Talking, not talking, nonverbal education

"A night full of talking that hurts
All my worst held-back secrets.
Everything has to do with loving and not loving. . .
This night shall pass,
Then
We have work to do."
--Jalāl ad-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī as recited by Ashley Ramsden

A number of years ago I was blessed to be able to accompany Ashley Ramsden--a storyteller and performer who teachers storytelling for future Waldorf teachers--as he performed in Monterey and Santa Cruz. He told long stories to assemblies of Waldorf students. He told stories at libraries and performance spaces. He also recited many poems by Rumi (many of which are like stories). To thank me for playing music for him, Ramsden gave me a recording of him reciting poems by Rumi--these performances and my image of Ramsden come to me from time to time. He was an excellent speaker. He was extremely gifted at not speaking as well. His pauses in a story or poem conveyed so much. When I find myself rushing through an Ellersiek game or tale in class, I think of Ramsden and his mastery of the moment.

I also think of Magda Gerber and her concept of tarry time, the time we give our infants and young toddlers to process information. She had observed that it can sometimes take a minute--literally--for our children to, say, register that we have told them we are going to pick them up to change their diaper. At the same time, some of toddlers are so quick that they are already anticipating (often joyfully) what is about to happen--on both Thursday and Friday the children start buzzing like bees long before the fuzzy bee visits the flower.

This is all to say that I have observed in Thursday and Friday both the joys of talking with our children and some beautiful nonverbal interactions between parents and their children, situations in which the parent gave loving and silent witness to the new challenge or discovery a child was making.

As we help our children create community and transform conflict into conversation, we may find ourselves talking a lot as we notice and describe what is working--and help direct children toward another path that seems to work better, whether to say, "Let's try that again" or "I'll put my hand here to keep you both safe" or "You both seem to want those plates." Even while we respect that our young children learn through moving, bumping, dropping, climbing, falling, rolling, and pushing, we can help them move--as Michael Gurian writes in Boys and Girls Learn Differently--towards using words without having unrealistic expectations that a progression to civility will happen overnight or in a week.

As several parents have reminded me recently, we can also cherish those times when we don't need to speak, where the lesson, the reward, the value, the blessing is inherent in our child's activity and our silent, respectful presence is the greatest gift of all. A number of years ago a parent from one of my classes shared this article about silence and presence with me, finding it in harmony with our observation work in our classes. The chapter "Dailiness" from Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry (available in the Katherine Dickerson Memorial Library in the lobby) resonates with a celebration of doing and not doing, of appreciating the moment without fear that the moment will pass.

Even as we find the need to use words to guide our children throughout the day, we can strive, when the moment is right, to create structure and form with movement, music, rhythm, predictability, and modelling. Dr. Michaela Gloeckler writes about becoming nonverbal educators. In a relatively short number of pages, she provides a picture of three phases of child development and helps inspire us to become worthy of imitation for our children in these early years. She helps link a spiritual picture of human development to practical suggestions for how to be present with and for our children.

With warmth and light,

William Dolde