Until the streetlights come on: Exploring belonging & play
“I want to play Duck, Duck, Goose,” my grandbaby niece said to me at the park while a giant blown-up movie screen played Toy Story 4 under the beautiful dusk sky in Arizona. It was her 6th birthday, so obviously my prestigious role as GrAuntie required that I follow her lead.
But, there were a couple of initial dilemmas in her request:
There were only two of us and the game requires more people.
I am a Physical Education teacher, and “Duck, Duck, Goose” is a well-known “Hall of Shame” activity.
Before I could use the first excuse, Penny, the friend we met earlier playing at the park, overheard my grandbaby niece’s plea, ran up, and said, “I want to play Duck, Duck, Goose, too!”
Gulp! There I was, caught between my physical education training and the beautiful movement request of my sweet 6-year-old. I obliged, and Penny started walking around us as we started a three-person game. Then something happened that I am still contemplating weeks later (clearly, as I write this blog).
Something I haven't experienced since my 1980s childhood: kids joined in! Thirty (or so) other kids looked up from the neurological draw of the giant screen showing Forky and the crew and they trickled over, a few at a time, to PLAY! Kids who had never played together before gathered in a giant circle. The age range stretched from 4 years old to high school (to 51 years old!).
On the turf of the park, the kids were in their own, very human problems and solutions as they played the game. One little kid fell as a high school girl (still in her cheerleading uniform) gently chased behind him. She paused from her run, walked over, and dusted him off. She asked if he was okay, and then he was back to running and she was back to gently chasing.
Then another kid, maybe in second grade, who had a strong sense of fairness, spoke up because he hadn’t been picked yet. I heard the group next to him reassure him that in this game sometimes you don’t get picked right away, that it’s okay to wait, and that cheering the others on makes the waiting more fun.
A kid who I assumed was a middle schooler was being chased by a younger kid, and he accidentally stepped on my hand. Ouch! He stopped his sprint, as did the other kid, and checked in with me. Yes, I was fine! Then they kept running. The humanity, care, and kindness even made this 51-year-old feel like she belonged in this Duck, Duck, Goose circle of new friends.
Here the kids were. Being humans. Playing and problem-solving. Much like the lessons from Toy Story. But this connection wasn’t with Disney/Pixar’s imaginatory friends. This was real human connection: the kind that supports mental and physical health, improves problem-solving, and teaches us how to take turns and cheer each other on. I was taken by how these kids moved right into the human spaces that allow us to play and support each other.
And, what has resonated with me the most was how this banned game has now upended the exact lessons I am preparing for my fall semester college teacher-preparation course. The Hall of Shame labels Duck, Duck, Goose as a “do not play game” because of low movement time and too much waiting. Sitting on that turf, I watched kids push right past those assumptions. In an era where we constantly battle the isolating and sedentary draw of screens, thirty kids actively chose the human circle over the giant movie display. Wow!
This idea of “too much waiting,” brings me back to my childhood road trips to Grandma’s house. The drives were long, and we didn’t have screens or devices to pass the time. But my sisters and I had each other, along with a handful of simple games like Slug Bug, the license plate game, or some random game we created. The waiting in that Duck, Duck, Goose circle wasn’t passive either. It was filled with anticipation of being chosen as the goose and joyful cheering for others as the “goose” got up and ran around the circle.
It also made me reflect on how as an educator, I often make rigid rules on how my students should invite people into a group or how they should talk to each other. But in this space, (without my adult intervention) the kids brought their own capacity for empathy and connection. They worked through conflict, dusted each other off, and co-created the rules of belonging as they went along. Not one child went running off to a parent or caring adult when a minor problem arose. They simply worked it out! And they practiced 21st century skills like communication, collaboration, critical thinking, and problem solving in an authentic and playful and inclusive setting.
Harvard University recently posted an open-access book, A Pedagogy of Play (2023), which highlights the why and how of integrating play through the lens of learning and neuroscience. The framework outlines five central characteristics of playful experiences:
Joyful
Meaningful
Actively Engaging
Iterative
Socially Interactive
Sitting on that turf, I witnessed all five in real time. It was iterative as kids adjusted their running speed for toddlers, socially interactive as a middle schooler paused to check on my hand, and deeply joyful throughout as children cheered on their new friends.
I have been diving into this Pedagogy of Play book and thinking about my own students. How might I infuse playful opportunities as they learn challenging vocabulary? How can I use play to cultivate community study opportunities, or revamp previous projects? I am inspired by the challenge of bringing in more play to cultivate more learning and belonging, much like the kids showed me while playing a banned game.
The Duck, Duck, Goose game was a reminder of what my neighborhood friends had figured out back in the 1980s. Long before screens…all we really needed was an open patch of grass, a simple game, and the freedom to play together until the streetlights came on. When we make room for joy, curiosity, and multiple ways of learning, we invite every student to show up fully as themselves, and learn from the rich mix of experiences everyone brings to the circle.
It is a remarkably cool gig we have as educators, especially when we get to witness that magic spark where play, learning, and belonging meet. True learning was never about passively absorbing information off a screen, a whiteboard, or a textbook. It is about co-creating spaces with our students that are alive, relational, and deeply human. And if a "banned" game of Duck, Duck, Goose can teach a circle of new friends how to care for one another, then play isn't just a fun distraction, but it might be the best place to start to cultivate 21st century skills.
