Today after a short welcome, the conference participants gathered in small "homebase" groups for the first time. We'll be meeting with these same groups daily for check-in and reflection. Each group had a theme. Ours was "place and migration."
We began by reflecting on what place and migration mean to each of us, then shared with a partner and then with the whole group. The discussion ranged from gentrification and forced migrations to changing schools and geese. A young boy in our group, maybe 8 or 9, was very focused on geese. He and his mom and I were talking in the think-pair-share activity, and he didn't have much to say except "Goose." It became kind of a running gag, until our group began planning our presentation for the opening ceremony later tonight.
For "place," we made a collective human sculpture, with each group member taking a pose that represents what place means to them, each one adding their idea to the whole. Next, to represent migration, we made four small groups and each group had a sculptor who would position the rest of the group into a sculpture representing migration. I was in that young boy's group, and he was the sculptor.
At first, I caught myself thinking something vaguely along the lines of "oh no, the kid won't do it right." Then I couldn't believe I had that thought. Me, a progressive educator dedicated to child-centered learning! I mentally noted my reaction and then evicted it from my mind. Then, the boy himself blew me away. He instantly had a vision of what he would sculpt. "Goose," he said. He put us in a V formation and had us flap our arms. I asked if we could rest if our arms got tired and he said if our arms got tired we would change positions: the person at the front of the V would move to the back and someone else would take the lead. While the other groups' sculptors were working out their creations, the five of us stood there flapping slowly, and now and then changing positions while our sculptor stood back and smiled.
Later, back in the dorm room I reflected on what place and migration could mean in the context of our preschool community, and I wrote this:
Everybody in our immediate community - whoever we're working with or sharing space and time with - comes from a different place and has been on a different journey, but they are all here, together, in the present moment. The diversity inherent in these varied histories makes a community strong because each individual can build on the collective knowledge and experience of the group. Everyone has something to contribute and everyone has something to learn. No one's skills, knowledge or experiences are more important than anyone else's; they all contribute in different ways.
I'm looking forward to participating in this week's migration of thought, following different lead geese and sometimes taking the lead myself. Then I get to take part in another great migration of thought: the 2013-2014 school year, with this year's unique group of teachers, children, parents and extended community. Here we go!
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