At just four years old, Nate had already become a legend at his preschool - but for all the wrong reasons.
His Early Childhood Center serves over 600 children ages three to five. And when one of them becomes so overwhelmed and “out of control” that they are at risk of hurting themselves or others, a crisis team of behavior specialists and social workers is activated.
Before Nate arrived at the school, the record for the most crisis calls for a single student in a single year was 36.
Nate had 140.
When he became overwhelmed, he erupted. He screamed, kicked, hit, spit and bit. He knocked over chairs, tables and bookcases. These outbursts sometimes lasted well over an hour.
Most saw Nate as an oppositional, angry child.
Ann saw a frightened one.
As a Playmaker, Ann believed that at the core of Nate’s outbursts was an overwhelming need to feel safe and in control. Past trauma had left him afraid to sleep at night. As a result, he would arrive at school exhausted, his nervous system on high alert for whatever danger might be lurking around the corner.
So Ann started with something simple. She played with him.
Every day, for at least 15 minutes, they tossed balls, played with puppets, cuddled dolls, sang songs, read books, and practiced breathing. They pretended to hold mugs of hot cocoa - breathing in deeply to smell the chocolate and slowly blowing out to cool it down.
When walking down the hallway felt too hard, they skipped or hopped. Sometimes Ann gave him a ride in a wagon.
And slowly, something began to change.
Nate began to trust.
Instead of erupting when he became overwhelmed, Nate could take a wagon ride. Instead of knocking over bookshelves, he could climb into Ann’s lap and breathe with her until his breath gradually matched the rhythm of hers.
Play wasn't a reward for “good behavior.” Play was how a frightened little boy learned that there were adults in his world who saw him, adored him and weren't going to overpower him or abandon him when things got hard.
And then something remarkable happened. When Nate was in crisis, sometimes all Ann had to do was enter the room. As soon as he saw her, his body would relax. Almost instantly.
Think about that for a moment.
For a frightened child whose nervous system had learned to constantly prepare for danger, the sight of one trusted adult sent a powerful message throughout his entire body:
I am safe.
That is the work of a Playmaker.
It happens while tossing beach balls and giving wagon rides. It happens while singing songs and playing with puppets. It happens while skipping, hopping and breathing together before taking a sip from an imaginary cup of cocoa.
But underneath all the fun and games is something much greater.
A life-changing relationship.
And that’s the business Playmakers are in.