Why your classroom looks nothing like what you say you believe
The Santa Claus Question
“Mommy, do you believe in Santa Claus?” my 9-year-old asked.
Even though we don’t celebrate Christmas, I had to respond in a way that would keep her believing, at least for the sake of her friends.
“I believe that Santa Claus is real for the people who celebrate Christmas. I believe in the idea of Santa,” I replied.
That satisfied her for the time being, and she agreed that Santa is real for her friends. This, from the same child who wrote a letter to Santa when she was 4 years old.
So what does believing in Santa Claus have to do with Early Childhood Education? Plenty!
When Cleanup Time Becomes a Dance Party
I recently observed a teacher’s “improved” transition routine in her 3-year-old classroom. She’d proudly ditched the yelling for a clean-up song—progress! Except the music didn’t stop. Instead of picking up toys, most kids were dancing. Six joined hands for an impromptu ring-around-the-rosie marathon, collapsing in giggles. Again. And again. One industrious sweeper attacked the art center (hire her!), while another kid dumped out puzzle pieces and rolled around in them.
The whole time, the teacher stood in the center cleaning up her own materials, oblivious. Fifteen minutes later, when I asked how it went, she smiled: “This is how it usually goes.”
As educators, we sometimes say things we think others want us to say, or because we want to align our beliefs with a colleague’s. When this happens, it’s just like saying we believe in Santa. In our heads, we know Santa isn’t real, but in our hearts, we want to believe in the idea of Santa Claus and what he represents.
Here’s What Santa Looks Like in Early Childhood Education
Developmentally Appropriate Practice (DAP)
The Circle Time Dilemma
Last week, a preschool teacher proudly told me, “Oh, we’re all about DAP here. Child-centered, hands-on learning—that’s us!” Then she walked me through her daily schedule. Circle time? Forty-five minutes. Every morning. All twenty 4-year-olds sitting crisscross applesauce while she led calendar, weather, letter of the week, and read a book. “They love it,” she insisted, though she admitted some kids “have trouble focusing” and need frequent reminders to “keep their bodies still.”
When I asked about center time, she brightened. “They get thirty minutes of free play—well, once they finish their work.” The work? A teacher-assigned art project (everyone’s butterfly had to look the same), a cut-and-paste activity, and a sensory bin rotation she controlled. “I let them choose which center to start with, though,” she added. “As long as there’s space.”
This teacher genuinely believed she was practicing DAP. She could even define it when I asked: “Meeting children where they are, following their interests, learning through play.” But her forty-five-minute circle time? Her identical butterflies? Her “choice” that wasn’t really choice? That’s the gap I keep seeing—teachers who can recite the definition but don’t recognize when their practice contradicts it.
Why the Gap?
So why is there such a discrepancy between what so many teachers say they believe and what they actually do?
I think this is complicated. DAP has been researched and talked about in our field for so many years, teachers have been trained to say it’s so. However, parroting back the definition of DAP to pass an exam is not the same as knowing how to put the principles into practice.
My Overhead Projector Awakening
I remember sitting through a college course with a professor I called “overhead projector man.” I know I’m dating myself here, but this guy had at least two dozen of those acetate slides that he used on the overhead projector. In every class period. For one hour, twice a week, the entire semester.
Snooze-fest!
He was supposed to be teaching us about joyful, engaged learning. He was supposed to be teaching us how children learn through play. I’m sorry, but when did overhead slides and boring lectures ever model hands-on, experiential learning?!
This is where the disconnect comes in. It’s hard to believe in something that you can’t quantify. Sure, we can explain what DAP is in technical terms. But if all of our personal school experiences were whole group, mostly teacher-directed, and offered few choices, then we don’t have an inner compass of experience to guide us.
That training we’ve all had, the one that tells us what DAP is, and maybe even provides examples of what it looks like, chances are, it was a teacher-directed training and did not model DAP practices for us (said the trainer). Or maybe, you’ve heard the word DAP so many times, you’re already convinced that you get it and you’re doing it, so you weren’t open to trying something different (so said the trainer).
I know what it’s like. You take a workshop in the evening, after a long day of working with cranky children. You zone out. You watch a TikTok video while you think you’re hiding your phone under the table. I know you! I see you! I’ve seen the glazed-over looks in my workshops.
Closing the Gap: From Santa to Reality
How do we get to the place where what we say we believe is actually what we do? How do we really align our beliefs about how children learn with the environment and experiences that should shape them?
Step 1: Set aside everything you’ve been told to believe.
Step 2: Disregard everything you heard in all of those trainings you’ve attended. (Really, said the trainer!)
Step 3: Forget about what you THINK everyone wants you to believe or say or do.
Step 4: Find a place for quiet reflection. Take time to really think about this, and answer this one question: What do you believe?
When you answer honestly – not what you think you should say, not what your training told you, but what you ACTUALLY believe about how children learn – that’s when everything changes. That’s when you stop performing DAP and start living it.
Because here’s the truth: Children don’t need us to believe in Santa Claus. They need us to believe in them.
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