Random patterns, chance designs

By the time I was 10 years old I knew I would never be a teacher. It was clear to me schools somehow managed to supplant the creativity and imagination bubbling within each wide-eyed child who walked through the doors. No, no, no, I was not going to contribute to the stifling of any child's spirit!

Fate, being the jokester she is, brought me to the second semester of my senior year in college, and laughingly informed me that I had taken all the courses I could take for my Psychology major and still had room in my schedule to finish the requirements for a teaching certificate. Since all of my friends were deeply and ecstatically involved in their student teaching placements, they were delighted by this turn of events. Naturally, they wanted to share in their dream-come-true experiences. was flattered, and tempted. After all, they were settled about their future careers, and I was still dangling about my own. A teaching certificate began to seem like a good idea.

When I presented the idea to the chairman of the Psychology department (a most trusted advisor), I was almost excited about the prospect of a double major.

"So what do you think? I could do it, you know."

No answer. Just a look, a long sigh.

"Nancy," he said, "you don't want to teach."

Simple as that, I knew he was right. I wanted to work with children, to be a child psychologist. Every course I took, every book I read, every hour I spent working in the psychologists' office was dedicated to learning as much as I could about children and how to meet their needs. My whole purpose in life as I saw it was to help children live as freely and happily as possible; to guide them to discover the wonders of the world and of themselves; to let them know they are significant people who can make great and positive contributions in their lives, now and in the future.

I began to look at graduate schools. Three grad schools had already been eliminated from my list of possibilities when I met with the chairman of the Psychology Department at Xavier University.

"You know," he explained, "our main emphasis is Experimental Psychology."

I did know that; and while I had become quite fond of my white rats, Charlie and Herman, in undergraduate experimental classes, I wasn't really interested in tracking rats, or people, through a lifetime of unrewarding mazes.

"The education department does offer some courses you may be interested in, however." Oh great, now he's trying to slough me off into a teaching career.

"Xavier offers an early childhood training course in Montessori education. The curriculum includes several child psychology courses, and allows the students to become Montessori teachers and to graduate with a Masters degree in education. The Montessori training center offers the best program at the university for people wanting to work with very young children. I think it could be a good starting point for you."

Hmmm, Montessori. Oh yes, my friend Valerie had observed a Montessori class and liked it. During the great push of the let'smake-Nancy-a-teacher campaign, Montessori was her contribution to the effort. Even after I confirmed clearly I was never going to be a teacher, she didn't give up. Now here it was, presented to me again. Montessori. Not so much for the teaching aspect, but for its emphasis on the child psychology.

By this time, I was completely and utterly confused. I sought the advice of the chairman of the Philosophy department (another trusted advisor in my life).

"You will never lose anything by continuing your education," he explained in measured, logical tones. "You can choose to teach or to become a child psychologist, it doesn't matter. What matters is you are choosing to become a fuller person."

Isn't that the hope I had for every future child I would counsel? To guide them to the fullest life they could have? Extending the logic, I realized I wouldn't be of much help to anyone in the future if I remained a not-quite-- complete person myself.

By late April 1968 I had investigated the Montessori master's program at Xavier, completed and submitted all the necessary application forms and transcripts, and was accepted into the graduate school. On a hot, humid Saturday morning, I sat with 13 other women, from college age on up, and one 20something brave young man, and we met Hilda Rothschild, the director of Xavier's Montessori teacher training center.

Hilda, a woman of great dignity, spoke to us with the crisp German accent of her heritage. She described the structure, requirements and goals of the program-the Montessori curriculum courses, the concomitant education courses, and the classroom internship phase. I could feel my eyes beginning to glaze with each new bit of academic responsibility she imparted. What had I gotten myself into with this graduate program?

"Now, let's talk about Dr. Maria Montessori and her ideas about children."

Ooh, too late to run out of the room. I guess I'll listen for a while.

In reverential tones, Hilda spoke of Montessori's dedication to the child. To Montessori, each child was a unique individual, valuable in his or her own right, each deserving to be respected for who he or she is at any given moment of life.