DW Gibson
Still Waters defies description. It is something to be experienced, not gleaned. Never have I stepped into a learning atmosphere that so successfully ceases to feel like any known form of school. Here, openness reigns supreme because being open is the beginning of all art and education and understanding. And at Still Waters openness springs from one’s ability to listen carefully. Listen to the teacher, listen to the volunteer helping you, listen to the friend sitting next to you. And most importantly: let me listen to you. It is not about curriculum or sectioning off children according to age; it is about putting away the homework and gathering everyone in the same room. Let the older kids show the younger ones how to calm down and listen. Let the younger kids remind the older kids that imagination should not be underestimated. There is structure and routine and good food and all the things that kids need to learn — but none of it is burdened with conventional pedagogy or policing.
This type of learning is an outlier — and that is remarkably sad. Come take a look at this, Mr. Mayor, please. Come see for yourself, Chancellor Fariña. Trust that you will feel the difference at Still Waters. I did. And I won’t ever be the same for it. It’s made me rethink my own education. It’s changed my aspirations for my three-year-old daughter’s education. And it showed me what it’s like to be a kid in a community — a family — living in the path of unfettered global capital swooping in to claim the neglected neighborhood for future capitalization. Still Waters values these kids like no other institution. And thanks to Still Waters, I do too.