Roots of Empathy. Mary Gordon
the doors of social and emotional learning for children, giving them skills of emotional perception that strengthen their sense of self and their ability to connect to and collaborate effectively with others throughout childhood and adolescence. This learning comes from emotion shared with classmates, attunement with the baby and communication with adults who are on the same emotional wavelength.
A school vice-principal who is also a Roots of Empathy instructor once shared just such a moment with me:
By the time of Jenna’s second visit to the classroom, she was almost four months old and trying very hard to roll over. When we spoke about this in the post-family-visit class, the children found it awesome that a baby so small could be so determined, could put so mu ch energy and concentration into this single accomplishment. They were particularly intrigued with what a little gymnast Jenna was as she grasped her feet and pulled them up. “She really, really wants to roll over—you can see it in her face and in her whole body!”
What was even more perceptive in this group of six- and seven-year-olds was the profound understanding of the concept of frustration. “It is so hard to want to do something really badly and just not be able to do it.” There was general agreement on that. Then Daniel, with one of those insights that young children frequently show but which never fail to amaze the adults in their lives, said, “It must be so scary to not be able to control your own body.” What an intuitive sense Daniel gave us of the complexity of emotions we experience when we are confronted with something new—the eagerness to make it happen, the thrill of discovery, and yet, the fear of not being in control.
The children were full of anticipation, awaiting Jenna’s third visit. We had discussed their predictions about what she would be able to do by now and “rolling over” was a hot favourite. On the family-visit day, Jenna’s mother placed her on her back on the green blanket. Almost immediately, she started twisting her body, stretching her arms, and swinging her feet off the floor and over to the side. Within seconds, she had flipped over onto her tummy and the class went wild. Every child was clapping and cheering. There was a community of delight that Jenna had reached a new milestone.
Daniel turned to Shakeel and said, “See, Shakeel, just like you. She can do it now.” In the general excitement, no one asked Daniel what he meant. Later that morning, the children were drawing. Shakeel drew a picture of himself learning to ride his bike. “Just like Jenna,” he said. Shakeel explained how difficult it was to learn to ride a two-wheeler. He had experienced lots of frustration. He was so glad that Daniel had been helping him after school and stuck with him till he was able to do it. Daniel had told him he deserved to succeed because he had worked so hard for so long to get it right.
It all clicked into place. Jenna’s milestone, Shakeel’s milestone. The children had transferred their insights in the classroom to their world outside the classroom. The vehicle was empathy.
This was a rich experience for everyone involved. Together, around their eagerness for the baby’s achievement, they shared an emotion, established a strong sense of wishing others well and formed the kind of connection that binds people together and builds civil societies.
The immediate gains for children in the Roots of Empathy class are skills that enable them to be understood and to understand, and the critical blending of emotion, cognition and memory that will make them successful learners. And as future parents, they gain living experience of a model of competent parenting that they can bring to raising, caring for and teaching their own children. And, perhaps, most importantly of all, each of these advantages builds on the other to enrich our everyday interactions and creates the base for a society that values collaboration, interdependence and respects the voice of every member.
THE ROOTS OF EMPATHY CLASSROOM: MY TEACHER IS A BABY
Leah Teaches Class
WHILE WAITING for the children to return from play time, Sharon, the Roots of Empathy instructor, is prep a ring the empty classroom for the expected baby visit. She opens a large tote bag and unfolds a bright green blanket. “This blanket defines the baby’s space,” she will explain. “The children will sit around it so they can all see the baby.” She is careful to arrange it in the middle of the open space so that everyone will have enough room.
I introduced the idea of the blanket for several reasons: to create a germ- barrier between the students and the babies to reassure the nervous, first-time parents; to create a stage where all of the students can see the performance of life, the drama of growth and the miracle of attachment taking place; and to have a physical reminder for the younger children not to crawl over or run over and touch the baby impulsively. We set the children up for success when we establish rules and make it as easy as possible for them to comply. The blanket helps us do that.
Sharon takes one final glance in her bag at the toys she has selected to use during the lesson. The teacher arrives, and her students are not far behind. The toys, too, have been specially chosen for Roots of Empathy to be tools in demonstrating the baby’s development, achievements and temperament. The baby plays differently with the toys during each visit and the children are able to observe the new skills he has developed. In fact, they chronicle the baby’s development in many domains, they learn the baby’s unique temperament, and notice the baby’s feelings—is he frustrated? surprised? interested? determined?
Today’s class is a kindergarten class, with all the energy and laughter you’d expect from a group of five-year-olds who have just been outside playing. They arrange themselves around the blanket, wriggling into their front-and-centre positions.
This is the age group where Roots of Empathy started. My idea was to begin with the youngest children and focus on developing a literacy of feelings that would help them navigate the rough waters of childhood. I believed that the pain and difficulty of not knowing how to identify or manage their emotions could be prevented if they had the tools for a rich social and emotional life, which they could use not just to build individual relationships but to take responsibility for creating a peaceful and compassionate classroom. I felt strongly that this was best launched at the earliest possible age. Before the age of two, children are already becoming aware of their own unique selves and of their emotions.1 So it made a lot of sense to introduce the first program to a kindergarten class.
When six-month-old Leah and her mother appear in the doorway, there are murmurs of excitement around the room. “Let’s sing our welcoming song,” says Sharon, and leads them in singing.
As Leah’s mother lifts her daughter out of the infant seat, all the children stand up and wait eagerly for Leah and her mother to walk around the circle. Each child smiles or says “Hi, Leah” or gently touches her foot in greeting. When Leah’s mother puts her on the green blanket in a sitting position, the children gasp, “She’s sitting, she’s sitting.” In their excitement they edge forward, calling Leah’s name and waving to her. Malik points out: “Her mommy had to help her before and now she’s sitting all by herself.” Sharon tells the group, “This is called a milestone. Leah can do something she wasn’t able to do before.”
Then Sharon asks: “What do you think this means for Leah? What will be different in her life now that she can sit up?” There is a chorus of answers:
“She can see us better.”
“She can point.”
“She can reach for things.”
“She can throw the ball to us now.”
“She can hold an ice-cream.”
Leah beams back at the smiling faces around her.
“Can she crawl yet?” asks a student.
“She’s