This summer, I spent a day - a whole day - learning how to make...a hook. At the end of six hours of hot sweaty work I had something that takes a professional blacksmith four to five minutes to make. And frankly, it's not a great hook. But I'm fond of it and humbled by the experience of making it.
So often as adults, we do only things that we know how to do well already. Whether at work at home or at a hobby, we may hone skills but we are rarely starting cold. We rarely confront things that are totally new. Blacksmithing was totally new to me and it was hard.
When I embarked on my hook making, the instructor, Cody, showed us each step slowly and carefully - it all made complete sense - I'd shake my head firmly when he asked if there were questions. And then I'd return to my anvil and...what was I supposed to do first (and second...and third.)? What had been crystal clear during the demonstration was suddenly muddled. I would call Cody over and he would patiently explain it. I'd set myself to do exactly what he said...but it wouldn't work. What created a beautiful, symmetrical point on his metal did nothing on mine. After his (second) demonstration, I understood what to do intellectually but lacked the ability to do it. I tried and tried and, slowly, the metal would start to conform to my wishes...but then my wrist hurt (and I tried really, really hard not to whine). I was tired - surely this wasn't the smallest hammer available? I found myself struggling to remember new words. What, exactly, was the name for the tool that I was currently in desperate need of?
By mid day I had the top half of my "S" hook done. After lunch we returned to work on the bottom half and Cody announced that he wanted us to do it as independently as possible - digging back in our (now foggy) memory of the morning for each step and each technique. He was there if we needed him but he urged us to try to remember ourselves, try to figure it out. My daughter and I conferred and reminded each other of bits of advice as we went along and every once in a while, we turned to Cody for confirmation of the next step. Much of what we did was easier the second time around - we were beginning to understand the basics enough to stop working when the metal got cold and to trust the forge enough to heat the metal adequately. I was able to pinpoint the skills that were still very difficult and ask for specific advice. In the morning I'd just been able to say, "It's not working!" by afternoon, I could say, "the metal seems to be tapering the wrong way." His encouragement toward independence helped us push against the urge to be led through the task a second time - it was a lot harder to do it ourselves but we definitely cemented our learning and understanding in the process. The bottom half of my hook is not quite as nice as the top half - but it's all mine. And chances are good that my second hook would be better than my first. And maybe, after 1000 hooks, I could make one in 5 minutes.
But I want to return to the feelings of frustration and helplessness I had in the morning as I was learning a brand new skill. It was hard and I felt stupid* at times. I wanted to just be done. I wanted to hide my mistakes. I complained (a little). I took a lot of breaks. Not knowing was so difficult. And yet, that's what kids do every day - multiple times a day.
I am humbled by the work students do in the classroom. They are faced with a barrage of new words and new concepts. They are forced to confront the things they find most difficult. They are constantly being asked to do things that are completely new to them. Imagine if you spent six hours a day, five days a week learning brand new things. In short, your kids are amazing!
There are some things we can do to support their work. If I hadn't had a lot of experience in eventually gaining competence, I would have given up. It's important that we help students understand this pattern and recognize it in their own work. Highlight their growth when you recognize their accomplishments. Celebrate the the perseverance and effort it takes to overcome that initial frustration. Confirm for them that confusion is a necessary (and powerful) step in understanding. Help them to genuinely add a "yet" every time they think, "I can't do this."
And, if it's been a while since you were a complete newbie at something, give it a try. Take a class. Go to Instructables and explore
something new. Take up an instrument. Work on a language. Share your experience with your child - tell them about your struggles and how you're tackling them. Let them see you practice and fail and practice and fail and practice. They are used to seeing you as a "done" human - chances are, they don't think there's anything you don't know yet. Watching you not be perfect will give your child a lot of confidence to try a new thing. You'll gain invaluable insights about their learning. And, you'll learn a new skill to boot!
I am so excited to be back in the classroom with our students - and so ready to be in awe of the "everyday" work they do. -mmm
* I looked up the etymology of "stupid" when I wrote this. It's from the Latin "stupere" to be amazed or stunned. I think, in this context, that's an apt connotation because to be stunned is temporary. One may be stunned initially but then the shock wears off. Similarly, the feeling of helplessness or stupidity fades as we gain experience and confidence.