseline for us; they determine what is normal. That normal is can be the difference between having a life-long tendency to manipulation, or a victim mentality, or a virtuous courage. 

Why do we stress quantifiable facts?
In contemporary American life, we reverence “facts.” When asking questions in public discourse, we want, “Just the facts, ma’am.” For example, in an article in The Economist titled Child Welfare: The Nanny State, the journalist took pains to be scientific: “With its stress on quantifiable facts, the spirit of the OECD report differs from one by UNICEF, the UN children’s agency, in 2007 which made waves by saying children in Britain did badly.” The tacit assumption is that quantifiable facts are equally compelling to people of every lens. There is often little or no recognition that our assumptions, our lenses, shape the way that we see and make sense of the facts.

Is a journalist wrong for having a perspective?
The point is not to shame this particular journalist for having a lens. On the contrary, it is only possible to see anything at all from a particular vantage point. Not to have a lens is not to see; it is to be blind. To claim that you see and claim not to have a lens is like a line judge at Wimbledon’s Center Court claiming to know where the ball landed on court 4 at the French Open. It is simply ludicrous. The reason that we recognize his authority on Wimbledon’s Center Court is because he has an excellent perspective, and he has trained his eyes to carefully watch and judge balls traveling over 100 miles per hour. Not only are lenses inescapable, they are most valid and helpful when they recognize the limits of their own view.

What does this mean for parents?
We form assumptions about the way the world is and the way it ought to be on the context of human relationships and stories. Parents play a critical role because their relationship with their child is the primary relationship in which the child learns to make sense of the world. Of course there are other relationships, other stories and other influences. Indeed, parents play the primary role in engaging or rejecting the multitude of relationships, stories and influences on their children. Recognizing this influence and responsibility is the first step to using it well.

What is my lens?
If our lenses are not that on which we focus, but that through which we look at the world, how do we as parents begin to discern the contours of our own lenses and thoughtfully convey to our children a way of seeing the world that is authentic, comprehensive and satisfying? Dialogue, reflection and practice are three interrelated, overlapping and important mechanisms for becoming aware of our lenses. Not only are they helpful for parents, but cultivating these skills pays dividends for children as well.

Why dialogue?
A conversation with another person provides the opportunity for me to see the world differently. If I listen well, I may catch a glimpse of the way another person sees the world; if I ask good questions, I may even become aware of the lens through which I see the world. When I worked in a team development consulting group, we frequently asked teams to identify their interests and objectives by engaging in dialogue. We offered a short parable to illustrate the importance of dialogue. 

There were two boys who both wanted an orange, but there was only one orange. They came to their father to resolve their disagreement. It would seem that the simple solution would be to cut the orange in half, and each would get an equal part of the orange, and there the story would end. However, the father asked questions to uncover why each of the boys wanted the orange. It turned out that the first wanted to make orange juice, and the second wanted to make marmalade. So the father's solution was not to divide the orange in half, but to give the pulp to the boy who wanted to make juice, and the peel to the one making marmalade. What we wanted the teams to see is that dialogue is essential to understanding. Without dialogue, each boy would have obtained only half of what he wanted, even though there was a solution that entirely met the expectations of both.

But doesn't that just help me to understand others?
Dialogue helps us to understand what others see and desire, as in the orange parable. It is equally valuable in helping us to become aware of our own ways of seeing that are distinct from those with whom we are speaking. In speaking with other educators about the role of literature in education, I have begun to see more clearly my own perspective in the light of theirs. These educators value literature for its utility in promoting literacy skills. I, on the other hand, treasure literature for its ability to convey beauty, to help me feel my humanity, and to draw me to what is good, true and beautiful. If it hadn't been for these conversations with those with whom I disagree, I might not have become aware of some of the reasons literature is precious to me.

How has dialogue helped you to become aware of the ways you see the world?

The lenses through which we see the world answer an important question: What matters? In the course of a given day, a young child has many experiences that answer this question. Those things to which parents devote time, attention and energy become prominent in the way a child experiences and understands the world.

Choosing to Read Together
For example, when I sit down to read to my daughter, I am making a decision that has real costs. I could be doing any number of other things, but I have chosen to sit and read with her. In the context of our relationship, my daughter learns that words are important, that stories are valuable, and that there is pleasure in enjoying books together. Whether I do this on a daily basis, perhaps even several times in a day, or only once every week or two communicates to my daughter the value of reading together. It shapes her way of seeing the world.

Learning by Doing
And this is precisely the point. The answer to the question What matters? is answered not only directly and explicitly in answer to the blunt question, but indirectly and implicitly in the ordering of our values. The pertinent question is not whether or not I value exercise, or good nutrition, or literacy, or virtue, or something else. The question is how those values are ordered in practice.

For example, I value both my daughters' appearance, and their virtue. I love when their attire brings out their natural beauty, and I love when their moral beauty is manifest in their actions. Yet it is very easy for me to communicate to my children that appearance is more important than character, if I spend more time doing their hair than addressing the motivations of their behavior by praising virtue, asking good questions, and exposing deceit. Since they are learning to see the world through our relationship, that to which I give time, energy and attention clearly communicates: this matters.

Taking Time to Reflect
Often as parents we become familiar with a certain pattern of doing things and don't think about what our actions communicate, or the possibility of ordering our days in other ways. So take time now to think. In what do you invest your time, energy and attention? What would you like to change? What simple changes can you make so that your children learn from you how to see the world?

What is normal?
Two children born on the same day in two different families will learn how to see and be in the world at the same time. They will experience the same process, but the lens that each develops will be different. This is, and must be so, because lenses are formed in relationship. It is through daily relating with other people that a child learns to perceive reality. Each interaction contributes to a cumulative experience of "normal." This "normal" becomes the lens through which a child sees and experiences the world.

How do families affect what is normal?
This can be easily seen by comparing children from very dissimilar families. Take for example a boy born in Harlem to an unmarried woman. His primary relationship is with his mother. He knows not who his father is, nor is he sure who the fathers of his siblings are. Consequently, he learns primarily from his mother, and secondarily from her community, how to make his way in the world. In the first few months of life, he observes significant conflict among his sibling, between his mother and his siblings, and among the members of his community. Frequently this involves physical aggression, and almost always includes verbal attacks. All of these early life experiences in relationship with other people define what is normal for this boy. The way he sees and experiences the world is profoundly shaped by these relationships.

Another boy in Harlem is born to a mother and father who are married. Unlike the first, this boy learns primarily from both of his parents, and secondarily from their community, how to make his way in the world. This boy enjoys the frequent attention of both of his parents, and observes them using words playfully, respectfully, and enthusiastically. Like the first boy, he observes conflict, but he doesn't witness the physical or verbal attacks. He sees honest disagreement and discussion among adults, and between adults and children. Although the two families live on the same block, the experiences of these boys are worlds apart. Their dissimilarity is not geographic or racial, but relational. Those most primary relationships will establish what is normal for each boy - and how each perceives the "normal" of the other.

You cannot underestimate the influence that your daily decisions and interactions have upon a young child. Considered apart, they may indeed be inconsequential. Taken together, they set the horizons of possibility for a child.

How we see reality defines who we are - how we understand and make our way in the world. The lenses through which we see are formed in early childhood as we become part of the story of a family and community. Thus parents (or those who act in their stead) play the critical role in shaping a child's lens by the stories they tell and indwell. Since seeing and being are intertwined, parents profoundly influence a child's character, competence, creativity, and ability to collaborate.

Parents play THE central role in education
If you follow the reasoning of most of the education stories in the news, you might conclude that the most important factors in a child's education are class size, teacher pay or per-pupil spending. All of those factors are important, but none of them is at the top of the list. The single best predictor of a child's educational achievement is parent involvement. Why does parent involvement matter so much?

1. Parents set expectations. People in general, and children in particular, live up or down to the expectations set for them. If a parent has health, age-appropriate expectations for a child's learning, then the child will naturally internalize and adopt those expectations. What parents set as the norm is what a child experiences as normal.
2. Parents nurture curiosity. Children learn to ask questions by engaging in meaningful, honest inquiry during the early years of their lives. If they ask questions and are shut down, they'll learn not to ask questions. If, by contrast, their questions are nurtured, directed, and encouraged, the spark of curiosity will grow into a flame of learning.
3. Parents cultivate discipline. All learning requires discipline. Even when a child is learning in a game, it involves the discipline of observing the rules of the game or the conventions of language. In many cases learning is challenging, and the discipline required to persevere in a task that is just beyond one's current ability is essential to continued learning.

Where the baseline of curiosity, discipline and love for learning exist, a child can flourish. If any of those elements are weak or missing, a child will need help in setting new expectations, cultivating curiosity and developing discipline. Since parents have the responsibility and privilege of influencing those three critical areas during the early years of life, they have the ability to set a child's learning trajectory.

The Learning Trajectory
Geoffrey Canada, founder of the Harlem Children's Zone speaks of children in cyclical poverty needing to reach "escape velocity." They need both trajectory and speed to escape the cycles of poverty - cycles that are marked by lack of curiosity and discipline, and maintained by low expectations. Canada has also recognized that the most effective way to do this is not by merely attempting to change the trajectory after kids enter school. Far better to start with the launch pad - the home - to alter the initial trajectory and velocity. Not surprisingly, Canada is succeeding. Harvard economist Roland Fryer puts it this way: "“The results changed my life as a researcher because I am no longer interested in marginal changes . . . [This is] the equivalent of curing cancer for these kids."

It begins at birth
This is not just about education. It is about the way children learn to understand, experience, explore - and change - the world around them. No one has greater influence over this lens formation than parents - no one. Until that simple reality is embraced, increased funding, smaller classes and higher teacher pay will accomplish only the 'marginal changes' that Roland Fryer previously studied. When parents are treated as the primary and most important stakeholders in education, then - and only then - can Canada's "cure for cancer" be applied to sick schools everywhere.

There has been a tremendous amount of brain research to document that neurological processes that characterize brain development. However, a non-scientist can readily observe the process by which children learn in the first few years.

Learning by Absorbing
During the first few years of life, a child is being nurtured - intentionally or unintentionally - in to a shared way of life. Lesslie Newbigin, a gifted anthropologist, describes human development in this way:

"All of these things are part of a larger entity which we usually call a culture - a whole way of understanding and ordering things which is embodied in language, story and all the forms of social life which are made possible through a shared language and a shared story. Most of this we learn, or perhaps one might say absorb, during the first few years of our lives as we learn to talk, to read, and to share in the common story of our people. Normally we simply take it for granted. We are not conscious of it. Like the lenses of our spectacles, it is not something we look at, but something through which we look to see the world."

Children don't need to be intentional about absorbing. It is simply the nature of the stage of their development. They absorb the common story of their people. In this parents function as the chief storytellers. Although parents may not think of themselves as storytellers, they are the gatekeepers of stories. The books, movies, television programs, etc. that they choose (or permit) profoundly shape the developing lens of a young child.

Lenses: That Through Which We Look
What is remarkable about spectacles is that we are rarely attentive to their contours. We wear glasses (or contact lenses!) so close to our eyes that we don't look at them, but through them. During the early years of life, children's lenses develop. What is "normal" in their experience (for example, yelling or respectful dialogue) shapes the way that they see the world. Through the language and stories they absorb, they explore the meaning of things.

What is the shared language and shared story that you are communicating to your children? How are you shaping the lenses through which they see the world?

Over the first few weeks of life, a child's eyes change dramatically, beginning with a focal length of 12 to 18 inches, and increasing in clarity and ability to focus over the ensuing weeks. In a very real sense, an infant is learning to see. She is learning to focus her eyes, to follow a moving object, and to distinguish among colors. These early developments are critical for her to learn to use her eyes for the rest of her life.

Are these the only lenses?
Just as the lenses of the eye are critical for physical sight, a child's early experiences profoundly affect the "lenses" through which he comes to understand the world. An infant learns quickly from experience what is pleasant, unpleasant, and painful. He also learns how other people interact, and how he is to interact with others.

For example, a child who grows up in a home where words are used respectfully to express both love and disagreement will come to see this as normal, and will learn to participate in conversation in the ways she sees it modeled. By contrast, a child who grows up in a home where words are used recklessly and unkindly will come to see this as normal, and will participate in the conversation she sees modeled.

Why is early childhood so critical?
The first years of life have a profound impact on a child precisely because this is the time during which a child begins "an apprenticeship of being human." These years are 24/7 training in how to live in the world. A child learns from parents (or those who act in their stead) what is good and bad, what is beautiful and distasteful, and what is worth pursuing.

The apprenticeship is potent because it is unstructured. It is not only the children whose parents intentionally and deliberately teach during this time who absorb the values and lenses of their family. Every child is constantly absorbing and internalizing messages about what is real, what is good, and what is worthwhile.

What can parents do?
Parents have an enormous responsibility and privilege during this period to consider the vision of life that they embrace, embody and communicate. Is it authentic? Is it comprehensive? It is satisfying? As your child is your apprentice in learning to understand and navigate the world, how are you a thoughtful master teacher?

Being described as a "shallow" person is a painful epithet. Likewise, we use the word "flat" to describe a character in a book or movie that lacks depth. We long to see someone who responds virtuously to a wide range of experiences, from painful to ecstatic. The people who gracefully handle both we rightly call heroes. We look for them in literature and in life, because their way of being can handle both the hard and the easy.

What makes us long for depth?
Why are these kinds of characters so appealing? And why is a flat character or a shallow person so repulsive? We want a way of seeing the world and being in the world that is comprehensive. It relates back to the first question Is the story authentic? To be authentic is to correspond to the way the world really is. To be truly authentic, it must also be comprehensive. It cannot just correspond to one part of the world, but to the world in its entirety.

Can your story handle adversity?
There are many children's books that have a small, simple plot. Yet as they grow up, children what more than, "Where's Spot?" They want a problem that looks more like the real world, and has a satisfying solution. The books that children (and adults) love - the books that endure as classics - offer problems that reflect the complexity of the real world, and resolutions that reflect the reality of this world.

What is the story that shapes your lens?
One of the challenges and privileges of parenting is realizing that your story is too small. It worked for you when you didn't have to think about what was important to impart to your children. But when you consider it carefully, you find it lacking. This is good news! This is the test of comprehensiveness at work. You may well find that the story that defines your life isn't comprehensive enough for the experience of parenting. If there are gaps that you're not aware of, your children will be sure to point them out as they grow up.

The point is not to hide from or deny these gaps, but to seek a way of seeing the world that has integrity, and is comprehensive. It will involve asking many honest questions. The integrity of asking those questions, and admitting when you don't have an answer, is precisely what will communicate the importance of integrity to your children.

When you walk into the library and begin browsing the shelves of the children's section to find books to read with your child, you have a set of criteria - conscious or unconscious - that shape your selections. Each of us has criteria that makes some books winners, and others losers. Those criteria determine whether you will want to give a book to a friend's child as a birthday gift - or if you'd put it in the recycling bin if you received it as a gift.

Is your story authentic?
Perhaps the first question that should be asked, both of the children's literature you select, and of the story that defines who you are is: Is it authentic? In other words: Does it correspond to the way things really are?

If you walk into the kitchen and find milk poured out all over the floor, and you ask your five year old, "What happened?" and he says, "The cat spilled it," your first question is whether this explanation corresponds to reality. If you don't have a cat, it is unlikely that the child's story is true. When we, or a child, tell a story that doesn't correspond to reality, we call that deceit. It isn't just the stories our children tell us. If you tell your child that there is a surprise waiting for him when he finishes his dinner, and there is no surprise, he will quickly call your bluff. The story didn't correspond to the way things really are. It was deceitful.

Children's literature functions much the same way. Each author presents us with a book that expresses certain assumptions about the way things are, and the way they ought to be. If we see that, in the form of a story, they express something authentic - something that corresponds to the way the world really is - it resonates with us and touches us. These are the authors, like Patricia Polacco, to whom we return again and again, because the stories are authentic. They may well be fictional stories, but what they communicate rings true because they are authentic.

Not just children's literature
It is easy to see how this functions with children's literature. We just won't keep picking up books by authors that we think are presenting a distorted view of reality. Yet the same question, "Is it authentic?" is not limited to children's literature, but is a helpful question for evaluating the story, the system of meaning, that we communicate to our children.

Raising children forces these questions upon us: What do we want for our children? What is the meaning that shapes our family, and our existence? Many who were raised in the United States would answer, "I want for my children to have a better life than I have had." Then comes the question, "What do you mean by a better life?" Does it mean having a bigger house? Or living in a better neighborhood? Or going to a better school?

Are these answers authentic? Do they correspond to the way things really are? Are people with bigger houses happier? Are those in nicer neighborhoods more contented? Are those in better schools more virtuous?

For those who have never pressed these questions, they can be disturbing. They cause us to question whether the story that we have received, and that we embody, is authentic. Does it tell the truth about the way things are? Does it fit with my feelings of great delight in watching a falcon fly, or swimming in a clear, still lake? Does it account for why I can be so angry about injustice - or so indifferent to it?

These sorts of questions, although challenging and sometimes painful, are necessary for parents who desire to impart to their children a way of seeing and being in the world that is authentic.

Everyone seems to agree that early childhood is critical for children. There are hosts of studies that show the developmental and health impacts of the way that parents provide nurture. So it is wise to ask why this period is so critical. Is it simply because habits are ingrained during this time? Is it because of the nature and speed of brain development during this period? Or is there something else?

What role do stories play in child development?
In the earliest years of life, each child learns to make sense of the world. You can watch a toddler trying to stack blocks, and finding that only when the blocks are directly on top of one another will they remain standing. By this trial and error, he is learning something about the way the world is.

Just as important as experimentation in early childhood is listening. The child is absorbing the messages he hears about what is acceptable and unacceptable, what is valuable to her parents, and why these things are so. The pervasive "Why?" of the toddler years is part of the diligent quest to understand the way things are, and ought to be.

For this reason, stories play a critical role. Certainly they diversity of vocabulary affects brain development, as two Kansas researchers have documented. Yet the story that parents tell their children is just as important as the stories they read and tell together because it provides framework within which the stories are understood. The story is the way that parents make sense of the world, and communicate it to their children.

Think, for example of the story that the King family told to Martin Luther King Jr. Did they tell him that segregation was simply the way things are? Or that because it was wrong, they ought to rise up and riot? The Kings raised their children to understand that there is injustice in the world and that there are wise, faithful and powerful ways to overcome it. Far more important than the big words that he learned from his father was the overarching story that shaped the King family. If Martin had developed the same rhetorical powers in a family that cherished anger and violence or simply accepted the status quo, who knows how different our nation's history might have been.

The pressing questions for parents are: What is the story you are telling your children? Are you satisfied with the stories you have been told? How are you intentionally communicating the story that you want your children to embrace?