Baaaaaaaby shark, or letting joy be joy.

Photo Jan 11, 11 02 00 PM.jpg

This is Baby Shark, with credit to Super Simple Songs for our classroom’s favorite of this viral sensation. My preschoolers loveeeeeeeeee Baby Shark. They also love Santa Shark. And Halloween Shark. If there’s a Valentine’s Shark, or a St Patrick’s Shark, or a Summer Shark? They will probably love all of those too. They dance with Baby Shark. They look for ways to make pools for Baby Shark. They sing and read and love on Baby Shark. And, really, we’re pretty huge fans of Super Simple Songs, period.

But, what is Baby Shark doing on my arm?

I love my job; it feels weird to refer to it as a job. I get paid, but that’s not why I look forward to every day. I wake up smiling because my job is pure joy. I get excited for Mondays, because I get to hang out with clever, creative, and awesome tiny humans every day. I wanted to symbolize everything that I love about preschool. But I also wanted to say more. I wanted to say: my preschoolers are beautiful and brilliant, as they are. We don’t need to change their fundamental way of being in the world. We don’t need to transform them. We just need to support them.

Thus, “respect the stim”. It’s brought up in autistic advocacy circles often, because too many — most, almost all — autistics have experienced the opposite. Shut down. Mocked. Forced to be someone other than themselves. Even my own family — who I adore, who have celebrated me, who have honored so much of my very being — spent many minutes asking me to PLEASE. STOP. ROCKING. Twenty years late, I remember it.

Respecting the stim means allowing.

Stims can be joyful. And they can be necessary. They are a powerful expression of someone’s very way of being in the world. If we catch ourselves telling a fellow human to stop, we need to ask ourselves why. For most of history, it’s because X has not been deemed “socially acceptable”. That’s not a good enough reason. If no one is being hurt, emotionally or physically, then why? Why does it need to stop? And if we’re truly worried about safety, can we find a safe way for our friend, family member, student, etc, to engage in what’s important to and for them? Can we work with them, instead of against?

Respecting the stim means celebrating.

Stims are creativity, joy, experimentation, expression, movement, regulation, and so much more. There are as many stims, ways of stimming, reasons for stimming as there are people who stim. I celebrate people — people who have the right to be their authentic selves. I look forward to a world where “quiet hands” doesn’t exist, where little girls rock to their heart’s delight, where teachers and parents can see the art that exists in a perfectly crafted line of alphabet blocks. It’s a world that feels very far away sometimes, but it’s also a world that you have the power to bring closer.

Respecting the stim means moving.

Some people’s bodies were made to move. And that’s okay. It’s okay if someone needs to pace the classroom while you read a story out loud. It’s okay if someone needs to jump up and down. It’s okay if someone wants to wave their fingers in front of their eyes when listening to your directions. It’s okay. I promise. Let bodies move the way they need to move. Learning can still happen (and often happen better).

Respecting the stim means not always teaching.

This seems to be the hardest one. There’s about a thousand books and articles out there about using children’s interests to teach. And I’m all about that, because aren’t we all better learners when we care about what’s happening?

But, sometimes interests just need to be interests. Joy just needs to be joy. Sometimes listening to “Baby Shark” just needs to be laughing and singing and making silly noises together. Sometimes you need to forget the lesson plan and throw some snowy silver glitter into the air. I mean, take a moment. Think of something you love dearly. What if someone else decided when and where and how much you could do that thing? Or if you could do that at all? What kind of world would that be? Who would you be? And what kind of relationship could you ever have with that person?

Don’t try to twist everything into a “teachable moment”. Just don’t.

 

This is what Baby Shark is to me: joy. Joy that is allowed — encouraged — to simply be. And it’s one of the greatest gifts my preschoolers have ever given me. To learn, by accepting them, what it means to accept myself. It means everything.

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