It Takes a Village
I love our neighborhood. I love our neighbors, and our school, and our church, and our community. I love how all of it is shaping our children.
I used to cringe when the boys fought with their friends. At least once a week, they'd storm home convinced they'd never play with their neighborhood friends again. And every time, within an hour, one or the other would be at the door, ringing the bell, and asking to play.
I used to wince when they came home and told me one of the other parents had scolded or talked to them. When a teacher from another classroom handed out a consequence. When an aunt or uncle had to intercede to correct behavior. I took it personally, as though I had somehow failed in my role as their mom.
But in the past months and years what I'm learning instead is the beauty of an old saying, It takes a village to raise a child. Not that it has to, mind you, but children are raised best when they are raised by the village, by all of us working together, shaping them, teaching them, contributing our strength and insights to what their parents have to offer.
The best example I've stumbled on is in the fourth grade teaching team at our school. Micah is one of four fourth grade teachers who are truly a whole unit. They plan their lessons together, run their classrooms similarly. The fourth graders are all their kids--with the same expectations, relationships, and opportunities to learn from the teachers. True, each teacher has their own classroom and overlaying personality. But if any fourth grader needs coaching, correction, or simply a hug, the teachers function as one unit. It's a perfect picture of a village.
Just now five kids are crowded around our table loudly negotiating how their joint comic book should be written and illustrated. I'm not saying it's blissful--this is a messy, noisy, explosive kind of community. But in the midst of it, they're learning to work out their differences, to speak to adults and respect them. And when they're in other homes, they're learning about things we know very little about, learning new skills for life, new relationship dynamics. They're learning to function in the wider world. Already this morning, in our house, we've talked about honoring our words; about not saying things we don't mean, and being held to our words and promises when we do speak. We've talked about making things right when we offend and hurt one another. We've talked about robots, and sports, and soldiers, and ways to fight dragons.
Micah and I have a bucket list for this house, and at the very top of it is the dream of building a bigger dining room. Our vision is to have the space to fill our table with friends and neighbors and family. We want this house brimming with life, our dining table full of conversations we never would have had silo'd in our own home with no one but our own family. We have a sense of urgency about it, because this "rubbing shoulders" and sharing life, this village mentality, is something we've come to value so deeply. We'll have that space someday, but for now we're happy to fill every small inch of space we have with community. Nothing makes me happier than looking out of our kitchen window to find our swingset and backyard full of friends. This is life in community. This is what it means to be a part of the village that is raising the next generation.
I used to cringe when the boys fought with their friends. At least once a week, they'd storm home convinced they'd never play with their neighborhood friends again. And every time, within an hour, one or the other would be at the door, ringing the bell, and asking to play.
I used to wince when they came home and told me one of the other parents had scolded or talked to them. When a teacher from another classroom handed out a consequence. When an aunt or uncle had to intercede to correct behavior. I took it personally, as though I had somehow failed in my role as their mom.
But in the past months and years what I'm learning instead is the beauty of an old saying, It takes a village to raise a child. Not that it has to, mind you, but children are raised best when they are raised by the village, by all of us working together, shaping them, teaching them, contributing our strength and insights to what their parents have to offer.
The best example I've stumbled on is in the fourth grade teaching team at our school. Micah is one of four fourth grade teachers who are truly a whole unit. They plan their lessons together, run their classrooms similarly. The fourth graders are all their kids--with the same expectations, relationships, and opportunities to learn from the teachers. True, each teacher has their own classroom and overlaying personality. But if any fourth grader needs coaching, correction, or simply a hug, the teachers function as one unit. It's a perfect picture of a village.
Just now five kids are crowded around our table loudly negotiating how their joint comic book should be written and illustrated. I'm not saying it's blissful--this is a messy, noisy, explosive kind of community. But in the midst of it, they're learning to work out their differences, to speak to adults and respect them. And when they're in other homes, they're learning about things we know very little about, learning new skills for life, new relationship dynamics. They're learning to function in the wider world. Already this morning, in our house, we've talked about honoring our words; about not saying things we don't mean, and being held to our words and promises when we do speak. We've talked about making things right when we offend and hurt one another. We've talked about robots, and sports, and soldiers, and ways to fight dragons.
Micah and I have a bucket list for this house, and at the very top of it is the dream of building a bigger dining room. Our vision is to have the space to fill our table with friends and neighbors and family. We want this house brimming with life, our dining table full of conversations we never would have had silo'd in our own home with no one but our own family. We have a sense of urgency about it, because this "rubbing shoulders" and sharing life, this village mentality, is something we've come to value so deeply. We'll have that space someday, but for now we're happy to fill every small inch of space we have with community. Nothing makes me happier than looking out of our kitchen window to find our swingset and backyard full of friends. This is life in community. This is what it means to be a part of the village that is raising the next generation.
