Camp Creek Press

We learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself. — Lloyd Alexander

To trust children we must first learn to trust ourselves ... and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted. — John Holt

The key is curiosity, and it is curiosity, not answers that we model. As we seek to know more about a child, we demonstrate the acts of observing, listening, questioning and wondering. When we are curious about a child's words and our responses to those words, the child feels respected. The child is respected. "What are the ideas that I have that are so interesting to the teacher? I must be somebody with good ideas." — Vivian Paley

Along with being intractable, my older son is also a perfectionist.

I had hoped to avoid this. I was a perfectionist as a child (I claim to be partly cured), and I know what it cost me. I avoided any activities that I didn't immediately excel in. (Not that there were many.) (I kid.) I wanted him to be able to relax and enjoy life more.

Alas, genetics trump intentions, and he is a perfectionist to the core.

The boy uses a lot of erasers. He crumples a lot of paper. He shows me a drawing that I think is amazing in its detail and clarity, and then he crumples it up and throws it away five minutes later. I now try to grab things from him before they get destroyed, or I beg him to give them to me instead of tossing them. He says, "No! I don't want anyone to see that!"

It is difficult to compliment a perfectionist child. You say, "That is a great drawing. You really included a lot of detail." He responds, "It isn't that good. I didn't draw the feathers right. The eyes don't look right. I really don't like it..."

We do a few different things to try to mitigate this tendency. He's homeschooled, so he can't easily compare himself to others. (Before, he was in a multi-age class in a private school, in a similar situation.) I work with him to set reasonable goals for himself. He does a lot of art and other creative pursuits, where the enjoyment is in making and there's no particular end goal.

We talk about the process, and how fun it is to simply read books about something that interests us, visit places we've never seen before, talk to new people. We stress that mistakes are necessary for learning, and if you aren't making mistakes, you aren't learning. We share our own mistakes, and try to model accepting our failures gracefully.

At the beginning of a new project, we talk about what might go wrong that we'll have to deal with, or what difficulties we should expect, emphasizing that something will always go wrong. (Perfection is not possible!)

We acknowledge his perfectionism and call him on it, and we share our own experiences with it.

Finally, we make an effort to celebrate all of his achievements, so he won't gloss right over them and head immediately for the next difficult goal.

The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself. — Anna Quindlen

See also:

It's not (all) about the art

Perfectionism and praise

PTA: Preventing Perfectionism in Children

Our wonderful friend Emily gave the boys this fantastic book this weekend: Bird Songs: 250 North American Birds in Song. It's a wonderful addition to their bird books, and the boys absolutely love it.

Jack returned to his bird sculpture this week, but set his armature aside and, using the new book as his reference photo, made a beautiful mostly two-dimensional wire sculpture instead. Running outside to find a stick for a perch was an exciting part of the process.

Tomorrow, he says he's going to engineer a wire harness to hold the bird on its perch.

Of course, the label has fallen off the wire he used, but it is an ordinary spool of wire purchased at the hardware store, thin enough to be bendy, thick enough to be strong and hold its shape. It cuts with ordinary snub-nosed kid scissors. And the only tool he used, other than his own two hands, was a pair of jewelry pliers made to curl wire (no cutters!), and he didn't need those; they were just fun to use.

Yesterday, I wrote a little about my older son, the intractable child.

So, how do you work with such a contrary being? He doesn't want you to impose your will; heck, he doesn't even want you to suggest your will. He doesn't want to hear your ideas; in fact, if he hears them from you, he'll draw a big black line through them.

You may start to think, well, fine, he says no to everything. He refuses every suggestion. He shakes his head politely at every offer. He's not going to do anything! He's going nowhere! He had a great idea, but now he's doing nothing with it!

What I've found, however, at least with my intractable child, is that he not only doesn't stand in a corner, like Bartleby, doing nothing, he actually is a relentless learner.

When someone talks about something he doesn't understand or know about, he goes to look it up, or he demands a full explanation. He doesn't want to be ignorant. He wants to understand what's going on.

When he has an interest, the best way I can encourage him isn't to offer books or materials or field trips (things my younger son accepts with a smile). The best thing I can do is ask questions. What are you going to do? How can you find out about that? Is there anything I can do for you?

When we start a first project with the youngest children (three year old's), we start by listing their questions. Then we ask them, How can you find out what you want to know? This leads to brainstorming: We can ask my dad! We can call my grandma! We can look in a book!

We do this because we don't just want to learn facts about birds, or rivers, or outer space. What we really want to learn is how to learn. That is the curriculum that matters. How do we find information? How do we locate and talk to experts? How do we know when our question has been answered?

My son has been doing project work for seven years. He not only knows the process, he demands the process. He insists on being in charge.

So I go back to square one, and I ask the questions. How can you find out what you want to know? What are you going to do? Is there anything I can do to help you?

And even when I step on his toes, and he shuts down an entire line of inquiry because he feels like I got too involved, he doesn't just sit in the corner and do nothing. He just alters his course, smoothly, and keeps moving forward. Because he is a relentless learner.