On a beautiful fall day, I notice a group of children discover a dead
squirrel lying in a parking space on the side of the road. I've seen
these children playing together on the corner playground after school
each day, their age’s range from kindergarten to third grade. At first
they stand around the squirrel talking about it, staring intently.
By the looks on almost all of their faces, it seems this is the first
time that any of them had seen something dead, in real life. I am
mesmerized by the children and stand back from the group wanting to see
for myself how this is going to play out. It seems somewhat like
observing a social experiment.
The children stand on the curb by the side of the road, knowing if
they step foot off the curb their parent will call out from across the
playground (where we all gather to talk), “Get out of the street." I can
tell that huddled together around this dead animal, they are coming up
with a plan.
They are determined to get it out of the street and buried. The
smallest boy of the group continuously informs the other children, “We
need to get it out of the street.” He begins to bark orders to the other
children, assigning a few children to find sticks and begin digging the
hole to bury the squirrel. And then telling the rest of the group, “We
need to pick it up and carry it to the hole”.
Many a “Ewww!!! I’m not touching it!” can be heard from the remaining
children. Burying the squirrel seemed like a good idea until there was
mention of actually touching it! The bickering on who was going to do
it goes on for several minutes.
My oldest son, who is on the autism spectrum, is pacing the perimeter
of the playground, as he is sometimes known to do. Today, he is not
engaging in the group experiment. My youngest is a part of the group,
and remains very quiet, standing the furthest away from the dead animal.
While the children continue to argue over the technique to use to get
the squirrel over to the hole being dug, the parents hear mention of
touching it, and we all shout “DO NOT TOUCH THE SQUIRREL!”
One parent goes over to explain how it could have diseases and it’s
never a good idea to touch any animal that you find dead. “Just leave it
alone," she says to them and turns and walks back to the rest of us,
who are standing on the sidelines talking.
The moment the mom turns her back, the children are back to arguing
over new technique ideas that they just thought of, each child
passionate and convinced their idea is the one that will solve the
problem.
Maybe you’ve seen this scene before, around a conference table at
work, amongst your siblings or family members? The ages may be slightly
older, but these children are clearly imitating the adults in their
lives, negotiating and strategising to come up with the best possible
solution.
As the children are arguing, one of the smallest girls leaves the
group with determination on her face and a furrowed brow. She is
searching the ground for something. The other children call over to her
to come back to the group, but she is persistent in her search and
eventually finds what she is looking for.
She grabs a big stick and walks back to the group. There is no
discussion, she never tells them what she is doing—just does it. She has
the look on her face that I’ve seem many women before her wearing, the
look that says, “I’m just going to do this myself, so that it gets
done!”
The stick is only inches shorter than her and it takes both hands for
her to hold it. She ventures off the curb and begins to slide the
squirrel over to the curb. It’s a slow process. With each gentle
maneuver, the other children scream and jump because suddenly the
squirrel looks as if it’s come back to life.
Her courage at times begins to wane, but then she looks at all of the
children who are watching her and it ignites her determination to keep
going. The smallest boy tries to tell her how to do it, her short curly
hair swings when she snaps her head in his direction and gives him a
look that says, “Don’t even try to tell me what to do!”
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