Most of my boy’s friends are not only scheduled to the hilt with summer activities, the majority of their down time is spent video gaming or surfing the web.
My boys are embarking upon August charging ahead recklessly into the Unplug Challenge.
And guess what?
My boys are enjoying the plummet into low tech!
Today, unplugged is all about wire and divergent thinking.
Here’s what Sir Ken Robinson has to say, “Divergent thinking isn’t the same thing as creativity. I define creativity as the process of having original ideas that have value. Divergent thinking isn’t a synonym but is an essential capacity for creativity. It’s the ability to see lots of possible answers to questions, lots of possible ways to interpret a question, to think laterally, to think not just in linear or convergent ways, to see multiple answers, not one.”
So what can you make with a couple spools of wire?
Help us grow a collective “Unplug” list. Share your ideas on our Facebook page. Pass it on, and let’s see how long of a list we can create. If you have a longer story to share about “unplugging,” email it to us at [email protected] and we may just feature it here on four&twenty.
Here’s one from my house:
Play a board game.
My boys invited a friend to our house. Since the PS3 was off limits, they decided to play a board game. They were shocked to discover their friend had never played Monopoly, “No way.”
After a few minutes of indignant boy noises they, they stomped off to the game cabinet and passed on their wealth of knowledge in the most chaotic dissemination of Monopoly rules that I have ever witnessed. Midway through the game I brought them a bowl of popcorn so I could eavesdrop for a minute. The mock landlords were taking their jobs very seriously.
For the next couple hours my boy’s buddy was unplugged.
At first the Unplug Challenge gave me laryngitis. Seriously, the vibration of my vocal chords was a jumprope snapping, “No No No No No!”
The simple summer goal was to challenge my boys that low tech is fun. It began with a Victor Hugo quote posted prominently on the front of our refrigerator, “He who every morning plans the transaction of the day and follows out that plan, carries a thread that will guide him through the maze of the most busy life. But where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidence, chaos will soon reign.”
My plan was more like a nudge. So each morning I reminded my boys that it would be their responsibility to deny the technological progress of the 21st century, dust off their imagination, and engage in endless possibility.
At first my boys were bored.
R-e-a-l-l-y bored.
I reminded myself that boredom might be just the garden for imagination to bloom.
And on it went, “Mom can I _____________________.?”
Each time the blank was filled in with a noun or phrase having to do with video games or the word-wide-web, the answer was an affirmative NO.
Guess what?
The Challenge is doing the trick! I’m witnessing the resurgence of imagination in my pre-teen and teenage sons.
This weekend boredom led Liam and Søren to rummage through our shed where they discovered our old inflatable pool. That gave them an idea.
Since the adventure was to consume most of Saturday and Sunday, I enjoyed the snapshots I encountered here and there.
To begin, blowing up the thing was quite a challenge. Think Home Improvement. Yes, they actually began trying to use Dad’s air compressor to inflate. Not bad. I didn’t have the heart to stop their Tim-the tool-man-Taylor technique. Instead, I steadied myself for the pop. Luckily the compressor and the pool were not compatible so we never got to that point. Next, they tried the bicycle pump. No luck. Now think Tale of the Three Little Pigs. Yep, old school. They huffed and puffed for nearly an hour. Sure enough I eventually heard the hose running and, donning their beachwear, the quick-change artists were splashing, which is about all that a big lumbering teenager can do in an inflatable pool. Or so I thought. Not long after a few rounds of splashing, I saw them rigging up a balance beam, adjusting the ladder.
“What are you thinking boys?”
“Backyard-Ninja-Warrior!!!”
Of course.
That’s when the fun got really fun—cannonballs from the ladder and walking the plank.
Suffice to say, my boys are enjoying old school activities, the kind that don’t involve watts or mega bites.
I have vivid and happy memories from my elementary school years of building my California mission out of sugar cubes. Being that my brother is five years older than me, I was lucky to always have a preview of what was to come for various school projects. Willie was (and is) a master builder, inventor, and maker of all things cool and mechanical and as a faithful little sister, I basically worshipped him, and everything he did and made. His creations were my inspiration and although I never quite matched him in precision and craftsmanship, I am grateful for what he showed me was possible.
Sugar cubes aren't quite as common at the supermarket anymore but if you come across them, snatch up a box or two for a "sweet" construction session. They provide a great exercise in self-control…and hold magical potential for architects of all ages with their sharp edges, sparkly whiteness, and grainy texture. After all the hard work, don't forget to reward your young builder with the thrill of crunching through one perfect cube of 100% pure sugary goodness!
We use a whole-lotta-lead in our little cooperative school. This year I got wise, I go directly to Dixon for the goods! But sometimes, especially as young ones are honing their reading and writing skills, they need work that does not involve gripping a pencil. We call this type of work “Discovery” because it affords the opportunity for the primary student to make a choice, attend to the work involved in that choice, and ultimately, discover something in the process.
We dedicate shelf space and time in each day to this type of work. Discovery provides an opportunity to focus on an independent activity without dividing the effort between two skills, the academic task at hand and the developing fine motor, which is a task and a half for many children.
Discovery activities are usually hand made, or assembled from treasures found at the dollar store or at yard sales. We also mix in prepared materials designed for the Montessori and Waldorf style classroom. The possibilities are truly only limited by your imagination. Once the work is complete, the student has the work checked then attends to the task of placing the materials back in its place on the shelf until next time.
Here are some ideas from our little group, and as time goes by we'll be sharing additional activities. Please contribute your own ideas too in the comments section…learning from eachother is a gift!
Sock Paring Basket
Materials: – medium size basket – 8-10 pairs of colorful ankle socks (easier to fold together)
Instructions: Mix up sock collection in basket. Child finds pairs and folds them together. Talk about what a pair is, count the pairs aloud together, talk about the colors and patterns, etc. When finished, child separates socks and places them back in basket.
Pom Pom Sorting
Pom poms are by definition fun and full of delight! Now something to do with that large bag from Michael's that was calling your name…
Materials: – small basket – muffin tin – pom poms in various sizes and colors – small tongs
Instructions: Child builds fine motor skills by using tongs to sort pom poms into muffin cups. They can play with sorting by either size or color. When finished, child places pom poms back in basket.
A few days ago Søren shared an idea, “am going to write a story using all the letters on the periodic table.”
What in the world? After a summer of focusing on the garden—tilling earth, planting seeds, and harvesting fruit—the periodic table of the elements? But in the end, I realized that Søren’s idea has everything to do with the garden.
Last year I taught chemistry in my guild to a handful of high school students. We read The Periodic Kingdom, and “journeyed through the land of chemical elements” with P.W. Atkins. We watched the periodic table. Yes, watched. This was mad science in action. Chemists from the University of Nottingham have created a short video about each of the 118 elements. Stoichiometry, polarity, and biochemistry entered our discussion, and we concocted reactions in our little make-shift lab, extracted DNA from a variety of sources. But our explorations of the table itself was most amazing. And where was Søren? The little hovering bird was gathering seeds, of course.
So this morning, I woke up, hobbled sleepily into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and saw our favorite coffee table acquisition from the chemistry class: The Elements: A Visual Exploration of Every Known Atom in the Universe, on the table along with a writer’s toolkit—pen, paper, dictionary.
Søren had an idea and was brave enough to engage the work, even during the last week of summer.
Yesterday, before lunch, we played one of our favorite word games in the garden, Quiddler. And then, later in the day, we played another favorite, Scrabble, in the living room because a note to self reminded me to, “Play more games.”
“There are several words that sang above the rest in my high school science classes.
From botany, photosynthesis is the one.
From marine biology, Echinodermata and Coelenterata.
From chemistry, stoichiometry.
And, from cellular biology, mitochondria captured my imagination.”
So begins the lesson.
"Mitochondria located in the cytoplasm are little energy factories within the cell. These amazing organelles enable respiration, which allows the cell to move, to divide, and to thrust their unique purpose. Mitochondria can have different shapes depending on the cell type. Because they contain their own DNA, ribosomes and can produce their own protein, mitochondria are only partially dependant upon the host cell."
What I set out to explore with my students is the fact that mitochondria possess a double membrane, an outer, which is smooth, and an inner, which possesses many folds called cristae which exponentially increase membrane surface area.
“All living cells have mitochondria. But it is amazing to consider that typical animal cells have up to 2000 mitochondria… in each cell!”
I wanted to take their imagination on a journey between these folds.
“Folds give mitochondria their unique potential; enable the organelle to be highly productive. Cristae take batches of sugar and oxygen and produce ATP (adenosine triphosphate)—cell food.”
At the beginning of the year, science began by exploring the idea that science and art are uniquely connected.
Leonardo himself reminds us, “All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions.”
My hope was to connect the exploration of mitochondria to the unit we had just completed on the human nervous system. We explored the potential of individuality as we explored the brain—human potential, genius. And here another potential to bridge the gap between learning information and sparking individuality presented itself, this time on a cellular level.
“So today, to continue our exploration of mitochondria, we are going to watch a film about origami.”
Yes, origami.
The students gathered round the TV. I popped in the DVD and set out to accomplish some administrative goals.
Not far into the film I overheard the little group letting out amazement. I was not surprised. But soon I witnessed something that caught me off guard. One-by-one individual students from the group ranging from the 5th through the 11th grader, got up to grab a stack of paper.
They were folding.
The film did not provide a directive to viewers. This was not a "fold-along" film. These students were engaging in the task spontaneously.
Being inspired is magnificent.
During the next biology workshop I provided instructions and large pre-cut squares of paper for the students to fold a hyperbolic parabola. This, to reinforce the film’s message that even paper has hidden potential.
“Folding paper is work. But your work is not in vain. Your work utilizes a fraction of potential. And the paper will never be the same.”
Dare I say, neither will they?
I think mitochondria is one of those words that will stick.
A couple months ago the boys ran barefoot, shovels in hand eager to pull out the remnants of our summer garden. Last spring we transformed the decorative raised beds that edge our suburban lawn to vegetable patches, set up a compost pile on the strip of land between us and the neighbors, and kept a journal of our progress. At one point my youngest turned to me and remarked, "Happy Winds-day, Piglet," which made me burst out laughing because it truly was a perfectly wonderful blustery day indeed!
As the boys pulled at pesky crab grass, harvested the last of the tomatoes and onions for afternoon salsa, they stumbled on an unexpected treasure. Growing in the midst of the grass were a handful of taller weed-like plants that we decided to pull from the soil. The boys were delighted to discover potatoes beneath the surface in various stages of development. I asked them how they thought potatoes started growing in our garden when we had never planted potatoes? After some thought and discussion they realized that these were volunteer plants that must have come from our rich compost soil.
I photographed the plants, and placed the real thing in plastic bags in the refrigerator for observation research later in the week and ran to the local library for a handful of books on the subject.
Be looking, be flexible, be ready! Sometimes the most unexpected treasures make the most interesting subjects for observation!
In my guild, fall is Person I Admire season. This year I had an anniversary—five students including my eldest son, who had participated in Person I Admire once a year for ten years in a row. I gave them each a few minutes before the presentations began to reminisce and to tell the group what they found personally significant. Listening, I realized that this activity had evolved into much more than a clever way to get kids to read. What began as a culminating activity, an opportunity to present a biographical report in costume from the point of view of a famous person, became an ongoing academic thread that has built into my children and my students the value of imagination.
I will never forget the year that my oldest son, now a ten year Person I Admire veteran, declared that he wanted to research Frank Gehry. There was no doubt in my mind what had inspired him. His weekly music lessons are situated in the conservatory across the street from what was, back then, the construction site of Frank Gehry's LA masterpiece, Walt Disney Concert Hall. So Taylor read books about Gehry (over and over and over again), visited a local museum exhibiting Gehry’s work (numerous times) and spent hours in the hands-on architectural activity room inspired by Gehry’s work. We even went on a driving tour to see other buildings designed by Frank Gehry in Los Angeles. Eventually architectural sculptures began cropping up all over the house—a veritable metropolis in my living room. The application of learning was alive and well. The ultimate fruit of my son's research, research that went on for three years, was to culminate in October of 2003 with the public unveiling of the concert hall.
Climbing the stairs a few paces ahead of me donning his idea of the perfect costume, Gehry’s concert hall in the form of an enormous hat, my son was deaf to the buzz of astonished whispers swirling. Surveying the lay of the land, connecting one by one with the massive shapes, he was unaware that his presence detracted attention from the inauguration of the icon itself.
While gazing at the shimmering mosaic rose pool, a couple shaking their heads in amusement walked right up to my little boy and invited him to be part of their photo, a photo I was asked to snap. As quick as the fascinated strangers wrapped their arms around my son’s small shoulders the shutter clicked. Handing the camera back to a man I’ll never see again, he flashed me a grin and thanked me for the experience. I followed silently two steps behind my son chasing sunlight on stainless steel.
Another man approached the hat only to discover, eyes dropping, that it rested on the head of a small boy. Introducing himself to my son as an award-winning architect he listened intently to the tale of the hat. Head shaking, eyes twinkling, he patted my son’s back, and looked to the sky in wonderment. In the end he asked for my son’s name and promised to commit it to memory, “I’ll be watching for you Taylor.”
Then came a barrage of curious strangers—a tour bus of people snapping pictures like paparazzi of the boy and his hat, fascinated parents demanding the name of my son’s teacher, students, security guards, and weary teachers wanting this formula for success. Each managed a moment with my boy and his great silver-winged hat. Taylor gladly shared the story of watching the icon slowly come to life, of the man named Frank O. Gehry who made buildings inspired by fish, and of his own research project that sparked the idea for the hat that triggered all the storytelling in the first place.
Swarms of people came to experience an architectural inauguration and were captivated by something they had not anticipated— a boy wearing a monumental hat. Toward the end of our visit, as I stood beside Gehry’s swooping silver sculpture pondering my son’s interactions with perfect strangers a man touched my shoulder and looked intently into my eyes, “You must be doing something right if your kid is into Gehry.”
I realized in that moment that these strangers were reaching out to touch imagination in a bland world. Crossing paths with this child, who connected with creativity and engaged in the work necessary to bring an imagination into reality, forced these strangers to step outside of what they believed a child is capable of and jolted their stereotype. I was in the midst of a slice of humanity that had journeyed afar to identify with a stainless steel exclamation point. It struck me that creativity is indeed a great magnet.
Art, whatever the form, begs its audience to attend to our longing to eradicate a haunting sense of disconnection. People had come in droves to celebrate face-to-face with Frank Gehry's imagination, had come to prove that outrageous dreams are possible. Gehry’s architectural masterpiece begs the question, “Why do we hide in dimly lit boxes behind blinds that keep us safely isolated from the risk of imagination?” His soaring structure presents a challenge to chase away the complacency that isolates humanity. My son, wearing a hat inspired by an architect he has never met, opened the door of imagination for people he will likely never meet again. His hat drew connections like a magnet, broke down walls, and briefly caused lives to intersect in a way that is noteworthy. My son audaciously locking arms with Gehry implored, “Look, me too!” Like Gehry before him, Taylor responded to the creative impulse, opened the blinds, and let the real thing in.
