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Written by Teacher Kavitha
“Play nicely.” “Color nicely.” These are phrases we hear often—so common, in fact, that their meaning is rarely questioned. But what does “nicely” actually mean? According to the dictionary, “nicely” can mean “in a pleasant, agreeable, or satisfactory manner.” But when used with children, it becomes vague and loaded with adult expectations. I often wonder if I’ve used these phrases myself. While I want to believe I haven’t, I likely have—considering how often I heard them growing up. If I were to dissect “play nicely,” what might a parent actually be trying to communicate? Perhaps: (1) Use the materials in a way that I think is appropriate. (2) Don’t make a mess. (3) Don’t be rough or loud. (4) Follow the social rules so others think well of you—and of me. In other words, “nicely” may be a catch-all for “make me comfortable.” But children don’t learn through comfort—they learn through engagement, risk-taking, and exploration. So instead of “play nicely,” what if we said: “Use the toys gently,” “Take turns with your friend,” or “Make sure everyone feels included.” These are direct, specific, and empowering. They respect the child’s capacity to understand and help them build clarity, not confusion. It’s time we replace vague social scripts with language that guides, not controls.
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Written by Teacher Kavitha
Today, I attended a fundraising event filled with laughter, music, creative stations, and of course—children eager to explore. While the event was vibrant and well-intentioned, I found myself drawn to quietly observing the way children interacted with their parents during play. What I noticed left me both reflective and a bit unsettled. At nearly every station, parents were quick to jump in—offering suggestions, guiding their children’s hands, explaining how to use materials “correctly,” or redirecting their children’s play toward a more “productive” outcome. What struck me most was how little space the children were given to simply explore, experiment, or even fail. It seemed that the adults were doing most of the playing. I couldn’t help but wonder: Why do we feel the need to constantly engage? Is there a fear that if we step back, we are being inattentive or unhelpful? Do we believe that every interaction must have an obvious educational outcome? Or is it that, as parents, we measure our value in our ability to instruct, guide, and direct? In our desire to be present and supportive, are we unintentionally overshadowing our children’s natural curiosity and capacity to create meaning from their own experiences? As an early childhood educator, I know the immense value of uninterrupted, child-led play. I’ve seen firsthand how children flourish when given the freedom to interact with materials on their own terms—testing ideas, solving problems, and constructing knowledge in ways that are deeply personal and developmentally appropriate. When adults dominate these moments, even with the best intentions, we risk diluting the richness of the child’s learning experience. This reminds me of a moment from my classroom last year. A child was deeply immersed in building a structure out of loose parts. It looked abstract—sticks poking out at odd angles, pebbles balanced precariously—but he was focused, calm, and confident. A parent walked over and, with a kind smile, asked, “Do you want me to show you how to make a house instead?” The child looked up briefly, then gently said, “I’m already making something. It’s a dragon’s cave.” That simple reply said it all—he didn’t need direction, just space. A gentle tip for parents and caregivers: The next time you find yourself tempted to guide or suggest during your child’s play, take a breath and pause. Instead of stepping in, try stepping back. Watch. Listen. Let their ideas lead. You might be amazed at what unfolds when we make room for their voices. Because play—true, unstructured, child-initiated play—isn’t a gap waiting to be filled by adult instruction. It is the learning. |
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May 2025
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