Autoethnography in Early Childhood Education and Care

Narrating the Heart of Practice

Elizabeth Henderson

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781138735231
• eBook ISBN: 9781351737838
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

Autoethnography in Early Childhood Education and Care both embraces and explores autoethnography as a methodology in early childhood settings, subsequently broadening discourses within education research through a series of troubling narratives. It breaks new ground for researchers seeking to use non-conventional practices in early years research.

Drawing together research and literature from several disciplines, this unique book challenges the perception of what it means to be an early years practitioner: powerful and compelling narratives, from the author's first-hand experiences, offer both a creative and scholarly insight into the issues faced by those working in early childhood settings. This text:

• offers insight into working with autoethnography; its purpose and methodological tensions;
• provides professionals engaged in caring relational approaches with a series of vignettes for training and further reflection;
• encourages a wider debate and discussion of core values at a critical time in early years practice and other caring professions
• skilfully and sensitively illustrates how to adopt a creative research imagination.

This book is a valuable read for researchers, postgraduate students and other professionals working in early childhood education and care seeking to give expression to their voices through creative methodologies such as autoethnography in qualitative research.

PART I
Troubling narratives

1
WHITE RABBITS FLY KITES

Working in challenging contexts, finding liminality

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
moonlight
also leaks between the roof planks
of this ruined house

(Izumi Shikibu, tr. by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani in Hirshfield, 2015, p. 124)

As he turns the corner of the path and comes into view, one of my younger colleagues suddenly announces, “Elizabeth, you need to deal with him. He’s too scary!” They all take a step back from the door, each looking busy and purposeful, trying not to look towards the gate. Sensing fear, I reassure them it’s all okay: They’re safe and nothing terrible is going to happen. Anyway… if it does, I’ll deal with it!

Lola’s father is a few steps away from the gate when his daughter, running ahead of him, takes a kung-fu style leap at the gate, smashing both feet into it. She grins. He carries on walking. I mutter, “Thank God for sturdy gates!” and then take a deep breath while pep-talking myself into a smile.

He’s a tall man, round-faced, muscular, with a clean-shaven head. Being on the short side, I find his physical presence overbearing and his piercing blue eyes unsettling, but I think it’s his missing teeth that make him look so scary to me. Four or five front teeth are absent. I don’t know why – maybe abject poverty and a fear of medical interventions? The dental gaps make him look so old. He’s thirty-two. Hardship, etched into a human face, is never easy to encounter. I tremble but can’t admit my fears to my team. My heartbeat’s rapid and I sense a hazy light-headedness. I gently put on my professional smile, while counting the number of steps he has left to the door. Six, five, four, three, two …

“Hello, Ricky! How are things with you today?” I say, standing rock-still in the entrance lobby, my feet squarely placed, giving me a sense of being grounded.

Without stopping, he strides towards me and oversteps that unspecified but well-known social space between people when they converse. He skims past my right cheek and leaning into my ear, calmly whispers:

“I know where your son works on Saturdays.”

He draws back and eyeballs me, awaiting a response. He knows he’s in control.

I draw a sharp intake of breath as an internal conversation starts to erupt in my head: “Oh, my God! This is dangerous. My kids aren’t safe!” I tremble and my mouth begins to dry. Then, I hear myself calmly saying:

“Wow, Ricky, I didn’t know you were interested in gardening?”

I cock my head and smile. My nostrils widen as I take in a series of deep breaths, ensuring my smile does not fade. There is a quiet pause, and from the corner of my eye I can see my team straining to hear what’s going on between Ricky and me.

“He’s workin’ at the garden centre, where I help out,” he continues. “How long’s he there for?”

“Oh… I dunno,” I reply. “Young people these days … who can tell? Hopefully long enough to earn money to buy clothes and games for his Xbox!” A slightly nervous laugh escapes. I cover it with a cough. “Have you worked in gardening for long, Ricky?”

“Been there for a year.”

“Do you just work weekends?” I seek important information now, as fear grasps me by the throat and my hands turn to sweating ice.

“No. Usually I work mornin’s, after the kids have gone to school. Bloody ridiculous wages so I don’t know how long I’ll keep going ! But I was in there on Sa’urday, helping for an hour and I met your son stackin’ plants out the back.”

“Well, it’s nice to have time to do something you like when the kids are at school,” I reply, then quickly point out that Alex is arriving with his mum and needs my attention. “Could you help Lola hang up her jacket Ricky, before you go, please?”

“Make sure this little rat behaves herself and if not tell me when I come back.”

“Yeah, no problem Ricky … will do.” I walk towards Alex.

Lola has red, wavy hair, a sharp nose, and cold blue eyes, like her father’s. They constantly monitor the room. She is the second youngest child in a family of four and quite small really for a four-and-a-half year-old; she’s perhaps a bit under-nourished but that doesn’t stop her from being physically aggressive when she’s really angry. Ricky was in prison recently; banged up for nearly two years for aggravated assault. When he got out his partner, Maggie, left him for another man and never came back. That’s the way it’s been for a while now, I’ve been told. Just over a year ago, he started a new relationship with Gemma, and now they have a little baby called Summer. The threat of child protection proceedings had cast a shadow over Ricky’s door after his release from prison, separation from Maggie, and an altercation in the local pub. Although I hardly know him, being quite new in my manager’s post, I feel an empathy with something in him that hurts deeply. He’s like a wounded child and yet the other women in my team are terrified of him. They always step back when he’s around, making it clear to me that I must be his point-of-contact.

Ricky pushes Lola towards the coat pegs and she hangs up her jacket before running into the playroom. Ricky leaves. The team are looking at me expectantly as I grab the most senior practitioner and pull her into the disabled toilet where I tell her I’ve just been threatened. “I think I’ll need to resign … I’ll…I’ll need to speak to the Child Protection Officer at the end of today’s session. My God, I’m scared, but don’t tell the others!” We pause… both say, “Oh, my God” then she puts a hand on my shoulder, gives it a rub, then hugs me. Leaving the staff toilet together, I note a couple of parents looking at us enquiringly. I shrug it off. “Ooh, hot gossip!” I say aloud and we all laugh.

The playroom bustles with noise for half an hour or so, when Lola asks to use the toilet. After a few minutes, I feel uneasy at the length of time she’s taking when, suddenly, the external door clicks. Can’t be! We’ve got an internal lock by the handle and a thumb-nail lock right at the top of the door, so… how come?

The door thuds shut as I catch a glimpse of Lola through the window and see her leg it over the fence. She’s running off at quite a pace.

“Maria! Quick! Come and help me! It’s Lola! She’s off! Come on!”

We run to the door. My proximity to it means I get out first and head for the gate. My head is exploding with panic and thoughts of Ricky and my son. What will I do if Lola gets to the road? What will Ricky do when he finds out? So much for my professional training. I’m terrified! I want to cry and scream with rage and fear, but right now I need to get to Lola.

Throughout my career, I have never contemplated a threat to my own family. I’ve always felt at a safe distance, but, in an instant, this has changed as terror seizes my heart making me feel physically sick. My head reels with sheer panic and confusion and I sense that the day has whizzed out of control. I feel threatened.

In desperation, I mutter, “A miracle, please. I need a miracle.”

Lola disappears round the corner of the path and out of sight. I tear on, followed by my colleague. As I take the last corner, I can see Lola standing peacefully. She’s looking at something I can’t yet see beyond the bushes. Maria rounds the corner and I signal to her to stop and not to speak. We exchange a glance and nod. Out of breath, I slowly walk towards Lola, knowing if she runs off now, I won’t catch her. I’m cautious but remind myself I can do this; I must listen, be open.

“Look!” she says, pointing with her finger and glancing towards me, then back to the garden. “Look! Look at them!”

I crouch down beside her and see two white rabbits, nibbling grass. “Two white rabbits …?” I mutter to myself. “How?” I pause, draw breath and stifle tears of relief.

Leaning over the fence, I say with a sigh, “Aren’t they beautiful, Lola?” shaking my head a little in disbelief. “Two magnificent rabbits!” I feel suspended now in time and space, not knowing what on earth will happen next but knowing that I must keep bonding with this child, listening, winning her trust and ultimately getting her safely back to nursery. But now we pause for beauty and wonder and I’ll let this present moment take as long as it will.

Turning her face to look at me, she widens her eyes and, with a sound of astonishment in her voice, she says, “They ran across the path in front of me and one of them touched my leg…but it wasn’t scary. He didn’t mean it.” She wobbles her head in disbelief and I do the same. We both give a little sigh, mine resonant with gratitude and relief.

We stand quietly for what seems like ages, watching the rabbits as they graze and hop around the garden; big balls of fluffy whiteness, peacefully nibbling, unaware they have saved me from unthinkable chaos. We keep quiet, sensing we mustn’t startle them. The moment is magical.

It’s October and the air’s already crisp. Some of the leaves are turning bronze and gold. An autumnal breeze picks up and Lola feels it on her face. She gives a little jump and shrugs her shoulders.

“What was that?” she enquires.

“Oh, just a wee breeze,” I respond.

“How come I can’t see it?”

“Well … it’s all around us, really. It’s the air moving around us and because it moved a bit fast just now I guess you felt it more than usual. Can you hear it, too?”

We pause to listen and we hear a whirring sound; a sort of vvvvvvVVVVvvvvv followed by a whooooooooooo.

“I still can’t see it,” she states and I smile as I reply. “No… but if you look above your head, you can see the leaves of this wee birch tree, twirling in the wind.”

I point upwards and she follows my finger.

“See, that’s what the wind is doing. We can’t see the wind but we can see what it does. We can hear it too and feel it on our faces.”

Lola nods in agreement and turns to the birch tree several times then looks at me and touches her face. “Can you catch it?” she enquires.

“Well, sort of. I’ve got some kites in the nursery and if we go back in, I’ll get them out and we can all go and play with the wind. The kites like to catch the wind and twirl around in it. Want to do that?”

“Yeah!” she responds.

“C’mon then! Let’s go up the path.” I stretch out my hand towards Lola and she takes it.

Entering the nursery, I pass my colleagues who are still a bit bewildered, anxious for me and the child. I head for the back-cupboard where I’ve stored the kites. I tell everyone that we’re going to fly some kites in the long-garden. Children and adults mobilise themselves to join in this new fun. Lola is commander-in-control and helps me take the kites from the cupboard. Acknowledging her position of power, she grins as she helps to dish out the kites, after first selecting the one she wants.

In the garden, after a bumpy start with a few false take-offs, she pulls the kite higher and higher and for the first time, I hear Lola’s laughter and catch her smile. It’s a giggle really, light and tickly and her smile opens up her whole face. I sense that she feels freedom in the kites. I can see it in her body and hear it in her laughter. She whoops as the kite rises and, running backwards, shouts out, “Look. Look at it!”

This image I will hold dear in my heart for a long time because I know we are in for a bumpy ride.

Later that day, after waving off all of the children, I head for the phone to speak to the Child Protection Officer. I need advice. I need to protect my son.

* * *

Embodied knots: tension and resolution

This was a challenging story to write as it took me back to an uncomfortable moment in my career involving fear and confusion, a sudden feeling of helplessness, and moments of beauty, wonder, silence, laughter, freedom and two white rabbits which had escaped from a nearby neighbour’s garden. It still troubles me and causes me emotional pain in the retelling. The story illustrates the immense tensions and repercussions of unexpected interactions with one parent and one child on one day, making visible the multiple roles and complexities of a working day in a busy nursery. But this is nursery life in the raw; it can be all of these things, in any one day.

The story also challenges constructions of practitioners, illustrating the tension between my professional-self and my mother-self, highlighting a gap between the policy discourses on working with parents and the micro-reality of daily practice. The story highlights the hidden dangers and the potential for suppressed anger in relationships based on an asymmetry of power that, until the incidents in the story occurred, I had not fully consciously considered. Perhaps I had buried such thoughts in the belief that I was someone with good core values: approachable, caring, capable, ready to help parents with their task of parenting and open to children and their needs, so why would I ever feel threatened? Perhaps I was just naïve? However, in that moment when I perceived a threat to my own child, I experienced a collision between my professional self and my role as a mother. The need to protect my child became paramount and the thin veils between my many selves became porous and frayed. I lost what had been my sense of ‘self’ and was thrown into chaos. My interactions with Ricky woke me up sharply to the asymmetry of power in our relationship and the way in which he had turned it round, leaving me feeling threatened. Yet … I also have a lingering unresolved thought, that Ricky may actually have been trying to build a closer relationship with me through his intimate knowledge of my family, but my awareness of his propensity for violence coloured my perception – but I’ll never know for sure.

Although the story highlights the power asymmetry between parent/practitioner and practitioner/child, it also goes beyond power asymmetry to a moment in which practitioner and child stand as equals, bringing tension into harmony and resolution, listening deeply to the child in my care. For, within what felt like the ruins of the day in the story, two white rabbits entered and performed a miracle, a moment I grasped with both hands, entering into it listening and trusting. Lola and I shared what could be called “sustained shared thinking” (Sylva et al., 2004, p. vi) defined by Sylva et al. as the moment when at least two individuals “clarify a concept, evaluate an activity, extend a narrative” (ibid) together. Lola, no longer bound by her original frame of reference, an act of resistance, running away, was entranced by the rabbits and I in turn was listening to Lola and overcoming my fears for her safety and that of my son (at the hands of her father). In effect we were “equal in the face of this … encounter” (Conroy, 2004, p. 62); a “liminal encounter” (ibid). We both experienced a deep listening to an embryonic pulse, to what “ha(d) not yet emerged” (Hoveid and Finne, 2015, p. 77). Consequently, this led to a sensitive discussion between practitioner and child about rabbits, the wind and ultimately to a sense of freeing, for both of us, and flying kites; a door opened and we both stepped across a threshold.

2
A SILENCE LOUDER THAN WORDS

Listening, attunement and ‘voice’

Opening the Hands Between Here and Here
On the dark road, only the weight of the rope.
Yet the horse is there

(Hirshfield, 2012, p. 70)

Ruby came to our nursery at a time when her family were deeply troubled and unable at times to cope. Although she had been on a child protection order, she was at home now and I worried about her safety. When I met her, she didn’t speak. Ruby was selectively mute and everyone involved with her thought this was a consequence of the violence in her life. She’d witnessed stabbings in her house where the walls were covered with graffiti- resembling an underpass. The house was also the site of gang violence and punishment meted out in local drug wars. Chaos. Fear. And police raids on her home in search of heroin because her house became a drugs-shop when her dad was in prison.

3.9 million children (28%) in the UK were living in poverty in 2014–15.

(CPAG, 2017)

Child poverty is highest in London, Birmingham and Manchester where 40–47% of children live in poverty.

(End Child Poverty, 2017)

Janie, Ruby’s mum, was a second-generation heroin user living on the west of Scotland on the edge of a sprawling industrial town, near a large city that had seen better days. Alone, Janie couldn’t stand up to the drug gangs, so they ‘borrowed’ her flat, sealed up the door, and sold heroin through the letter-box for brief periods daily. At two and a half years old, Ruby knew that silence was the safest space to inhabit and I wondered whether I had any right to tempt her out of it.

Attunement is when the adult is able to tune in to babies’ needs, perhaps closely observing their sounds, expressions and body language in a responsive and empathic way. Early literacy starts with attunement between parent and baby.

(Pre-Birth to Three: Scottish Government, 2010)

One day Ruby missed a nurture group session and, after a phone call, I discovered she was having all of her baby teeth removed. They were completely rotten and her mouth was at risk of infection. Janie just wasn’t coping with the demands of her children and no partner. When Ruby returned, I mashed up bread in milk and she sucked it up from a bowl with a soft plastic spoon, then we got yoghurt and squashed some fruit to a pulp so that she could eat something tasty.

Ruby’s silence worried me, as did her ability to acquiesce to everything and anything she was asked to do at nursery. Sometimes, I lay awake at night in the comfort of my bed, wondering if she felt it was safe to go to sleep in her house. Did she even have a bed? Did...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Foreword
• Preface
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• PART I Troubling narratives
• PART II Your world, my world, our embodied world
• PART III Autoethnography at work
• References
• Index