Why do we think children need to be told what they don't know?
In my years of working with children, I've yet to meet one who needs to be told that they can't read yet. Or use scissors. Or walk. Children know their limitations just as well as they know what they can do, if not better. (Who hasn't had "I do it!" Become "Oops"?)
This morning, while the children were working on their art (One was cutting confetti, one was drawing with both hands while trying to stabilize paper, one was making lines with the glue stick and trying to find a way to make it show up better on the paper, one was tearing for the sheer joy of noise, and one was trying his hardest to operate the scissors one-handed) it hit me. I didn't have to tell the confetti-cutter that she needed to learn how to control her scissor snips. I didn't have to tell the scissor explorer that he needed to practice aligning the blades with the paper. The children saw what needed to be done, and worked towards their own goals, problem-solving independently and asking for help when they felt it necessary.
The fine motor skills they were practicing weren't unique in this. "My" kids are more than happy to tell anyone whether or not they can read, write their name, count to 100, or sit still. So why do I feel the need to map out their learning journeys, when they are so capable?
In "The Happiest Toddler on the Block", Harvey Karp compares a child's first three years to hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. Children go from acting entirely on reflex to assessing the expectations of others before acting in just three years. They learn to move and talk and manipulate objects and navigate social situations- on their own timetable. No one would argue that it hasn't occurred to a crawling baby that he could walk. He needs to observe it happening to know it's possible, then figure out how he can do it. No direct instruction is needed, merely opportunity.
So, with safety in mind, I assess what children can use to meet their own goals, and scaffold their experiences. And sometimes, that means a 19-month-old "baby" is using a pair of safety scissors.
In my years of working with children, I've yet to meet one who needs to be told that they can't read yet. Or use scissors. Or walk. Children know their limitations just as well as they know what they can do, if not better. (Who hasn't had "I do it!" Become "Oops"?)
This morning, while the children were working on their art (One was cutting confetti, one was drawing with both hands while trying to stabilize paper, one was making lines with the glue stick and trying to find a way to make it show up better on the paper, one was tearing for the sheer joy of noise, and one was trying his hardest to operate the scissors one-handed) it hit me. I didn't have to tell the confetti-cutter that she needed to learn how to control her scissor snips. I didn't have to tell the scissor explorer that he needed to practice aligning the blades with the paper. The children saw what needed to be done, and worked towards their own goals, problem-solving independently and asking for help when they felt it necessary.
The fine motor skills they were practicing weren't unique in this. "My" kids are more than happy to tell anyone whether or not they can read, write their name, count to 100, or sit still. So why do I feel the need to map out their learning journeys, when they are so capable?
In "The Happiest Toddler on the Block", Harvey Karp compares a child's first three years to hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. Children go from acting entirely on reflex to assessing the expectations of others before acting in just three years. They learn to move and talk and manipulate objects and navigate social situations- on their own timetable. No one would argue that it hasn't occurred to a crawling baby that he could walk. He needs to observe it happening to know it's possible, then figure out how he can do it. No direct instruction is needed, merely opportunity.
So, with safety in mind, I assess what children can use to meet their own goals, and scaffold their experiences. And sometimes, that means a 19-month-old "baby" is using a pair of safety scissors.
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