The Freedom to Do It Wrong

Posted in DemEd in Real LifeParentingTeaching on Jan 28, 2010 - 11:50 PM

As a child, I developed a "Type A" personality pretty quickly.

It's funny; I can remember how it all started. I was a super quiet kid around those I don't know--my daughter is, too. People were constantly telling me to talk, to speak up, to be louder. And when I finally started to do that--to make them happy, as I was perfectly happy being quiet--I was told to be quiet, to not talk in class, to stay in silence. It was the first punishment I ever received in school, a humiliating sentence of corner-banishment in front of all of my peers, and it was enough motivation to get me to shut up once again.

The expectations set in front of me were quite obvious--succeed or be met with disapproval. I wasn't any different from my classmates, but for some reason I just really needed that A+, that sticker, that red scrawl of "Excellent!" And the fear of punishment, of being embarrassed again, was enough to make this little shy girl stay in line for another twelve years. Sure, it was occasionally reinforced--sometimes much more harshly than others during difficult periods of my life--but it was always enough to keep my spirit subdued, my conscience guilty, and my little legs forever chasing that dangling carrot.

Looking back, it's hard to tell who you really are, who you were, with that kind of motivation. Without the room I needed to make mistakes, to experiment, to just play with different subjects, I'm not sure if I really learned--or even liked-- much at all. I can quote you a few things from rote memorization, sure; but most of the things that stick with me are things that I was allowed to explore in my own time, after the hours of homework each night.

And I don't think that anyone really meant for me to feel that way. Okay, maybe a bitter person here and there might have secretly collected my tears in a hidden vial for a tasty snack or coffee shot, but most of my teachers were really interested in doing their jobs and helping me succeed the way they were taught to do.

I really wish that I had had the freedom to be wrong. I wish that, instead of the fear that pumped in my chest as I waited for the praise or the gold sticker, or the devastation I felt if I missed a point, I instead simply felt joy about what I was learning. Don't get me wrong; I did feel it sometimes, with certain teachers. But overall, it was a constant, receding-hairline inducing experience (well, perhaps not exactly that, but I would have hairs turn white during finals week) that I simply wouldn't wish on anyone.

I wish I had been able to hold that spark, that burning desire to know more about Egyptian pharaohs ("Well, we're moving on to Rome, Sara," and this after only a week?) or Greek mythology (something only two teachers, of the dozens I've had, touched upon) and been able to build on it. I wish I'd been able to creatively explore mathematics or chemistry instead of worrying about doing things the right way so badly until I made myself believe that I was bad at it and hated it. (These days we're sort of science geeks in our household, constantly doing experiments for fun.)

One day, I saw a boy--a very unconventional but bright boy who didn't have many friends--stumble and spill his backpack. In a hurry to not be late (which would have been penalized with a punishment), I continued on my way to class all across the other side of the building. Glancing back, I saw a much bigger, popular boy--a "troublemaker," actually--stop and help the boy pick up his papers. He didn't fear punishment like I did, and I wish that I had had the courage he displayed so simply, without recognition, that day. And I'm sure he got "in trouble" for it, and I'm sure he didn't even blink.

I would have cried, had it been me.

I wish, instead of being penalized for a broken locker or a "misinterpretation" of a piece of literature, I'd been treated with compassion, encouraged to explore new ideas, and allowed to be different. That's one of the biggest things I'm hoping to do with my daughter. I know there are a handful of ways to cook macaroni and cheese; she doesn't need to boil water just because Kraft tells her to. Whether it's folding towels, doing long division, fixing a broken appliance or analyzing Shakespeare, I know that there are plenty of ways to do it, and that my kiddo is smart enough to figure out most of them.

One of the things that really made the neon light start flickering for me, as I considered the big "To Homeschool or Not to Homeschool" question, was when my daughter's preschool teacher sent home a note mentioning how quiet she was, and how that was an area needing improvement. I really, really don't want my daughter to fear being wrong, and I really, really hope that I can live up to that goal.

Tags for this entry:
achievement, behavior and consequences, curiosity, joy of learning, experimenting, mistakes

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