I’ve posted recently about how wonderful I think the Montessori system of learning is – the caring, considered approach to helping children learn to become independent and confident young people.
Well, this week my daughter took her first step into the Montessori classroom and what an awful shock I received. I looked at the school six months ago. The woman I will call ‘P’ was helpful, encouraging and seemed very genuine in her approach. She spent almost an hour talking about the school and showed great enthusiasm for the teaching approach and children.
It was almost as though I had stepped into a different place when we arrived on Friday afternoon for my daughter’s first session. Thankfully, the Montessori philosophy encourages parents to remain with their child for the first week or two so I was aware of exactly what went on.
Being the kind of conscientious, over prepared person I am, I arrived 10 minutes early for our first class, thinking it would correct etiquette for handing in our enrollment form and paying term fees. When I arrived I was met by P, who had always been so polite and helpful, in person and on the phone. But instead of being warmly greeted I was told by P that they only have a 45 minute break between sessions and this was their lunch break. My daughter and I were left in the foyer to wait.
Well, my daughter was extremely displeased at not being able to get started and head into the classroom. I took her out for a walk and we looked at the scrappy flowers around the garden, while I collected my own thoughts after this unexpectedly cold reception.
Eventually, once she had finished her lunch P took us up to the classroom. She explained my daughter could select a toy of her choice from the shelves. She went fine with her first activity and we placed it back on the shelf when she’d finished with it. The next one she chose was a large and cumbersome tray containing two glass bowls and beads. She was nervous about handling the large item so I helped her carry it. Well, I was told in no uncertain terms that she had to do it herself.
Next, my daughter selected a challenging activity that required fine motor skills. Using a pair of tweezers, she needed to pick up tiny beads and place them into small holes. She struggled with the task and eventually asked P for help. However, P insisted she try to do it on her own, which only increased her frustration. (So much for the Montessori principle that children shouldn’t be expected to tackle tasks beyond their current capabilities.) Once P stepped away, I gently encouraged my daughter to set the activity aside.
P soon returned, sitting on the opposite side of the table from my daughter and me. Without introducing herself or speaking to my daughter, she gestured toward her and asked me, “What’s that one doing, Mum?” I started to say, “That’s P…,” but P abruptly cut in, stating her own name. It took considerable self-restraint not to retort, “Well, if you’d introduced yourself, she would have known your name.”
Then there was the attitude towards the other children. The other Montessori directress named ‘M’ also failed to introduce herself to my daughter and didn’t seem to interact with the children at all. One little girl cried as her mother quickly slipped out of the classroom. M took the little girl who had just been left by the hand and abruptly told her there’s nothing to cry about.
P and M quickly engaged in complaints about the behaviour of one of the boys there. Something like it’s going to be a fun day with friends and a roll of the eyes about covers it. He was repeatedly reprimanded for refusing to engage in the activity he’d selected and was told that if he didn’t put it back on the shelf he couldn’t have any more toys. As it turned out, the boy’s mum explained he’d been very unwell and had a seizure the previous week. Mind you P and M spoke much more politely to the mother about her son’s behaviour than they had to each other.
Story time was like going to a funeral. The children were all expected to remain completely still and quiet while M read in a monotone voice. One boys enthusiasm over the story as he pointed at the pictures was quickly thwarted with a couple of pushes of his hand away from the book. My daughter was told to -shhh- when she made a comment.
In the Montessori approach, children are encouraged to independently wash their hands. After my daughter finished a pasting activity, I took her to the sink, where she proudly demonstrated her ability to wash her hands all by herself—a wonderful milestone.
Before fruit time, however, it was required that all the children wash their hands first. This seemed reasonable, and they patiently took turns. But as the process dragged on, M grew visibly impatient. She started urging the children to hurry and, when it still wasn’t moving quickly enough, began taking matters into her own hands—literally. She forcefully grabbed the children’s hands and washed them herself, rushing through the process.
For my daughter, who had just discovered the joy of doing it on her own, this abrupt handling took away the independence she had proudly achieved. Instead of fostering autonomy, the act was reduced to something being done to her, not by her.
On the way to the table for fruit, I noticed another child took my daughter’s pasting without her permission and was waving it around. As M and P made no attempt to sort this out I took the pasting from the child myself and my daughter and I hung it up to dry.
Harder to explain was the lack of warmth and caring that I would have expected in a Montessori setting. There was no laughter, chatter or interaction with the children. My daughter was not listened to or acknowledged. Being a very sociable girl, particularly with other adults, I noticed her dismay at being pretty much ignored and certainly not engaged with. My spirited daughter had entered the room with her joy and enthusiasm to be met with children who were engaged in isolated, structured activities. Yes, they were behaving beautifully but where was the light and joy? Where was the social interaction and enjoyment? Where was the ability for children to express themselves and feel happy?
To top it all off we left with the distinct smell of an unchanged pooey nappy. Oh, and I finally got to hand in my forms that P had forgotten all about. I know that not all Montessori school are like this as my niece had a wonderful experience under this system of learning, and it’s certainly not anything like what the approach promotes. Right now, I’m just feeling extremely disappointed and unsure of what to do from here. I guess I’ve just entered the world of having to accept, or reject, my daughter entering the world without me.