For the past week, I've attended a multi-age outdoor school led by Teacher Tom, who's hailed by parenting experts as one of the "world’s leading practitioners of 'democratic play-based' education."* If you haven't followed his blog or bought his book, you should, and if you can attend his class, even better. Although I exceed the age limit for his class (wait, I don't look 5?), the cooperative model mandates that I spend at least some time working there while my child attends. Since my child wants me to stay at school all the time and it's too far for me to drive home while she's in class, and because I like it there, I stay. All good.
If you know anything about him (or if you don't, now you will), it's that he spends a lot of time observing and engaging with the kids. As an observer myself, it's easy to see how this role suits him. But what does observing Teacher Tom have to do with gentle parenting? Nothing, directly. Besides, he doesn't fit the "gentle parent" poster image some people have in their heads. He's not all hugs and feel-goods. As far as I can tell, he doesn't even shave his face every day (isn't that in the rule book?). So, if he's not raising your kid (and he's not), what does he do that's so special or different that it warrants your attention? Here's what I've witnessed:
He "gets" them and speaks their language. On the first day of class, he picked up a tiara from the playground dirt (where most of the valuable jewels are kept) and put it on his head. A little girl pointed out that he was wearing it backwards. He fixed his error, and shortly thereafter, someone tried to yank it right off him. My adult brain assumed he'd relinquish it (adults are polite, right?), but instead, he respectfully claimed ownership of it and wouldn't share. He wasn't done with it yet.
Without any lecture or adult-infused words about taking turns, he ingratiated himself as one of their tribe by doing what many of them would've done. I wondered if his refusal would be off-putting to the kids, but instead, he'd built credibility. He taught fairness without having to "teach" a thing. Many of us fall victim to playing as adults play: borderline fun, but kind of hung up on enforcing rules. We manufacture "teachable moments" and do our best to stay clean. If building connection is your gentle parenting goal, just look at this guy and the way kids flock to him (I've dubbed the kids his Merry Band of Followers). We take ourselves far too seriously.
Teacher Tom reminds us that we have our kids' permission to act like actual kids.
Red cape or not, I've seen Teacher Tom leap over a tall play structure in a single bound and break up a heated altercation between young boys. To the extent that he plays like the kids do, he's also clearly in charge. He sets limits and holds them unapologetically. Fairly. Respectfully. He's firm without shaming or creating guilt. He corrects behavior immediately when he witnesses a transgression, and then like water off a proverbial duck's back, he goes on playing. There's no room for grudges. They're counterproductive. In following through with his limits without waffling, he builds yet another kind of credibility.
Kids know they can trust him to help when they need him. They don't wonder whether he's a reliable leader; they know he is. As gentle parents, it's easy to second-guess the limits we set in the tough moments and come off as wishy washy. However, no one thrives on shaky ground. Without sacrificing kindness, Teacher Tom reminds us that it's okay to be firm and direct. And then move on.
Teacher Tom challenged the kids to fill a large open canister on wheels, which was at the top of a small concrete hill, with water. Then, they'd experiment to see what would happen when they released it. The kids obliged, lugging bucketful after bucketful of water up, up, up to Teacher Tom, who was sitting most of the way up the hill. He emptied their buckets into it. Once it was finally full to the brim, Teacher Tom counted down for the Big Release. We all waited with eager anticipation. As quickly as the water-filled canister started picking up speed, it stopped just as suddenly,
catching on something, and proceeding to launch aaalllllll the water directly onto him. He was drenched in dirty playground water. His response: "That. Was. Awesome." And he laughed from his belly, just as amused by the surprise ending as the rest of us. He instinctively saw the situation from the kids' point of view; there was nothing to reprimand. What a great reminder that we're teaching our kids how to react when things don't go as planned; what a great way to model resilience.
Before I met Teacher Tom, I didn't know whether to expect him to be some combination of Superman and Mary Poppins (would he wear the cape and have the magical flying umbrella?), or if I expected some Dad-Gone-Rogue-Who-Never-Left-The-Playground. What I observed, though, is that while he's kind of those things, he's foremost really quite human. And you know what, gentle parents? That's really what your kids need most—the ability to see you as a real, true, reliable, flawed, predictable, and regular person who, with any luck, continues to put kindness first.
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One of the most common concerns I hear from parents who are attempting gentle parenting isn't whether they're doing this, that, or the other thing right. Although we all have questions about how to manage certain aspects of gentle parenting, it's not usually the daily how-to's that make us consider throwing in the towel. One of the toughest concerns many of us manage, as gentle parents, is the lack of support we feel for the way we're raising our children. Surrounded by naysayers, we often not only fear, but also hear, that we're doing it wrong: "My parents spanked me and I turned out fine.""Kids need to toughen up.”“You're coddling her.""You'll make him a mama's boy.""She'll never be able to handle school when she's older if you keep treating her this way." And the list goes on (and on, and on...). With every kindness we impart to our children, there seems to be someone--perhaps even a very well meaning someone who has the best of intentions--who wishes you would just do things differently. And it's hard. It's hard when the stranger at the grocery store comments negatively about your parenting. It's hard when a well-meaning friend "helpfully" suggests you try something that just doesn't sit right with you. It's hard when your parents suggest you're doing it wrong, and wow, it's really hard if your own partner dismisses or flat-out opposes your gentle parenting style. Believe me, I get it. (I was just looking for apples, not advice.)
I'm here to tell you that the words you hear others say don't need to become the ones you repeat inside your head.
You've done your research, and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that positive discipline is more beneficial to your kids' long-term mental health than punitive or authoritarian methods. You're trusting your gut. You're watching your child grow and thrive under the forces of goodness and kindness. Yet, it's still tempting to listen to those who plant a seed of doubt in your mind, bringing up every insecurity you've ever had about raising your child in the way that feels right to you. My suggestion to you is to take a deep breath and let go of your worry. It's not serving you. If you can, find at least one supporter--be it someone you know in person, or even just an online gentle parenting group (yep, this one counts). The moment I let go of my anxiety about gentle parenting happened shortly after I moved to a new city. I was taking a long walk with my child, who was then 18 months old. We got pretty far from home and were walking along a busy street. All of a sudden, she wanted to nurse. I panicked, since there was nowhere private and we were too far from anywhere I felt "comfortable." Most of my friends in my old city, if they'd nursed at all, had weaned long before a year, and although I knew the World Health Organization recommends nursing at least two years for mamas who can (even in developed countries like the U.S.), I still worried that my child was "too old," much less to nurse publicly. That said, it soon became obvious that it had to happen, so down I sat on a bench along the sidewalk, doing my very best to be discreet. Suddenly, a man who looked to be about 85 years old started walking our direction. I rearranged my daughter's large sunhat to cover us both as much as possible, thinking he didn't see us as he passed. A few moments later, though, he turned back to us and then (gasp!) walked back our way. Ever so humbly and respectfully, he said, "You know, I have no idea why people get so upset about mothers nursing their children. You're just doing the most natural thing in the world." Then he turned around and kept walking away. From that moment on, it didn't matter what the strangers at the grocery store said, or anyone else for that matter. I let his words become my inner voice, not only for nurturing my child as I had been in the moment he saw us, but also for gentle parenting overall. After all, gentle parenting comes in many forms.
Treating children with love and respect is, indeed, the most natural thing in the world. Why wouldn't it be?
Find your advocate if you need one. Be your own advocate if you have no other, and know that with or without support, many others have persevered and continued to gently raise loving, happy children. And most importantly, know that by choosing gentle parenting, you're being your child's advocate and positively affecting the generations to come. It's okay to normalize kindness. The world needs more of it, and you're doing your part. You're doing it right.