In 2019, I wrote a blog post about an unexpected dilemma that surfaced in one of my PE classes. We were exploring African-American history for Black History Month, and to connect our cultural studies with movement, the students learned about the Harlem Globetrotters. This iconic team blended basketball skill with joy, creativity, humor, and spectacle.
Naturally, we tried our own version of “Globetrotter basketball.”
Defense was intentionally non-threatening.
No scoreboards.
No steals.
The goal was simple: make the game look cool.
Style mattered more than points. (Make people say ooh and aah!)
Most students loved it.
But a small group—ironically, the highest-skilled basketball players—reacted dramatically differently.
They were frustrated. Confused. Even upset.
At the time, it shocked me. These were the kids who could actually pull off the trick passes and circus layups. This was their chance to shine in a totally different way. Yet they were annoyed, withdrawn, and convinced the game “didn’t mean anything.”
Why?
I offered several theories:
Skilled athletes fear forming bad habits.
Some feel constant internal pressure, so “fun” play feels foreign.
Losing the spotlight can trigger jealousy.
Montessori students who love structure may struggle when rules are intentionally loosened.
Those observations were messy, incomplete, and full of question marks. I didn’t have a clear answer—just a commitment to watch, listen, and keep experimenting.
I ended that blog by wondering whether what I saw in upper elementary was age-related, developmental, or simply tied to class culture. I promised myself I’d keep observing.
I didn’t know then that it would take six years for the answers to fully reveal themselves.
A Recess Moment That Changed Everything
Fast forward to this week.
I was helping supervise recess—standing far enough back to simply watch the kids and make sure everyone was safe. Nearly the whole class had joined in a big kickball game: all skill levels, all personalities, all confidence levels playing together in one spontaneous community.
I wasn’t analyzing anything. I was just watching for safety.
The teacher standing next to me, though, was watching something else.
She remarked, “You must be so proud of our athletics program.”
Before I could even respond, she started listing everything she was seeing—things I hadn’t consciously registered because I’m so used to watching these kids play every day:
They were encouraging each other.
They were giving honest but gentle feedback.
They were resolving disagreements without escalation.
They were celebrating little successes.
They were making sure everyone got to play—not just the stars.
Then she added, “This wasn’t happening a few years ago.”
She was right. She had recently returned to recess duty with the older kids after being away for some time, so she had a before-and-after perspective that I lacked. Watching the same kids every day, I had missed how dramatically the culture had shifted.
It hit me like when my child’s teacher sees him after three months from summer break and says, “Wow, they’ve grown!” You knew they were growing, but you didn’t realize how much until someone else pointed it out. Those small incremental growth spurts go under the radar, just as the change in play occurred over the years.
And while I am proud of our athletics program, I honestly think the credit belongs to something far simpler—a humble little mantra that grounds everything we do:
Be fun to Play with, Be Fun to Play Against.
The inherent message we are trying to get the kids to internalize is: Fun is the most important part of play.
The difference between recess in 2019 and recess in 2025 is almost unbelievable.
And I needed someone else’s eyes to help me see it.
What We Expected Would Happen (The Hidden Curriculum)
Six years ago, when we began strengthening our athletics program, we assumed that certain values would naturally develop as part of a hidden curriculum—the unspoken lessons students pick up through culture, environment, and modeling.
We thought participation in sports would naturally teach students:
sportsmanship
humility
leadership
emotional regulation
cooperative problem solving
resilience
empathy
how to win graciously and lose with perspective
This is what sports educators want to believe happens automatically.
We believed that our environment—Montessori classrooms, mixed-age groupings, grace and courtesy lessons, and the overall ethos of collaboration—would seep into athletics simply because the same children were involved.
We expected the values to transfer seamlessly to athletics.
We thought culture would trickle down.
Instead, it was about as effective as trickle-down economics.
It didn’t work.
At least… not at first.
Instead, we saw competitive anxiety, rigidity around rules, jealousy over spotlight moments, and discomfort with open-ended play. Not universally, but noticeably.
What we learned—eventually—is that hidden curriculum wasn’t enough.
The values we hoped would appear on their own needed to be said out loud, practiced deliberately, and reinforced consistently.
So, we took what we wanted to be implicit and made it explicit.
Turning the Hidden Curriculum Into the Active Curriculum
About six years ago, we made a subtle but powerful shift.
Instead of assuming kids would absorb sportsmanship, collaboration, and joyful competition on their own, we turned those expectations into direct teaching.
Not with long lectures.
Not with complicated character-education programs.
Just with a simple, clear, memorable mantra:
“Be fun to play with. Be fun to play against.”
That was it.
This became our North Star.
Our entire “active curriculum” for behavior in sports and PE.
A rule that was also a philosophy.
A guideline that was also a challenge.
A standard that was also an invitation.
And because it was simple, repeatable, and actionable, students quickly internalized it.
The mantra became the go-to mantra at:
PE class.
Practices and games.
Recess.
Even at home (when squabbles between siblings needed to be settled)
The message was repeated by coaches, teachers, parents, and even students to each other.
The mantra became the baseline expectation of what it means to be an athlete in our community.
Over time—slowly, almost invisibly—it shaped the deepest layers of how kids interacted.
What Six Years of That Mantra Have Done
The long-term ripple effects became clear only when viewed from a distance.
Students who once panicked about rule changes adapted easily.
Students who once needed structure learned to create it themselves.
Students who once dominated learned to share the ball and elevate others.
Students who once feared losing status took pride in helping teammates shine.
Students who once relied on adults to referee disagreements now resolve conflicts independently.
Recess games became:
more inclusive
more joyful
more collaborative
more self-governed
more resilient
And this wasn’t just because we repeated a sentence.
It was because the mantra gave kids something concrete to measure themselves against.
They could ask themselves:
Is my behavior fun for others?
Not “Am I winning?”
Not “Am I the best player?”
Not “Am I doing everything perfectly?”
Just:
Am I someone others genuinely enjoy playing with?
And am I someone others enjoy competing against?
This small reframing had an enormous impact.
The Most Surprising Realization: I was part of the problem
As I stood at recess this week, watching a joyful, chaotic, cooperative kickball game, another thought hit me.
Maybe part of the tension years ago wasn’t in the kids.
Maybe it was in me.
During recess, I used to referee games upon request from the kids. Unfortunately, I think I brought a type of formality with me:
structure
rules
consequences
whistles
adult presence
judgment (even if neutral)
My presence made the moment feel “official.”
Which meant students acted as if it mattered more.
When adults officiate, kids naturally default to performance mode instead of exploration mode—their mindset shifts from play to prove.
We made the change several years ago, so we don’t referee anymore. This change was made initially solely for logistical reasons. We had fewer people watching, so no adult could focus on just one part of the play area.
So refereeing went by the wayside, and:
Disputes became learning opportunities
Kids adapted to rule changes on the fly
Fairness was negotiated
The game belongs to the group
The fun was through play, not winning
In other words:
Removing myself allowed them to grow.
I wish I could travel back in time, almost like one of the ghosts in Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol, and scare my past self into changing that sooner, because it made a world of difference.
Six Years of Slow Change… Revealed All at Once
If the 2019 Globetrotter lesson taught me anything, it’s that students don’t automatically know how to “play for fun” simply because they attend a Montessori school or participate in sports.
But if you teach it—clearly, simply, consistently—they learn.
And when they learn, they eventually teach others.
What was seen at recess this week wasn’t just a group of kids playing kickball.
It was six years of growth, crystallized before us.
Six years of a community forming a new shared identity.
Six years of the hidden becoming visible.
Six years of a simple mantra becoming culture.
And I truly am proud—of our athletic program, yes, but more importantly, of the kids who bring it to life.