Elizabeth L. Krause is an associate professor in the department of anthropology at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. She is on sabbatical in Tucson and serves on Borton Primary Magnet School's site council.

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I have learned a lot about parental involvement from my son's school, a bright spot in the new dark age of education. The principal's love for community infects the teachers and inspires parents from all walks of life to be part of this school.

Borton Primary Magnet School is an intimate K-2 school with a hacienda-style courtyard on the South Side. The principal insists on an open-door policy.

The school is a joyful place. Every morning before the bell rings, the gym teacher blasts beach and dance music that inspires kids to jump rope. My son, who last year complained endlessly about his school in Massachusetts — too much pressure too early to meet first-grade standards — looks forward to setting off to a place where his curiosity is nurtured. The school encourages parental involvement through its welcoming philosophy and its 2.5-acre bird sanctuary, the Borton Elementary Learning Laboratory.

Once a week for an hour, several parents and I take small groups of children from the "Lightbulb" classroom out to explore the desert. I am not a naturalist but a parent who wants to ensure that my son and his peers have a chance to experience the world they live in. In the process, I build relationships with them.

One week, we set off with a bin full of binoculars. A new child, "Jack," was erratic and kicked a barrel cactus. The others had grown comfortable with the landscape and were showing signs of respect and engagement. They came to love and expect the ice-cold water that I poured for them into Dixie cups.

The binoculars proved a big hit. One boy shouted "quail!" as he sighted a pair dashing behind a creosote bush. This was the very animal he had chosen for his classroom unit on desert animals.

The real delight that day, though, came when a girl peering precariously at a cholla cactus noticed an odd "twig." The others gathered around. "Look!" they shouted. "It's the first time I've ever seen a real walking stick!"

"Stay back from the cholla!" I warned. "Look through your binoculars!"

They moved like magnets to the cactus. As they closed in on it, too close for their binoculars to focus, small sections of the cholla jumped onto my son's and another boy's shoes. I took a stick to try to remove them, but it broke. Another boy quickly handed me a robust stick, and I removed the needle-sized spines.

Through such minor missteps the children accumulate experiences and fill their memories. They recount these at home or in class.

As my group of kids left the sanctuary and ran across the playground, Jack, that most wild newcomer, turned and gave me a huge hug.

The joy in his face was a contrast to the boredom that overcomes children who are drilled in rote exercises geared toward a test.

Allowing kids to inquire about their world goes a long way toward creating lifelong learners who take joy in problem solving. Allowing parents to participate in such moments reinforces the learning circle.

The chance to connect to my son's school has been a gift for me this year.

We need more schools like this one — intimate, welcoming and child-centered.