The Backyard Daycare

The Backyard Daycare A story that feels like a myth

You have a house with a big, beautiful backyard. It is full of trees, life, and memories. Your family has cared for it for generations, planting and tending to it with love. One day, I notice that you are not using this big space the way I think you should. I decide your backyard would be perfect for a daycare because my community needs one. Without asking your permission, I take over a large part of your land. I bring in builders, remove the trees, and put up a bright new building that I say will benefit everyone.

When you ask what gives me the right, I tell you that everything I am doing is perfectly legal. I show you the permits and community support I have gathered. I explain that I am not taking anything away, only improving it and giving it purpose.

When the daycare opens, I proudly tell everyone that enrollment is open to all and that it is fair and inclusive. But in reality, only the families who meet my standards, those who can afford the fees and fit the image I have for my school, can get in. When you ask if your own children can attend, I say yes, but only if they apply like everyone else and meet my requirements. I tell you this is what equality looks like.

When you ask if I will share any of the profits I make from running the daycare on your land, I tell you no. Instead, I promise that during every public event and ceremony, I will acknowledge that my daycare is built on your backyard. I say how truly sorry I am for taking your land and how grateful I am for your generosity. I repeat this every time I speak publicly, making sure everyone knows how respectful and self-aware I am. I tell people that this acknowledgement is an important part of my values. Sometimes, I invite you to these events and ask you to share a few stories about your life here before. People applaud my openness and praise me for being understanding and kind.

As time goes on, I expand the daycare. I add more classrooms and new buildings, spreading farther across your backyard. I rent and sell parts of the land to bring in more money for better building and teaching resources, but none of it goes to you. When you ask about the trees, the garden, and the changes to the land, I tell you that it is all part of progress, that this is how we move forward, all to make my daycare better.

To make it look like we are partners, I use your family’s name in my brochures and tell people the daycare was inspired by your story. I say that your presence gives my project meaning, even though I never include you in the decisions about how the land is used.

When you suggest that your traditions, stories, or ways of knowing could be included in the daycare program, I smile and tell you that our school follows a modern, globally minded approach that prepares children for success in today’s world. I say that your teachings are meaningful, but they do not quite fit with the methods and goals of our program. I assure you that I am doing what is best for the children and for the future.

Inside the building, I hang paintings and plaques that celebrate how wonderful my ancestors were, the visionaries who, I say, brought growth and opportunity to this place. Their names are written on the walls and engraved in stone. I include a small plaque that acknowledges you again, thanking you for allowing this work to happen. Visitors admire how beautifully I have built on my ancestors’ legacy and how respectfully I have recognized you.

To celebrate my work, I hold ceremonies several times a year. Each one begins with my familiar words: “I would like to begin by acknowledging that this daycare stands on your land.” I pause to let the audience take in my sincerity before continuing with a speech about innovation, progress, and the bright future this daycare represents. I mention your family and your land again, then move on to talk about my leadership, my success, and my generosity. The audience claps and tells me how inspiring it is that I turned your backyard into something so meaningful.

Does this sound familiar?