At the far end of the playground, a cluster of seven or eight trees has transformed into a bustling marketplace. Each tree serves as a storefront, with children taking on roles ranging from shop owners to customers. The value of each shop varies based on its location, the size of the lot, and the unique items it offers.
These miniature stores specialize in various goods like pinecones and twigs. Some enterprising young store owners have taken it upon themselves to “reinvent” the humble pinecone, attempting to market it in innovative ways. According to my daughter, some kids promote their pinecones as the perfect game accessory, while others tout the benefits of their sticky sap-laden varieties as a tool for quickly gathering pine needles. A few have even branched out to collect local flowers and harvest bee pollen.
The children have established their own economy based on “basic supply and demand,” where an ordinary pinecone is less valuable than processed items like bee pollen, and the rarest goods command the highest prices.
A child can become a store owner in one of two ways. Some shops are passed down from graduating owners, while others climb the ranks by starting as employees and then “making partner.” A few ambitious kids have even attempted to establish their own shops further away from the tree line, only to discover that their remote locations hinder customer traffic. Perhaps there’s an app for that!
Regardless, the young entrepreneurs are diligently running their shops, which often leads to entertaining personnel disputes. Some employees find themselves fired, making job hunting quite the challenge in their tight-knit community. Others decide to leave their positions for new opportunities, or to chase their dreams of becoming the reigning tetherball champion.
One day, a friend’s frustrated second grader lamented, “I didn’t like my job, so I quit,” when asked about her day at school. It turned out her boss had a knack for micro-managing, insisting on a specific arrangement of pinecones and refusing to entertain any ideas for competing with the neighboring rock vendor. So, she moved on to greener pastures—literally, as she now plays soccer instead.
These kids are acutely aware of the influence certain customers hold over a store’s success. “If you can get [Emily] to buy your stuff, suddenly everyone wants it,” my daughter explained. “But if she says it’s bad, your shop is doomed. You have to prepare for her visits!” Fortunately, there are also kids who act as “contract-to-hire,” floating between stores to enhance customer experience, improve product offerings, or refine advertising strategies.
Parents and teachers have described this phenomenon using words like “quirky,” “hysterical,” and even “bizarre.” I find it all of those things and more. This playground dynamic elevates experiential learning to new heights. I wonder if other schools in Silicon Valley have similar activities. Do New York City classrooms transform into trading floors during rainy days? Do kids in DC debate playground rules or advocate for better jungle gyms?
On a more serious note, it raises questions about what’s happening in other parts of the country and around the world, and what the implications are for future generations.
This article was originally published on April 21, 2015.
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In summary, the entrepreneurial spirit of children in Silicon Valley is alive and well, with second graders engaging in imaginative play that mimics real-world economics. This unique phenomenon not only fosters creativity but sets the stage for early life lessons in business and teamwork.