Recently I was at the sandbox on River Side Drive with my granddaughter. (The strange thing about this experience is that I probably played in this very sandbox myself as a child, watched over by my grandmother, and my daughter did so too. If not this one on 119th street, then the next one down on 105th.) I have been eves dropping on sandbox interactions for the last few years, noticing how often I over hear the words “yours”, “hers or his” and “mine.” Here is what happens over and over and over. A child brings a toy to the sandbox, then eventually tires of it, and leaves it lying in the sand. Another child toddles over and picks up the pink shovel, or blue cup. The mother of the second child says "Don't play with that. It's not yours!" Or alternatively the "owner" of the toy, sees that someone else is touching "her" toy, and rushes over to grab it. Parents intervene on the side of the child who brought the toy. "Give it back. It's not yours." So the lesson is: ownership is what counts, even if you are not using it.
The year my daughter was four and playing in these sandboxes, we had just come back from East Africa. Over there she was part of a changing crowd of children who roamed around the property sharing corn cobs, little fruits, flowers (for catching bees), and other odds and ends. If the children fought or cried the older ones were called in and scolded. So peace generally reigned and she was treated very kindly. Then she was back in Riverside Park as we passed through New York. I remember my grandmother remarking that she was surprisingly at how easy going about sharing toys in the sandbox my daughter was. I wondered if it was because she had been treated so nicely in Kenya, part of a world where the concept of “mine” and “yours” seemed more fluid.
Then last week I was back in the same territory for the third time. We had brought two blue cups to the sandbox. My granddaughter quickly abandoned them in favor of climbing the stairs to the slide endlessly. Soon two older (3 or 4 years old) girls picked up not only these two toys, but also a battered paper cup and a shovel. After a while my granddaughter went back to the sandbox, found the shovel unused and picked it up. The older girls pounced, grabbing the shovel from her bewildered hands. I intervened. I said something like, "You have four toys there. Give her one to play with." They said, "But we don't want to and we're bigger." as if that settled it. "I said, that's exactly why you should share. Bigger kids are nice to littler kids." They looked at me dubiously. I just kept firmly but gently insisting, and eventually they reluctantly handed over the shovel. After a while, I showed them how to hold out their cup and my granddaughter happily poured her sand into it. Peace returned. And most interestingly the girls were attracted to me. They kept coming over to talk to me and when I left them ran after me asking my name and saying goodbye.
I thought about this. I could have said, "The blue cups are hers so give them to her. They're not yours." I didn't particularly want her to learn the lesson that ownership is paramount. I decided to frame the encounter as one that had to do with sharing and being kind to younger children rather than ownership. The up date from New York is that my grand daughter, who will soon be 2, has become fascinated by possessive pronouns
It's good to catch up on your blog after being refocused elswhere for two months. I'm glad you shared this moment at the sandbox.
Posted by: Allen | July 20, 2011 at 08:33 AM