Sitting in on Stephen’s nursery school class last week was as much of an eye-opener for me as it was for him. Our days used to be carefree with just a semblance of routine - no strict schedule, daily or even weekly appointments. I subscribed to the “learning should be fun” school of thought. Stephen picked up his numbers seemingly spontaneously and a few letters here and there with no order to them (he knew the letter S for Stephen first, of course). We never sat down with pencil in hand and workbook on table to “study” anything.

Until now.

Last week, the teacher asked me to work with Stephen at home on coloring within the lines. He had been given a piece of paper with the outlines of the big letter A and small letter a. Instead of diligently coloring them in WITHIN the lines, he scribbled all over the paper. Usually, he declares his work to be “spirals galaxy,” which always impresses me. But you’re not supposed to do that in school. You’re supposed to trace then color the letters WITHIN the lines.


So we’ve been practicing. Every couple of hours in between playing and DVD’s, we’ll color in a robot or some other picture in his coloring book and go through the alphabet. Other times, we’ll jump with two feet over a rope or from tile to tile because I know they do that on PE.

I feel like an overly anxious parent eager to push her child to get ahead. Or a stage mother who forces her child to fight for the academic limelight. (Of course, I’m exaggerating because there’s only a little bit of coercion involved. No one was hurt in the making of a more educated Stephen.)

As much as I want Stephen to learn things effortlessly, I know from personal experience that becoming an expert in something isn’t all fun and games. Acquiring new knowledge involves blood, sweat, and tears, both literally and figuratively. There’s also loss of sleep, a writer’s bump on the middle finger of the writing hand (although they’re apparently headed for extinction), and occasional eyestrain.

For all the struggles, though, the satisfying feeling of finally figuring something out on your own is incomparable. That’s why I still try to be more hands off than on, guiding instead of pressuring, showing instead of doing, and often observing instead of participating.

Stephen is the one who has to be actively educating himself, but that won’t happen if he’s unaware of the possibilities. And that’s what his teachers and I are trying to provide. Pens, pencils, crayons, and paper have the potential to make more than just scribbles. And so does Stephen.