Stilts on the steps

I admire kids.  I've said that before.  This will definitely not be the last time I say that.  I admire what they know and more importantly what they don't know.  What they don't know is one of their strengths.  Kids don't know what they can't do.  They aren't aware of what others have tried to do and failed.  They don't know what everyone else is scared to try.  They have no idea.  Aren't they lucky?

When it is time for us to attempt something or 'go for it' we have a lot of explaining to do with our guts. We have to listen to the little voices that tell us we are crazy to try, that we probably won't be able to do it, that we just aren't tall enough or strong enough or thin enough or brave enough.  We have to confront our demons; the ones that were there when we tried something and it didn't quite work and the ones we've made up, just because that's what grown-ups do.  We're good about that.  We're are good about laundry lists of things we can't do or shouldn't try or messed up on before.  We like to keep those kinds of lists close to our hearts and most of us have them memorized.  

That's not how kids act, though.  They don't hold on to much of that.  They learn that quickly, oh yes they do - but that's not how they start off.  In the beginning, they listen more to their gutsy, creative side and they set out to try it all.  They watch us and they learn; they learn to listen more closely to those voices that say "It can't be done" and "You're crazy to try that" and "It might not work."  They learn quickly to listen to those messages, but I like to watch them before they hear all of that.  I like to learn from them when they are greener; when the will to do something is greater and louder than the cowardly voices that tell them not to even try.  I like to watch when they are so deeply involved in what they're doing that every cell in their little bodies is busy working on the task at hand.  That's when kids are grand teachers.  Watch and see.

On Friday afternoon, I was watching a group of kids.  I was photographing a play date and enjoying some time outside, enjoying watching six or eight little ones who were happy the weekend had come and all they were thinking about was the present.  All that concerned them was the moment at hand, the urge to enjoy and  the goal of having a blast.  

Harry and Ben decided to try their hand (well, feet) at stilts.  I heard them say "That will be fun" and "I've never tried that before" all within the same thirty seconds they identified the stilts, ran to get them, stood up on them and walked away atop them.  I need not list the steps an adult human would have checked off before 'playing' on the stilts!  I'd say the playdate would be over before many adults would have gotten half-way through the checklist of can'ts and don'ts about such an attempt.  I can hear it now.  If the re-call of past events that didn't end well didn't stop one of us, the thought of the utter embarrassment at a messy fall would!  Kids get embarrassed, to be sure, but even that doesn't serve as a deterrent.  That comes later, after they know 'better.'  

I like to observe children before they've 'learned' all that we know; before they go through the checklists of can'ts, before they remember they might get embarrassed.  I like observing them when they're still right there in the moment, whatever that moment might be.  I want to see how it must be to decide on something, something that could be difficult, and then listen to the voice that screams, "YEAH!"  

I want that back.  I do.  

As you can imagine, the small stilts were not challenging.  They made for some good laughs, but they were easily mastered by the athletes atop them.  The boys maneuvered the playground nicely, tried running, enjoyed bumping into a sibling or two.  But they needed a greater challenge.  

My mind drifted off for a few seconds, as minds are want to do.  I thought about how funny it would be if I got on a pair of stilts and then quickly decided to stay on my perch on the backside of a small tricycle.  I'm glad I did, because what I saw next was the real lesson - the nugget I left with.  

The stilt-clad boys decided that they should try out the curved bridge that joined the slides - that would be the "funnest", they said and they were off.  I knew they'd throw off the stilts, bound up to the bridge and have a friend toss up the stilts.  I knew that.  That makes sense.  That's what I would do!

I was wrong.  Without the slightest hesitation, the now professional stilt-walkers did an awkward modified run to the steps beside the slide and started up.  What?  You can't go up a ladder with stilts on!  Those were the voices I heard in my head; luckily, they didn't hear the same ones.  Remember, they were listening to the ones that cheer you on, the ones that tell you to 'go for it.'  

They said they wanted to go to the top, there were stilts on their feet at the moment,  the ladder was there to get to the top - it all made perfect sense.  There was lots of falling and a ton of laughing.  There was no quitting, no thoughts about how ridiculous it all was.  I believe that towards the top of the ladder there was even some dragging of friends up and over.  And they just kept laughing.  They didn't even take off the stilts to stand up on the perch!  

There was much more laughing, many more falls and a little playing on the bridge.  Turns out, playing with stilts atop the bridge wasn't really all that fun.  The fun had been the trip up.  They laughed a little more and then headed off for the next thing, the next adventure, the next moment.  

I admire that will.  I'm thankful I was a voyeur to that race to the summit.  I know those two boys will never need to claim that they've climbed a ladder in stilts - that hardly matters.  They were lucky, though.  What they gained was one more afternoon of assuming that what was wished for was attainable, one more occasion to win out over the voices of reason to which we grown-ups so faithfully cling.  

I'm not sure when a child goes from knowing they can do it to assuming they can't.  I haven't ever watched that exchange and I don't hope to see it.  I want to keep learning, keep watching them fight to win over the voices that tell us we're crazy to try.  Crazy to try isn't part of a child's vocabulary.  That's a learned trait, one of those pieces of us we pass along without even realizing the switch has been made. 

So, on Friday I learned a lot from Ben and Harry.  I watched joy bubble over in a couple of tired, dirty boys who knew they could climb a ladder with stilts.  My teachers were 8 and 9, and I hope the lesson sunk in.  I know they'll give me chance for review, but I need to start practicing.  I need to keep at this going for it, attempting, trying day after day and I need to take the lead of two young boys and remember that I don't always have to listen to those voices inside that tell me what I can't do and what I shouldn't try.  

Maybe the voices are the really crazy ones.  I wouldn't argue with a couple of teachers who just reached the summit on stilts and quickly moved on to the next adventure!

5 basketballs and guts

Yesterday I witnessed a marvel.  Really.  It wasn't so much the athletic feat that was marvelous but the guts.  As with many afternoons at our house, kids were inside and outside doing any manner of things.  We had actually had a 'homework check' and everyone was completely finished with all assignments - the big kids and the little kids.  That meant everyone was free to pursue the school day fun of their dreams (or the best they could come up with using the yard and the innards of the garage).  There was a strange, newly invented game on the side of the house that involved colored circles from a hop-scotch set and two lines of kids.  Emma seemed to be in charge of that and the small folks gathered 'round her seemed content with the set-up.  A few of the boys opted out of the two-lined circle game and headed to the basketball goal in the street.

Sometimes the basketball games are organized, using one ball for a modified 'two on two' or rousing game of 'H-O-R-S-E'.  Yesterday, though, each boy had his own basketball.  (You will notice that I will NOT be using the word 'ball' at any time in this post - I will consistently write out 'basketball' even though you all will know what kind of earth-shaped object I'm speaking of.  If you are the parent of a boy or know the parent of a boy, you will know why.  I have been trained never to say or write b-a-l-l, unless there is time for an hour long laughing session.  And the plural of the word is even better!  Saying those words, and others like them, is akin to giving a boy the best birthday present of his life and hearing the funniest joke ever, EVERY TIME.  I mean knee-slapping funny every time.  It's a strange phenomenon.  So, I will always identify spheres used for games and sports by their entire name.)  The guys were enjoying random shots with no particular rules.  Everyone was happy.  (I forgot to mention that there were 'pizza rolls' in the oven, which also brings about a joy not found naturally in children .  If you ever find yourself with a house full of children and no snack options, run to Dollar General.  You can purchase large bottles of "Lemon-Lime Flavored Soda" for 88 cents, they always have 'pizza rolls' and you can get in and out in a flash.  The children will be so excited about the 'pizza rolls' and the friends and the fact that you are buying soda in the middle of the week that they will not mind that their "Sprite" is "Clover Valley Lemon-Lime Flavored Soda.")  So, to recap, the boys were happy, and I know that I've just written a paragraph with most of the sentences in parentheses.  It seemed the right thing to do.

In the kitchen, hovering over the preparation of the healthy snacks, I was surprised by the door flying open with four screaming boys - "You've got to come see, you've got to come see and bring your camera!"  I ran for the camera and followed them out the door, delighted that I wasn't running out to break up a fight or wipe up blood from a collision.  "There," they said, as they all four pointed up at the goal.  It took me a minute to realize what the excitement was all about.  There were three basketballs stuck together in the net, as if all three of them had to make a basket at the same time.  I cheered, I clapped, I screamed for the others, and I took a couple of shots.  They guys were delighted and explained how it had happened.  Two of them had taken shots at the same time and both made the basket!  Then a third lightly tossed in another shot that landed atop the other two.  I realized from the volume of the voices that it was truly a miracle.

We had fun working to get the basketballs out and then I wandered back to the house, hollering something about them calling me when they got four basketballs in the basket.  "Okay," they simultaneously yelled.

I got back to the important work of vittles preparation for the hungry and forgot about the superb athleticism I had just witnessed.  Approximately 180 seconds went by and again the door flew open - they had four basketballs in the net!  Now we were in the big leagues!  Now we had the side yard athletes, too, and all of us marveled at the net.  We stared up into that beautiful, bright winter sun and proudly gazed at those basketballs all stuffed in the hoop.  It was impressive.  At this point, it was hard for the afternoon to improve.

But . . . alas, it did.  After we all squealed with delight and helped them to work the four basketballs out of the net, the boys explained that they were "going for five."  "All right, dudes, go for it," I said, heading back inside.  And, bless Pat and my two fifteen packs of 'pizza rolls', they did it!  They worked together to configure a way to get five basketballs in one net at one time.  I present the picture here for proof and for your viewing pleasure.  It really was a groovy day.

I've thought a lot about those boys and their basketballs and their determination and their guts.  I've thought a lot about how much I continue to learn from my kids.  I've thought a lot about how I might have confronted the same dare.  I'm afraid I probably would have laughed it off and said, "I can't do that."  I probably wouldn't have considered just trying it and I probably wouldn't have had the guts to just go for it, not worrying what the onlookers thought.  I would have missed the fun, the excitement and the miracle.  I imagine that most of my peers would react in the same way.  I wonder how many things we miss when we don't have the guts to try something, even if it's a crazy dream.  I wonder.

Since beginning this blog, I've had many folks tell me that they wanted to write a comment, but they were afraid they might say the wrong thing or say something silly or something that others might not agree with.  I understand that - I do.  I have the same fears most days when I put this little white Mac in my lap and start typing.  It's gutsy to put ourselves out there.  It takes guts to say or write or throw a basketball without regard for others' judgements.  It's easy for me to tell my friends to go ahead and comment or say what they'd like - it's no big deal.  But I know, and you know, that it's harder done than said.

Kids have a lot of guts, huh?  They have a spirit that tells them to go for it.  They don't have all of the experiences and fears and feelings that we have bagged up to tell them what might not work.  To children it's fine that it might not work.  It's fun trying.  It's fun going for it.  I admire that.  I admire their guts.

I pray my children and their friends will hold onto that.  I'm remembering all of the times that I've 'gone for it' - remembering what I learned or what I saw or what I did or how funny it was when it just didn't work.  I think yesterday was a good lesson for me,  that net full of five basketballs and those scruffy proud faces below it.