The innocence of childhood

I've been reading a really good book in the last few days called You Can't Say You Can't Play, by Vivian Paley. It's a fascinating look at kindergarten and grade-school social politics.

Paley performs an experiment in her kindergarten class: what if social exclusion were simply banned? I'm just starting the section called "The New Order Begins" in which a new law is about to drop: nobody is allowed to exclude anyone else from playing with them.

Prior to enacting this law, Paley interviews each grade in the school for their feedback and thoughts on social exclusion. Many of these interviews are transcribed, and it shows the amazing self-awareness kids have of their own social interactions, as well as the complexity of schoolyard politics. Here are some examples; from the second grade class:

[A girl recalls ... ] "you didn't let me come in your club yesterday anyways!"

"It wasn't me. It was Curtis." He points to a tall blond boy. "He's the boss. He says who comes in the club."

Curtis is uncomfortable. "I don't want to be the boss. They say I am."

"We call him the boss," the boy explains.

"Yeah, because I made up the game. They wait for me to make up the game. Then I have to pick everyone or say no." [...]

"Tell me," I say, "why exactly is a boss necessary?"

"If they didn't have bosses," a boy replies, "they could just vote [to decide if someone can be allowed to play with the rest]" [...] They all agree that voting usually works in favor of the person wanting to come in and is the fairest way to decide. But having a boss is much better. [...]

One girl seems to speak for the group. "See, the bad thing about voting is, if you don't vote for that person she'll see all the people who don't like her. If it's a boss that's only one person doesn't like you so you don't feel so bad."

This is grade 2, and the rules of engagement are completely established. Here's an example from kindergarten:

Waka: I say let two people whoever wants to play. But who they don't want has to find someone else. My brother says that. He's in fourth grade.

Teacher: We should ask the older children about this.

Angelo: [who is often excluded] Let anybody play if someone asks.

Lisa: [who is a leader who often excludes] But then what's the whole point of playing?

On a related note, this week the New York Times had a piece on studies of social hierarchies in high school, called Spot on Popularity Scale Speaks to the Future; Middle Has Its Rewards. It notes that for "the rejected group, on the lowest rung on the ladder", their position is completely internalized by highschool:

In several remarkable studies, researchers have brought together students from different schools, representing different levels of the social hierarchy. Within hours, sometimes less, the children assume their accustomed places — the popular ones on top, the socially awkward on the bottom. Climbing out of the geek ghetto is hard, even if a child knows what likeability looks like.

However, not is all rosy for those on top. This passage reminds me of Curtis above:

Popularity, even the likable kind, can have costs. In his continuing study, Dr. Allen has found that the most socially skilled students are three times as likely to be drinking by age 14 as those outside the group. Up through 18, they are also more likely to commit vandalism, smoke marijuana and shoplift. They are, in short, seemlingly more vulnerable to peer pressure and expectations.

Some of those behaviors may just be due to increased opportunity and access: you can’t sample from the buffet if you’re not invited to the party.

Sam will be entering the school system next September.