The Right Way to Do Things

My three-year-old niece wanted me to read with her. She had her system all worked out. She took the top book from her pile of favorites and announced that first she would read it to me, then I would read it to her. She named the title correctly, turned the pages, and told a story. It was a charming story, based largely on the illustrations, with a few memorable phrases from the original mixed in. Then I read back to her, this time relying not on creativity, but solely on the text. She seemed to be equally pleased with both versions, and had us repeat the process with the next book.

I caught myself wondering, as I read the book to her the "right" way, whether she could really be as pleased as she appeared to be with her own effort. After all, it was clearly not "right". She is a very perceptive child and very verbally aware, and must have known that her story line did not match the original. But I couldn't find any hint that she cared. And her obvious pleasure in her own "reading" was a pleasure in itself.

This got me thinking that there are lots of situations in which we adults want our children to do it "right". Toys are made to be used in a certain way. Puzzle pieces are for putting in puzzles, not for stacking. Games have rules; there are "right" and "wrong" ways of playing. You can't ignore the instructions on a game board, we say, just because you don't feel like following them. There are certain color combinations in clothing that go together, and others that don't. Florals and plaids together are not right. When working with arts and crafts supplies, there is some expectation of what the end result should be. Cutting and cutting and cutting, without producing any product to save, just doesn't seem like the "right" way to use the materials.

We do pretty well with our babies. We're usually pleased with whatever they accomplish, whatever they produce. As they get older, however, we're more and more inclined to show them the "right" way, to correct them when they're doing it "wrong".

But what is wrong about ignoring the puzzle and stacking the little pieces, about making up new rules for a game, about combining florals and plaids, about cutting for the sheer joy of cutting? What is wrong about saying words that aren't in the book?

That little three-year-old was sublimely indifferent to my preconceived notion of how to do it right. And, on reflection, I'm glad. I hope she retains that indifference, that pleasure in finding her own way, in making the world with which she's presented work well for her. For my part, I want to notice when my impulse is to correct a child and show them the "right" way. There may be times when it makes sense to act on that impulse, or at least to offer them information about a different possibility. But my guess is that there will be lots more times when I'll do better to keep my mouth shut. By not laying my adult preconceptions on the situation, I may get glimpses of creativity, ingenuity, freshness of perspective, or new ways of looking at the world that I might otherwise have never seen.