Yesterday Julian said "we have to cut the grass, it's...it's...it's growing." Sure enough, today he was delighted to get out the mower, the long extension cord, the ear protectors, and go to work in the back yard. Some of the time, he pushed Grandpa Henry's luggage rack around as his mower, some of the time he helped me to clean the underside of my mower, some of the time he spent playing on the play structure. He ended up just watching me walk the mower back and forth across the lawn, seemingly mesmerized by my gradual progression.
There were several things going on in that situation, I'm sure, but what struck me was how it once again reminded me how much kids like *real* stuff. They are attracted by a multitude of characteristics;
- Sharp edges
- Diesel engines
- Speed
- Power
- Gradual, visible progress
- Gritty, dusty, messy tasks where things might actually go wrong but then don't
- Buttons, levers, knobs
- Connections (like plugs and spigots)
Then there is the presentation of activities. Kids are famous for liking silliness, but they also really like the right kind of seriousness. One of my favorite camp counselors, Dan Wolfson, who was my instructor through the Timberlake Pioneer Program, could make *anything* seem like the coolest/best/most important task. He would gather us together, and talk us through the steps of the task, and talk about what equipment we would need, and talk about safety, and we happily would have followed him anywhere to do anything. (Come to think of it, I still would).
Now, a great deal of his appeal, in our eyes, was that he really does know how to do cool stuff. Forestry, fire fighting, bear tracking (no, I'm not making this up), carpentry, the list goes on and on. Banjo, knots, rock climbing, like I said, it's a long cool list. But, even when the task was digging holes or unloading lumber, he had the right delivery for his introduction and his instructions that let us know that this was important, that it mattered if we got this done or not, that we had better get it right or else it might go wrong.
I have seen this more recently, as I watch my kids gravitate towards some folks in particular. They much prefer to be taken seriously, and spoken to seriously. Luckily, they have many grandparents, and aunts and uncles, that do them this favor. The friends of ours that are their favorites have this approach, too.
TomB has been converting our deck into a screened in porch. I have been helping him, when I can, which hasn't been often enough. But at other times, Julian has been out there on the job site. He knows all the tools by name (which Tom discovered when he said "Hey Julian, go get me the level" and didn't have to give any more instructions than that). He can naturally pick up the flow of a task, working the end of the tape measure from board to board while Tom was measuring cuts. He *loves* plucking the chalkline, but who doesn't? His level of capability is remarkable, but so is Tom's ability to sense it, and reward it, and bring it out. Probably not a coincidence that my two first examples are folks who have made enormous contributions to the F&W community over many years.
Jonas has more of his own ideas about what he wants to do, but he is also responsive to this dynamic. Recently I led him away from his beloved "screen time" with a suggestion that he help me cook. I handed him a cucumber, and a kitchen knife that we had dug up in a garden bed (suitable only for cucumber, tofu, and maybe mushrooms). He had sliced up the whole long cucumber before I could even check in to say "how about half of that", and was waiting to rip through the tofu that I gave him. The offer of a real kitchen tool, that he was only allowed to use because he is now old enough, and the assignment that really was contributing to our dinner, completely dissolved the whining and moaning that often occur just before mealtimes regarding screens, both large and small.
As parents, it is easy to roll our eyes (yes, we do that too) and ask "why do they only want to play with sharp things" but actually think "sharp" is only one sign that something is real. Mom tells a great story about teaching me to weed when I was three, and how I managed to do a better job than the adult that was supposedly taking care of me (she pulled up three tomato plants by mistake, apparently). In fact, I think that our kids are in more danger when we bar them from working with real tools and tasks. They sense the vacuousness of what is left behind when we lock the real stuff away, and they go about finding their own real stuff. I think I would rather have Jonas next to me wielding a slightly dull knife than have him off "playing with matches" either literally or metaphorically. And so far Julian stays put when I sit him up on the kitchen island, because he can talk to me, and watch the pasta bubble on the stove, and help me mix the dough.
Part of me lives in fear that I will give Jonas a knife that is a little too sharp, or perch Julian on a counter when he is in some odd mood. Maybe I will. But I think it is important to recognize the level of engagement that such modest risks enable, and that there are enormous risks to the disengagement that comes of sterility in a family's environment in the name of ultimate safety.
Julian is at an age that brings stark contrasts to this issue. Given the fact that he has been known to throw rocks at his brother (no, not pebbles, *rocks*) it is tempting to say "he can't be trusted with sharp implements in the garden". However, I must notice that he throws rocks when he doesn't have anything better to do, and when trusted with a tool he goes right to work. So he gets to use the three-pointed scratcher, and the Japanese Gardener's knife (really more like a trowel), and he pitches right in.
I think it is important to pay close attention to what our kids are capable of, and let them know when they have earned the right to work with something that would have been a little too dangerous for them at an earlier age. I also think it is important to recognize that the actual goal is "real" rather than simply "dangerous".
And, I feel endless appreciation for my parents, and my counselors, and my camp directors, and my teachers, who have chosen to share real stuff with me over the years. Isn't it unbelievably precious when I get to watch those same people share that real stuff with my own kids?
