We’re working on dodging today. Philippe defines: “Dodging is what you do when someone throws a ball at you and you jump out of the way” (jumping as he speaks to illustrate).
“Right, and not only that but when you’re walking on a busy sidewalk, (I walk as I talk here) do you do this?” (I imitate bumping into people every few steps, complete with sound effects.) They laugh. “No, right? You don’t walk around bumping into people on purpose, do you? What do you do?”
“You walk around!” they shout.
“Exactly, so dodging means that we move out of the way instead of bumping or crashing into other things, even without touching them.” I use lots of arm motions to illustrate this.
So we practice crossing the gym space using different locomotor patterns and different pathways. And they manage it all really well without bumping into each other. Cool.
I introduce a new tagging game: safety base dodge. Long story short: 8 safety bases are scattered on the floor. Players can rest on these for 5 seconds at a time but then must move and avoid being tagged. If tagged, players go to the edge of the play area and perform a wall walk for 10 seconds. 2 taggers and each holds a shortened swim noodle for tagging.
We play a few rounds. We stop after the first round to clarify some understandings.
“OK, friends. For a first go at a new game I thought you handled it all very well. However, at the end (you can tell they knew this part was coming) I stopped the music and said, “Freeze!” Then what happened?
“The game stopped?” one student ventures.
“Did you see everyone stop on the signal? I didn’t. I said, “Freeze!” and here’s what I saw: (I get up and run from one base to another with my hands in the air).” They laugh. I come back to our huddle. “Is that what a freeze looks like?”
“No.” They giggle as they say it.
I show it again. “A freeze looks like this (dramatic freeze), right? Not like this (more running around). There’s a difference. So now on the count of three, show me a freeze pose. One, two, three!”
Great moment, excellent poses. I pick two new taggers and we start a new round.
We finish the game. We come back together. I congratulate them on a job well done. I tell them that I can see that they are adept at dodging.
“It means you’re good at something.”
Adept dodgers. Could be a rock band.
During another break in the action one student revealed that she had owies on her leg and hand. I answered back: “You have owies on your hands and leg. Are you also telling me that this will impair you ability to participate in our upcoming game?” She scrunched her face up and I suppose making her best guess about what I was saying, shook her head and said “no.” She played all rounds without complaint.
I relate all this I suppose perhaps above all to remind myself of what it’s like when I interact with small children. On the one hand, it involves considerable theatrical investment and display. On the other hand, a fairly firm commitment to remain true to my own character. I like to use a broad vocabulary. I enjoy acting out ideas for children to get my point across. I appreciate the relationships we develop over time that allow us to have these kinds of conversations where we both learn something.
Yes, I’m teaching content. Dodging. And we are learning about how to play well with each other. We are practicing remembering rules and making decisions about how we’ll apply the rules in the way we and others play.
Two students had a crash near the end of our game. After apologies were offered and each recovered, I asked them in our large group about their crash. “What kind of pathway were you using when you crashed?” (We practiced this earlier in our warm up activity.) They both answered, “straight.” After that both were ready to describe the crash in greater detail, illustrating for the rest of us how it came to pass.
My young students each offer a world of experiences. Part of my job involves inviting those worlds into our classes and providing them with air time and stage time and activity time. All the time we have to be and become so much more than adept dodgers.
image: CC0 Lukas via Pixels