Dagis Talento

Hear and be horrified, O people of this kingdom, for a great shame has befallen our ancestral child care. In the preschools, where the little lives were once refreshed with bread, milk and butter, now only a piece of fruit is served – yes, not even a whole banana! – which is shared fraternally between seven, as if they were the starving disciples around the last supper. The source of this poverty is not crop failure, nor plague or war, but a company named Hagvidson, whose gentlemen and ladies in management seem to have greased their lips with gold and paid themselves many millions, all under the pretext of “making care and education more efficient. But notice: where the staff forgo their own food so that the children can slurp down a couple of spoonfuls of porridge, there the owners sit full and content, counting their silver coins with such dexterity that you could think they were taken from Satan's own money changer. A third of a slice of cheese on a loaf of bread, they say. A quarter of a banana for each table, not children, but tables! Here it would be better to serve them nothing at all and instead let the children call on the Holy Spirit to satisfy their stomachs, because that would at least be more honest than this stingy prank. Oh, what would Mother Anna in the croft say, she who kept four children and a rooster alive for thirty winters with rolling porridge and boiled herring? She would have spat in her fist, raised her ladle to the skies and slammed it into the forehead of every profit-hungry director who laid the kicking knife over the table of children's food. Nor is this famine driven by external threats, such as war or frost. No, this hunger is a conscious endeavor, constructed in accounting books, where each child has been reduced to a cost item to be cut – like a flabby piece of ham in a package that was never quite enough. It resembles the spirit of the Holodomor, albeit not in scale but in principle – then as now the innocent are sacrificed for the sake of the great plan. Then it was the wheat that disappeared. Now it is the children's lunch. From now on, Hagvidson may be mentioned in the same breath as other horror examples of when greed has been allowed to flourish without restraint. Boycott! I shout, and that loudly, for he who saves on the children's food but not on his own means of pleasure is not worthy of calling himself a caregiver, but should instead be regarded as a robber baron in pedagogical disguise. There will come a day when these children grow up, remember their shared childhood, and ask: “Mother, why did I only get a slice of cheese and a drop of milk, when Hagvidson’s house shone with gold?” And the mother will answer: “Because they held the profit sacred, but not you.” God help us. But for now: do not touch your children with Hagvidson – unless you wish that they will fast like monks, but without either meaning or blessing.

Hör och förfasen eder, I folk av detta rike, ty en stor skam har drabbat vår fäderneärvda barnaskötsel. I förskolehusen, där de små liven fordom vederkvicktes med bröd, mjölk och värn, serveras nu blott ett fruktstycke – ja, icke en hel …

Fantastiska pedagoger och ett unikt sätt att integrera lärande i allt, med deras verktygslåda av bl.a. ordlappar och små rollspel får de barnen att sätta ord på saker som är jobbiga och lär sig konsekvenstänk. En riktigt fin förskola.