Leaning Into Play
My family visits an indoor water park in Wisconsin Dells every year for a short early-spring vacation. It’s a popular destination and although we try to beat the spring break rush, we inevitably face some long lines. I actually love waiting in water park lines, because the majority of people don’t have a phone with them, so family conversations and laughter take priority over scrolling and screens. The slides at this particular water park aren’t for the faint of heart, so it’s a long climb to get to the top so that you can enjoy the trip down. Climb a few stairs, wait. Talk and laugh, climb a few more stairs. Wait.
It was in such a line two years ago that I noticed a ledge against the wall, fairly high up toward the ceiling of the water park. I don’t know what the ledge’s original purpose was, but it had become a target for ponytail holders. I chuckled to myself and told my daughters, “Look, over there. People must be trying to fling their ponytail holders from this line onto the ledge.” There must have been hundreds of elastic holders scattered on the ledge. I had so many questions. Who was the first person to fling their holder onto the ledge? How long did it take before someone else tried? How long had the hair ties been there? Was anyone from the water park going to clean them up? My daughter Maddie wanted to try the stunt herself but wasn’t quite willing to forgo her ponytail for the rest of the day. The line eventually moved, and we climbed a few more steps.
Imagine my surprise the following year when we returned to the water park. Same line, same slow crawl up the wooden stairs. I had actually forgotten about the ledge when something red caught my peripheral vision. I turned to look and let out a joyful “ha!” when I saw what the water-park staff had done. Apparently they had noticed the ledge full of abandoned elastic hair ties and had decided, rather than expending their energy on cleaning it up, to make it a game. There sat a large red-and-white target with a black peg sticking out of the bull’s-eye. It was a challenge, an invitation to play. Could you slingshot your ponytail holder onto the bull’s-eye? It looked like only a handful of people had done it, though many had tried and failed. People entered the line with a ponytail and left with their hair hanging down their back, unable to resist the challenge.
I think of that target often in my classroom. How often do I fight against the current? How often am I trying to figure out how to “clean up the hair ties” rather than just making it a game?
This year while I’m teaching 100 percent remote, I’m trying to lean into the unexpected and find moments to play. I had some days when the turned-off cameras and muted mikes began to take a toll. Rather than admonish the kids for not participating, I downloaded a crickets’ sound effect on my phone and played it during the silence. When a student insisted on having her dog, Rocco, on her lap and on camera for every single lesson, I added his name to our class roster.
What about you? What is something that could take a toll on you this year, but you’re claiming it as an opportunity to play?
Dana Murphy
Featured Contributor, Choice Literacy
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