Montessori Glory

Their World, Not Ours

I strolled toward the fence, made of a dark wood and smelling like it had just been cut from the forest the day before. To my right were row of planted beds: heirloom tomatoes, sweet red peppers, meticuliously cared for and ready to be picked. Inside the yard, the playground was surrounded by even more garden projects and a shaded area stood off by the side, arranged with low tables and chairs. Little children, wearing little aprons and carrying little trays, came out of the building and sat at these minature tables. They sat absorbed in their work. Some were sewing with a thick piece of colorful thread. Another was painting at an easel. And one table of children sat in a group working with geometrical solids. I went over to the table and picked up one of the shapes. "What's this box for?" The little boy looked up at me and with an air of correction, "That is not a box, it is a trinomial cube."

I am officially dumber than a four year old.

Embarrased, I set down his 'trinomial cube' and stepped back so that he could keep doing whatever it is you do with one of those things.

Dangerous Minds

Many people have a very vague notion as to just what Montessori education is. Some think it's a cult, probably because it is a private institution where the cirriculum centers around the philosophies of just one person. Some have asked if it's religious. While the theorist herself was Italian and therefore, Catholic, there is no trace of religion within the schools.
But what it is, in fact, is one of the most radical forms of education out there. It produces exactly the kinds of kids that the public school system is trying to avoid- children who voice their own opinion, are extremely independant, and do not fall in line, but rather choose what is right and make their own line. These are not kids that will just sit quietly at a desk and take orders from a teacher, trying to asses their self-worth by some arbitrary grading system which seperates the 'haves' from the 'have-nots'. These children are exactly the kind that a world dictator would find very dangerous. In fact, Montessori schools in different parts of the world have been shut down in the past by regimes, because of the 'dangerous, independent minds' that the method produces. Mousselini did it. So did Franco and Hilter.

Self-Guided

The children at my school range from 3 to 6 years old, but are grouped together in one grade. In this way, the older ones are role-models for the younger, often 'playing teacher', and showing the newcomers how things work in the classroom. Everything is in minature: the sinks, the shelves containing all sorts of 'works'. There are no toys in the environment, but these children don't seem to mind. One child, carefully carrying a tray of dried beans across the room, tips the corner of the tray and the small beans dance across the floor. Several children stop what they are doing and rush to help pick up all of the fallen beans. A girl with strands of ribbons coming out of her tightly curled hair, walks over to remind another child that they forgot to tuck in their chair. The teacher stands calmly in the corner of the classroom, a camelion, blending with the wall behind her, observing the children quietly, noting each individual's progress.

A Rebel in Corset and Stockings

Maria Montessori, as you might have guessed from the name, is the one who came up with this educational method. She was a rebel of her times: Italy's first female doctor, a feminist, anti-war advocate, evolutionist, and scientist who had illicit love affairs and refused to marry.


Montessori continued in the foosteps of Itard by educating children in insane asylums. She shocked the world with her success, and helped progress the now modern take on mental illness. She thought if her method could help mentally ill children become as intelligent as normal children, than this method, when applied to normal children, certainly would create unlimited potentials. She believed that we are all born with this unlimited potential, but the environment around which we grow will determine whether or not we will reach that potential. And so, the whole methodology which I am now studying has to do with the purpose of advancing human evolution to a higher plane. It is a form of education that is concerned with fostering a love of learning within the child. There are no grades, no homework, no 'teachers desk and chalkboard' and no forced competition. I teach good values and I help children become confident, independant, not grade-obsessed and obedient. I do not teach at the students like I did so often in Japan, rather I guide them toward work that may be of interest to them and I give them the key to unlock their own doors. Our educational system teaches children that something is only worthwhile if there is a reward tied to it, and fosters citizens who have no sense of personal accountability. I am trying to build children that do, and help repair this damaged country one child at a time.


The children's response to this is amazing. The method really does work. The children I have in my class are, intellectually, 3 years or so ahead. Right now, my class consists of 3-6 year olds, all grouped together. The older ones are role-models to the younger ones. These kids prepare their own snacks, set the table for lunch, and clean up after themsleves. They have a more advanced vocabulary than I do. And, unlike in public school, I can give the kids as many hugs as I want!

Just another Utopian Ideal?

Currently, I am working at a tri-lingual Montessori school in the bay area. I am the English teacher and I work side by side with the Japanese and Mandarin teachers, so the children learn three languages at once. In this way, I get to keep up with my Japanese and I'm starting to pick up more Mandarin, which is fun. Speaking Japanese is really soothing, and Mandarin, well, it reminds me of throwing darts- an entire idea is expressed in just a few sharply toned sounds.

And I love my students. One of my favorites, a little rosey-cheeked boy around the age of 3, approached me yesterday in a very serious matter. He had big news to tell me: "Lisa Sensei?", 'Yes', i replied. "I have a shadow." He then walked back to his table. Amazing discovery!
While the kids are a joy, the downside of my job is my head directress, lets call her Madame Frown, a knowledgable person whom means well, but everything that comes out of her mouth is a criticism. Now, as ideal as the idea of a tri-lingual environment sounds, in practice, it doesn't really work. Because it is difficult enough to find certified Montessori teachers, let alone ones that can speak Japanese or Mandarin fluently, the other teachers are either underqualified or can not speak English. This has lead to quite a few problems at staff meetings, where Madame Frown will spend an hour telling us how she wants the school run, only to realize that half the staff does not understand what she is saying. And thus, confusion ensues. Madame Frown is also very strict, and can often be found either scolding the children, or scolding me for not scolding the children.

I can remember having many teachers just like M. Frown when I was growing up. How come so many teachers seem to clearly not enjoy children? Why don't they just stop teaching if they are so clearly unhappy? This, I can not figure out. Yes, children can be an exhausting headache, but I guess the reason I feel so drawn to them is the same reason I sometimes prefer the company of an animal to that of an adult human. Dogs and children- they are so pleased by the simplist of things. They do not use there mind to worry- they live by the moment. And their loyalty and trust in you is unmoving. What happens to the adult person that so removes us from these characteristics? And can we return to that state if we want to?

Sticks and Stones and Broken Bones

"It's only fun till someone gets hurt!"
We all remember those nagging, knee-pad wielding parents who chased us down the driveway shouting safety instructions and fastening emergency bracelets to our wrists. As a child, I remember waiting until my house was no longer in view before stashing my helmet and elbow pads into the neighbor's bushes and then roller blading down to the park to join my friends in some sort of parentally unsanctioned activity. Better to live and pay the price than feel like a porcelain doll.
But perhaps this Friday I crossed the line between living life to its fullest and plain recklessness. I was out in Oakland with some friends, celebrating our start to a promising labor day weekend. Leaving the pub and sailing down 20th on a bit of steel and two wheels, I let myself go a bit faster than I perhaps should have. As I rounded the corner onto Broadway, a portly fellow ran into the street to hail an approaching cab.. and dead center into my front wheel. The asphalt kissed my right arm, and the impact with the ground caused my key chain to break open, spraying keys all over the street. My arm was bleeding, but I seemed okay; more concerned about picking up my keys and getting out of the middle of the street. The embarrassed pedestrian apologized and then jumped into his cab, uninjured. We continued onto the Bart train, and it was a good twenty minutes before I noticed my other hand was throbbing. I thought it best to retire for the night and sleep off the injury. But as I awoke in the morning and tried to bend my fingers down into my now very swollen palm, I realized there was a very serious problem.
Now I, like many millions of Americans, do not have health insurance. Either jobs I've worked don't offer it, or, as is the case now, I only work part-time because I'm a student. I'm not a bum, I'm a hardworking person who always pays my taxes. And do I just happen to have an extra $200 or so of disposable income at the end of each month for a crappy private plan? (And if I did, I would be better off putting it in a private savings to pay my medical bills than giving it over to a profit margin obsessed company).
And so, what are people like me supposed to do when we get injured? Just accept the fact that one second of bad luck, one accident, will result in a $10,000 hospital bill, that I will have to endure harassing phone calls from bill collectors for a number of years until I pay it off, or declare bankruptcy? I don't fucking think so.
Now I have some not-so-fond memories of Cook County Hospital in Chicago. There was a certain someone who I had to take there a few years back, and his broken limb involved a 12 hour wait in the ER, in which i got into a fight with a bum for stealing my coffee mug. I was not looking forward to County. So my roommate helped me pack a bag full of books, food, enough to get by for a 24 hour camp out, and we headed over to Alameda County Hospital.
As we pulled up, I expected to see a dingy burnt out looking building teaming with homeless people. But this is California, and the county hospital I went to looked as professional and unassuming as a normal ER. I signed in at the desk, and in less than 5 minutes, I was getting registered in the queue. Within two hours they had me transfered to a hospital bed, where I came into contact with one friendly nurse after another, giving me ice, water, you name it. Over in X-ray, my fears were confirmed: I had broken a bone in my hand, a lovely spiral fracture that would sentence me to 6 weeks in a hard cast.
Back in my hospital bed and waiting for my splint, I became aware of the two others i was sharing a room with. The one, homeless, alcoholic, around sixty, drunk and disorientated. The other, the same, except a women and with a head injury she doesn't recollect getting. She says she has a boyfriend. Then she changes the story. Now she has a husband. These two are regulars here, the nurses are on familiar terms with them. They lie to the nurses, saying they don't drink, they just want something for the pain. They'll be back again. The one tries to get up and pees all over the floor. It's a mess. It stinks. Those poor nurses.
After a total of four hours, I declare myself poor to financial services, and leave without paying anything.
I just went beck to have my cast put on today. The queue was long, and the wait longer. It was six hours before I was finally put in a cast. The doctors were good, knowledgeable, hardworking, horribly understaffed. The doctor that saw me said he usually administers 50 or more patients a day. I heard many patients cussing at the doctors. One guy told the doctor to 'shut the fuck up' because the doctor told him he would have to walk with a cane until his foot healed. I've often heard from friends that work in social services that the ones that are the worst off are also usually also the most ungrateful when they are given help.

Now, we all know that a very historical event is about to go down in regards to health care. Here we have a nation that can only seem to agree on the fact that everyone disagrees. We have a President grasping at the threads of an unraveling garment. Even if this Health care reform does go through, with the need for so much compromise, it will be nowhere near as strong and well organized as Canada's glorious system. There is far too much greed in America to ever have honest, uncorrupted social services, and America is too vast a country to run anything efficiently. In my travels, small countries, such as England, Japan, and New Zealand, have excellent National Health care because those countries are manageable. If my experiences this past week have shown me anything, it is that this country is a huge mess.
So what if Obama's free health care does wind up to be just like County Hospital? Yes, the doctors are over worked. Yes, you have to wait longer and that can be frustrating. Or you might have to endure rooming with a derelict. But are the doctors just as good? Yes. Did they accomplish the job of healing you? Of course.
But most important of all, I would still rather endure a 12hour wait and get it over with than worry every day of my life about how I would afford it. If I didn't have to work a job I hated just because I needed the health coverage that employer provided. Imagine the freedom if we all didn't have to worry any more...