As the first couple walked in, I stuck out my hand, probably a little too eagerly. “Welcome to Acton Academy!” I said.
The man, tall and dark with kind eyes, was wearing a yellow button-down shirt tucked into his jeans. He wore the same work boots that the contractor who built our home wore. “Hi, Laura,” he said. “I’m Divit—and this is Becca. We saw your advertisement and came to learn more about your school for our son, Bodhi.”
“Thanks so much for coming,” I said. “Our first day of school will be Tuesday, September 2. We plan to start very small and grow slowly. Our goal is seven to nine students for the first year.
“Let’s walk through the space, so I can describe our philosophy of learning and what we’ll be doing here every day.”
Thus began the first tour. Three weeks later, Bodhi was one of the seven students secured for our first year.
We had a school. Now we needed to deliver on our promises.
Chapter 4
Crossing the Threshold—Time to Start School
“In no uncertain terms, Chelsea and I are GRATEFUL every day that you and Jeff decided to dedicate a large portion of your lives to a better education for children around the world. The organic but purposeful development of our daughter’s thoughts, speech, curiosity, confidence, empathy, joy, kindness, courage, tenacity, vulnerability, problem-solving skills, AND academics are mind-blowing to us on a daily basis.”
—David King, Acton Academy parent
It was late August 2009, only days before Acton Academy’s first day of school. We were sitting in our living room, sharing a cup of coffee with Jamie Wheal, a leading expert on the neural physiology of high-performance athletics and creativity. He and his wife, Julie, were homeschooling their seven-year-old daughter and nine-year-old son.
We had asked him to join us in a discussion about the basic question: How do we choreograph the experience of the first days at Acton so the students gain a sense of purpose?
“Help us so we don’t miss something important,” I said.
“Never forget the power of ceremony,” Jamie said. “Resist falling into the administrative abyss of making dreaded announcements when you gather your families together. Do the opposite. Don’t ever make an administrative announcement. Inspire the parents each time you call them together with a commitment to the ideals and promises of Acton Academy—excellence, hard work, kindness, responsibility, and freedom. And the fact that each child has genius within.”
In that moment, Jeff and I vowed we would never stand up in front of the Acton parents and make announcements about parking or lunches or calendars or rules or attendance. All of that could be documented in something they could read on their own or learn from their child. Our school gatherings would be times for reflection, growth, and inspiration. We would honor the time, intelligence, and spirits of our Acton Academy community members. This was the bow we tied around our plan of action, and we thanked Jamie heartily as we walked him to his car.
I sat down that evening and wrote an email to the Acton parents:
Dear Founding Families,
Your journey is about to begin.
On Tuesday, September 2, at 8 a.m. you will drop your child off at the back gate of Acton Academy for our very first, first day of school. All they need to bring with them is lunch and a couple of snacks for the day. They are welcome to bring a book from home if they are reading one at the moment. We’ll have everything they need—no need to buy any school supplies.
Before that momentous occasion, though, we invite you to join us for our Founding Family Ceremony next Thursday, August 28, at 10 a.m. at Acton Academy. Together we will begin an adventure of a lifetime. See you then.
With excitement,
Laura
Ceremony first
On that Thursday, at 9:45 a.m., each new Acton student and parent was standing on the front porch of Acton Academy awaiting our Founding Family Ceremony.
Charlie and Sam stood outside too. We were going to treat them not like the owners’ children but as our special guests, our valued stakeholders. We wanted them to feel, when they walked into the room, just as welcomed, nervous, and excited as the other new students felt.
Our boys knew two of the other new families, both from their Montessori school. Cash Robinson, seven, had been in Charlie’s class; Chris Carpenter, six, had been in Sam’s. Chris’s older sister, Ellie, stood tall and quiet next to her parents. At nine, she was the oldest in the group. Bodhi was there, too; he was tracing cracks in the sidewalk with a stick he had found. And Saskia, at age five, was our youngest student. She stood bravely with her parents. These were the people who had filled out our application, paid their deposits, and signed the parent contract. But more important, these were the first brave souls to trust us with the education of their children—and trust their children to take ownership of their journey. These were our founding families.
· · ·
I walked out and welcomed each person to come inside.
Jeff and I had decided on our roles for leading the school early on in our planning. I would be the head of school, running daily operations, quality control, and working with the guides, parents, and students to create a tight community. Jeff was still teaching at the Acton School of Business and running his energy investment firm. He couldn’t be a presence at the school often but would be the brains behind developing the curriculum, would advise me on growth and finances, and would be our master of ceremonies for community gatherings.
This was the first of his ceremonial launches, and the excitement in the room was electric. Jeff has a special gift for moving an audience; I was as drawn in as the children. He walked to the front of the room and motioned the group to gather around him. All became silent.
“Today is a day about making a choice. You’ve all signed up to be here, but now the deep, heartfelt decision must be made.
“I’d like to share a story with you that my friend Oliver DeMille shared with me.
“The year is 1764. A student named Thomas Jefferson is dumped by his girlfriend, who immediately marries his best friend. This event is so devastating that twenty years later, he is still writing about it in his journal. Jefferson decides to give up on romance and rededicate himself to his studies.
“In that same year, 1764, John Adams is a teacher. He writes in his journal that he enjoys teaching because it allows him to escape the frustrating worlds of business and politics and gives him a chance to think and learn. Later that year, he will meet and marry another thinker and writer, Abigail.
“That same year, James Madison is thirteen years old. He is a good student, but so quiet and shy that his parents wonder if he will ever amount to much.
“In 1764, George Washington is a businessman. His journal shows that his top priority that year is to pay off his debts, to which he has foolishly given a personal guarantee.
“A decade later, this same group of ordinary people will declare independence from the greatest power on the face of the earth and sign it with their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor.
“A decade after that, they will write and help ratify the United States Constitution. But in 1764, they are just ordinary people, like us.”
The parents were hanging on every word, but Jeff was clearly speaking more to the children. They had gathered and sat by his feet and he squatted down to be on eye level with them.
“There comes a time when ordinary people like us have to choose. Acton Academy is a choice. It is a choice to begin a Hero’s Journey—an adventure that is fun and exciting but also includes falling down, making mistakes, failing. People on such a journey are heroes not because they have superpowers but because they choose to get back up after falling down. And they help their fellow travelers do the same. At Acton, you will have mentors and guides. But each of you will be in charge of your own journey.
“Look behind me. We have drawn
a line on the floor. It symbolizes the choice we are all making. Where we are now symbolizes the ordinary world. Across that line is new territory. It is where your Hero’s Journey will begin. We are going to ask each family to make sure you are ready to cross the line into your new life as the founding families of Acton Academy. Are you ready to make a choice?”
After Jeff finished speaking, he stood up and stepped back.
One by one, I called each family’s name. I asked them if they were ready to choose this journey called Acton Academy. “If so, please hold hands and walk together over the line into uncharted territory.”
As each family crossed into the next room, spontaneous applause broke out. We were all in. We were Acton Academy.
To close the ceremony, we all signed a copy of the Acton Promises (see appendix A). Kaylie then led the children to the back room. She dipped a brush into a bucket of red paint and asked Chris to come forward. After making sure Chris was okay with having his hand painted, Kaylie colored his palm and said, “Find a place to put your handprint on the wall. Then take a pen and sign your name.” She continued with a different color of paint for each child. The children then called their parents over and took charge of painting their palms, printing them on the wall, and having them sign their names.
Each of us had said yes to the Acton Hero’s Journey; we had claimed this space as our own.
And we’re off!
On the first day of school, our second guide would join us. Anna Blabey hailed from a background of outdoor education and project development. She, like Kaylie, had traveled the world and was ready to learn the Socratic method and witness children taking charge of their learning.
As the guides waited for the students’ arrival inside the schoolhouse, I waited in the parking lot. This would become my daily routine—to greet each child as they arrived. The family cars began pulling in. Our agreement with parents was for them to say good-bye to their child in the car and let the children enter their new school on their own. This was the children’s special place. Adults were not the central figures here—the children were. Marking this as the first day of school and a new life journey, I handed each parent a yellow rose and said, “Thank you for trusting us with your children. See you at 3:15.”
I watched each young hero walk alone up the back stairs into Acton Academy. These steps were their first achievement on their journeys. They were walking alone into territory where no other children had gone. Whether they fully understood it or not, they were the pioneers of student-driven learning. Their choices each day would carve a path for others to follow.
The schedule for the day was posted on the refrigerator and in each room (see chart).
Our goal was for the children to have everything they needed within their space, so they knew what to do and when to do it without needing an adult to make announcements, answer questions, or give directions. Maria Montessori was so right. If the adult designs and sets up the environment with the children’s line of sight in mind, the children can function independently and happily.
By 8:25 a.m., every student was sitting quietly on the green rug, which they would soon name “the artichoke rug.”
First things first—push power to the children
“Welcome to Acton Academy,” Ms. Kaylie said, using the familiar title we chose to use for our guides. “Let’s start our day with a greeting. I’ll show you first by greeting Ms. Anna, and then you do it with each other.”
She turned to Ms. Anna, who was sitting on her left, looked her in the eyes, shook her hand, and said, “Good morning, Ms. Anna.” She then looked to her right, and there sat Ellie.
Ellie looked Kaylie in the eyes, shook her hand, and said, “Good morning, Ms. Kaylie.”
The children caught on immediately and took over. A nice buzz of movement and words rose up as the group of young pioneers started their first day of Acton Academy acknowledging each other formally.
We’ve performed this small ceremony every morning for eight years. With a simple greeting, each student is known, seen, and called by name. And simple ceremony binds people together. Doing the same thing at the same time every day. This builds intimacy, the first step in building a space for learning.
“Part of learning about yourself is knowing when you need fuel and hydration,” Kaylie said. “When do you most need fuel—in the morning before you get to work or after you play?” This discussion led to a wide-open sharing. It was clear that each child had a different idea about when he or she would need a snack. It may seem mundane, talking about food as the first group discussion. But thinking more deeply, isn’t food the bonding force of a tribe, and doesn’t talking about it give each person something to say? Our goal for this precious first moment was to level the playing field in a mixed-age group where there were varying levels of knowledge and skill sets. Everyone has an opinion about food.
“You get to choose when you have your snacks or water breaks. No need to ask permission. You are in charge.”
Not only did this discussion break the ice during a time that was probably stressful for everyone, but the conclusion of it gave the group of children a sense of power and freedom. The message meant so much—we trust you and you have power. You don’t need to ask us to get a drink or have a snack. And by all means, when you have to go to the bathroom, please do so; you know where it is.
Connecting the learners to each other
Anna’s background in outdoor education gave her the skills to create engaging team-building experiences. She designed the first days of school to allow the group to bond and gain basic collaborative and communication skills with short, interactive games aimed to inspire laughter and a mini crisis of frustration—two of life’s great bonding experiences.
“Join me outside,” she said to the children. As they walked to the parking lot-turned-mini-playground, they saw the bright blue plastic tarp she had laid out. It was just small enough to make it hard for everyone to fit on it. “Everyone please stand on the tarp. At least one foot must be on the tarp for the duration of singing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’ No other part of your bodies can touch the ground.” They finished the song. She said, “Now we will fold the tarp in half and do it again. We are going to see how small we can make this tarp and still have each of you touching it with one foot for the full singing of the song.” The group fell into a heap after the fourth folding of the tarp.
Anna then asked them to sit in a circle and asked them questions. Did anyone think it would be impossible to fit the entire group on the smallest tarp? What made it possible? How many of you got frustrated? Did you have to change strategies? When else in life have you faced an impossible task and become frustrated? What did you do? For twenty minutes, this group of young children shared their feelings of frustration and success. They listened to each other. They were becoming a group.
Work and play every day
The day continued with other purposeful activities: quiet reading time with a book of each person’s choice; practicing the online math programs to decide which one worked best for each child; writing in personal journals; lunch; free time; and project time with challenges to create products to sell to each other, bargain, trade, and calculate value. This was the beginning of our first entrepreneurship project. Anna set up a supplies store where students could purchase what they needed to create their projects and gave each student $5 to spend or save. Hard, messy, collaborative work, with real engagement and measurable outcome. Project time ended with “studio maintenance”—cleanup time.
Then, the day ended where it started—everyone sitting in a circle together.
Closing the day with seeds and Socrates
This time when they gathered at the green rug, the students found a large bowl filled with green, red, pink, and yellow apples in the center of a circle, alongside a knife and a cutting board.
Kaylie began by picking up the bowl and holding it on her lap
. The students eagerly sat down, folding their legs in front of them. She took one apple at a time out of the bowl, turned it around in her hand, and looked at it intently. She then passed the first one to Bodhi, who was sitting on her left.
“As you take the apple,” Kaylie said, “look at it closely. Really analyze its appearance—the skin, stem, color, texture—and then pass it to the person next to you. Keep passing them around as you receive and analyze them.”
After the apples had gone around, Kaylie put them back in the bowl and said, “Did the apples look the same?”
“Not at all,” Bodhi said.
“How were they different? You can call on each other rather than raising your hand to speak. Bodhi, you can continue with your thoughts and then call on someone else.”
“Some had bruises; others didn’t,” he said and then nodded to Charlie to speak. They took turns sharing, calling on each other as they went.
“One had a really long stem.”
“None of them were the same color.”
“The shapes were really different. Some were small; some were big. Some were round, but others were more oval-shaped.”
“Now, let’s see what they look like on the inside,” Kaylie said. She took each apple and cut it in half across the middle, then passed the halves around. The students were quiet except for a few “oohs” and “aahs.”
“Ellie, what do you see?” she asked.
“Each one has a star of seeds inside. They all look exactly the same on the inside.”
“The seeds of potential,” Kaylie said. “It’s like each of you: so different on the outside, but inside, you have a star. You, too, have seeds of potential. Do the seeds in these apples automatically become apple trees?”
“Not if you throw them away,” said Cash. “You have to plant them if you want them to grow.”
Courage to Grow Page 5