“Deep change starts with a story that shines light on the truth of the human past and shows a way forward.”
—Van Jones

Before the 2020 global pandemic, our ECE world was already teetering on a precarious brink. Now, as we pick up the shattered pieces, we have the task of examining the stories that have brought us here and discovering the ones we want to shape our future. Of course, we have long known the big stories that are finally shaping the headlines and moving into new bold government proposals—child care is part of our country’s infrastructure; the early years are critical for healthy brain development; poverty, racism, and violence leave many children in an opportunity and achievement outcome gap; if we are to truly provide quality, we need a stable, well-paid workforce. 

A deeper examination of the underlying stories that shape our professional beliefs will allow us to root out any thinking that has been misguiding our actions. To play with this idea, I offer an example of uncovering shifts in my own thinking over the years, leading me to now challenge what I used to see as a sacred story for early childhood programs—defining high quality programs as those that strive to be child-centered. 

Early in my career, I was a big proponent of Jean Piaget’s theory of constructivist learning and understanding the developmental stages of individual learners. This naturally led me to promote the idea of developmentally appropriate practice to counter push-down academics and keep early childhood programs child-centered. As colleagues of color pressed for including culturally relevant education in our definition of quality, the social constructivist theories of Lev Vygotsky began to make more sense to me as he stressed the role of social interactions and culture in creating knowledge. I began to notice how a focus on the development of individual children was creating blind spots. I wondered, “Have we as a profession been conflating some ideas that needed to be untangled and teased apart?”

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Over a decade ago, encounters with two smart educators in exemplary early learning programs provoked me to further problematize a focus on “child-centered.” Janet Robertson at the Mia Mia Child and Family Studies Centre of Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia, pointed out that we should really use the term “children-centered,” because our work and learning happen in group settings. As I watched and listened to Robertson describe her thinking, I began to understand the ecosystem educators must embrace in their daily decision making. Children come to us as more than individuals—they are members of families, cultural groups, racialized experiences, and particular geographies. That becomes especially complicated as we interface with groups of these complex beings. At the very least, I thought, perhaps all early childhood programs should call themselves “child and family centers.”

Across the pond, Bridgette Towle, an educator at Kids’ Domain in Auckland, New Zealand, was someone I saw as part of a marvelous child-centered program. But she stopped me in my tracks with her pronouncement, “I no longer believe in child-centeredness, because that leaves me, as the educator, out of the equation.”

Ah, another place for unpacking some ideas. Indeed, Towle was suggesting the pedagogical choreography that Loris Malaguzzi described many decades earlier: “Learning and teaching should not stand on opposite banks and just watch the river flow by; instead, they should embark together on a journey down the water. Through an active, reciprocal exchange, teaching can strengthen learning how to learn.”

More recently, I heard Rukia Monique Rogers, founder and director of The Highlander School in Atlanta, Georgia, emphatically describe her school as nature-centered, rather than child-centered. Children and families are profoundly respected at The Highlander School, but equally valued is children’s kinship with the natural world. Rogers’ description of her program as nature-centered reflects the wisdom of Indigenous people around the world, aptly summed up in the words of Chief Sealth, whom my city of Seattle is named after.

“Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.” 

As I share these accounts, my hope is that we poke and probe to uncover what is really required for our ECE programs to be relevant in today’s world, and going forward. How can we reimagine the idea of “readiness,” thinking beyond protection from a virus, or preparing for kindergarten, or acquiring job skills, though those concerns have their place. Coming through a life-changing year of a global pandemic, how could we use the opportunity to go forward with deeper understandings and more expansive goals? We can embrace the thinking of Joanna Macy, David Korten, and a host of other activists who refer to this time as “The Great Turning,” recognizing that changing our future begins with changing our stories.

Think and talk with others:

• How do you understand the role of stories in shaping our lives?
• What story do you want to be known for?
• How can the opening quote from Van Jones come to life in your work?
• What story could be guiding the role of ECE in living courageously and responsibly today, and into the future?