Sublime Play

I work at a small independent academy for neurodivergent students in Ann Arbor, Michigan. It's a special place, flawed as it is wondrous, most human and beautiful. I do a handful of things in the space: I teach ELA to a small group of fifth and sixth graders, I train teachers in our classroom management style, Love and Logic, and I model behavioral intervention techniques in the classroom. This year, I'll get my registered behavior technician certification to quantify my natural conflict resolution and de-escalation skillset. It's a place that supports me and helps me grow. I am thankful for it and the lessons it has brought.

I have always known how to play, but it changes over time, doesn't it? The way we play and what we think of as fun shift as we age. Perhaps as writers, we find ourselves drawn inwards to our imagination more often than most adults, but I would still venture to guess that most of us play differently than when we were children.

Board games, maybe. Nights out at bars. Sex. A glass of Pinot and our favorite smutty television program. The list is there; it's not necessarily what we were doing in our youth, but it's there.

While teaching, I learned that child-like play should never stop. True play empowers, world-builds, and expands... And it teaches. We should constantly engage in this play. Whether we play with children and fully immerse ourselves in their imaginations or allow ourselves to daydream and be immersed in our own, it is essential to our survival and thriving that we revive this particular aspect of our lives.

I'd read about this idea in college. Various theorists and authors discussing the importance of play crossed my path, but the words didn't process until recently, thanks to this job.

Of course, children must play, I thought. How obvious.

But it's all of us who must.

We must all revere the awe of children and the wonder with which they see the world. We must strive to maintain that awe and wonder in ourselves.

The image above was captured early this past winter, an unseasonably warm day that carried ease unaligned with the climate disaster it indicated.

Michigan seasons were as certain and regular as death and taxes. However, they have become unpredictable and mild in the last five or more years. Instead of clear transitions between each one, we spend weeks in meteorological limbo, unsure which season to prepare for.

Layering becomes a way of life.

These children had just spent nearly four hours following our morning academic schedule, with one small twenty-minute break between the second and third hours. They were ready to be outside. They didn't think about anything other than the beauty of the day.

Our play structures at the academy leave much to be desired. We have two sets of swings, a slide, a basketball hoop, and a soccer field. A few odds and ends litter either side of a sprawling parking lot that separates the children from their fun: a slack line, a heavy bag hanging from a tree, and what we call a "loose parts playground," where children can build with scrap materials we have laying around the school. Ah, and the Gaga Ball Pit. It is a hit with the older kids, although I can't explain the rules, the gameplay, or the ultimate goal. I know the kids stand in the pit and hit a soccer ball with their hands. They often shout " no headshots, " so I gather that is a rule. Beyond that, it appears to be one of those silly things that can be made up as you go along.

This day, the students were captivated by something other than winning a game or getting the least squeaky swing first.

They loved the fallen leaves.

"Enamored" might not capture the joy and obsession the students exuded when they stepped outside and felt the breeze gently lowering the blazing flags.

"Make a pile!" One shouted. "Grab a rake!" He commanded.

The others followed suit. Barely enough leaves left for a proper pile, but discouraged they were not. The kids put leaves on the slide and rode it down to a pile at the bottom. They built piles before the swings and jumped into them from safe heights. Ultimately, they built piles simply to destroy them, throwing the frail artifacts into the air, celebrating the ephemerality of life whether they knew it or not.

Their happiness was infectious. Their play was divine.

I love to facilitate these children's play, but I also love to join. I work with a wide range of ages, so I have the pleasure of building houses and making believe it's a home, climbing beanstalks with Jack, and talking smack while playing UNO. Being a part of their world, even for a few hours a day, is something I will never take for granted.

This image captures the gift of working with children. This particular group of children does not usually play together, have classes together, or meet at lunch to share meals. This day, however, they shared a common goal and played through their differences most simply and lovingly.

I don't often pull out my phone in such moments for pictures, but it was a day I am thankful for capturing and a lesson I won't be quick to forget.