I love my job.

Some of the Montessori math materials take up a lot of space. So we let students work with them outside of their classrooms in the hallway. Today, I listened through the window in my office as three elementary boys collaborated to build a number called vigintillion (60 decimal places). One of the boys quipped “What if there was a number called Pooptillion?”

First of all, bravo young man, for that creative potty-word, math mashup. And to be honest, I did not know that vigintillion existed before I started this job, so maybe this kid is onto something. Secondly, I love my job because when I hear things like this, I know we are doing this education thing the right way.

In a traditional public elementary school, hallway rules are strict. In fact, they are often posted along the walls for the sake of redundancy. You will not find children talking quietly to one another, let alone actively collaborating in the hallway. Why? Because a 7 year old might rather discuss mythical toilet-related numbers than whatever assignment he has been given. That, among other undesirable, inappropriate or disruptive behavior is always a distinct possibility. To a rigid, adult-centric education system, all of it is viewed as the gateway to chaos.

And that’s just it. The possibilities have been considered and deemed unacceptable from on high. But rather than give the children a chance to disprove the theory (or for that matter, to prove it) we just remove the possibility entirely. Then, for good measure, we replace that opportunity with a restrictive rule that applies penalty to mistakes before they are even made. The intended result, as they call it in prison, is compliance.

Since we’re talking about prison. Has anyone ever heard the term “recidivism?” Yeah. That happens because the rigid rules applied in prisons do not empower inmates to strengthen their own decision making. They comply to avoid penalty or receive reward, not to address any underlying instincts. The result is that they can only be successful under an extremely narrow set of specific conditions. The moment new variables are introduced, even the benign ones of everyday life in the real world, they are forced to rely on the old habits which landed them in prison in the first place.

Now, I appreciate potty humor about as much as a grownup father of four boys should. My ears prick up when I detect it coming from our students. I could have peaked my head out the window at these students and channeled that old lady from Sha Na Na…wait, you didn’t watch that TV show when you were a kid? How about Pearl, the old window lady from 227? Still no? Let’s just move on. Instead, I chose neither of these characters, opting instead as we so often do in Montessori, to let the scene develop.

Anyway, the juvenile humor wasn’t the best part of this situation. That moment came after the obligatory snickering died down. One of the boys asked in a pseudo-teacher voice “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” After a moment of silence, he said “Then don’t use bathroom words.” With the situation resolved, everyone returned to work as if nothing ever happened.

And that, my fellow parents and educators, is why we get up in the morning. Because even though this kind of silliness could just as easily escalate to a bigger disturbance, it might also turn into something important. This moment should serve to any adult as a reminder that the children are learning. Not just from us, but from each other.

That’s the job. For parents and teachers. Not to carefully curate a child’s existence to avoid the unpleasant, but to create an environment where mistakes will happen. We must see that it all has value; discord, risk-taking, being unkind, dishonesty, bad decisions, impulsivity and all the rest of the sticky parts of growing up.

It is not about minimizing frequency or severity of conflict as much as it is building and protecting a functioning, self-governing, social community. And yes, a group of 6-9 year olds is capable. In the best communities, a problem for one is a problem for many. But the more we artificially try to prevent or resolve situations on their behalf, the more dysfunctional and fragile the community becomes.

In a connected classroom community, everyone holds cards and must be given the chance to play their hand. Even the kid who was accidentally dealt the game instruction card and a 2 of spades. For most of this school year, the child who became the teacher in this little vignette has almost exclusively been the disruptor. But today, he had an ace in his hand and the only reason he was able to play it, was because he knows he will always have a seat at the table.