A Father's Day Gift

Last week the kids and I were preparing our Father's Day presents. They decided to decorate t-shirts with fabric paint, and of course we made cards. On Thursday, we were sitting at the table. Oldest, creasing the middle of her forehead, was staring at a piece of paper. Youngest immediately wanted to dictate what I should write. After a couple of minutes we were done and I watched Oldest. I finally asked her: " Sweetie, what do you want to write on your card?" She had no idea, so I went into mama rescue mode. "Well, honey, you could write about something you like to do with daddy,...." I began and Oldest patiently waited me out. Then she simply said "Mommy, can you be quiet now so I can think?"

As requested, I left her at the table. About ten minutes later, she called out "finished!" and showed me a beautifully written card that she had done all by herself. She explained that she had copied the "Happy Father's Day" from the front of her sister's card, and how she wrote other words she knew.

And then it hit me again, this realization why we homeschool, and in particular why we have chosen a Waldorf inspired path. Because Waldorf has taught me to honor my children's needs, to get out of the way when asked, to stand back and observe and let them do and struggle a bit. Before Waldorf, I was the running commentary in our day, always telling the kids what was going on, always wanting to impart knowledge. I was forever creating "learning opportunities" and making sure no lesson was missed. After all it was my responsibility to teach them, right? And I ended up with a little girl who spoke full sentences by 18 months, but didn't have access to her imaginative side. She spent hours sorting stuffed animals, but she never played with them. By age 6 she could read like a fourth grader, but she couldn't yet remember to use the bathroom.

Since we have begun our Waldorf journey and actively encouraged imaginative play, the same child has wholeheartedly embraced all fairies and can be a cat, a princess, a puppy, a fairy or a lion all in the span of a few minutes. She and her sister have developed an elaborate mud bakery in the backyard, with a strictly scripted process for baking "bread". They mix soil and water, add some seeds they find around the yard, stir it up to the right consistency, knead it and shape it into loaves. These are then placed on a tree stump to dry, and several days later they break pieces off these mud cakes and serve me bread and tea outside. And over the last few weeks, Oldest has gradually begun to use the bathroom when she needs to.

None of this could have happened if I had not learned the simplest lesson: get out of the way. I have learned to quietly go about my work, weeding in the garden while they play nearby. Sometimes one of them comes over to help me, sometimes they play around me. I am a part of the landscape to them, a big sturdy tree in the corner where they can occasionally sit in the shade and draw strength, or whisper their secrets. Sometimes they want to carve little messages into the trunk, or climb the branches, hiding in the foliage and feeling safe and adventurous at the same time. But they always climb back down and go on with their play, knowing that their tree will always be there and breathe good clean air to them, and otherwise let them be.

So I was grateful last Thursday, when Oldest simply reminded me that all was well. She was going to figure it out. It is her job to learn and sometimes struggle with learning. It is my job to encourage her creative thinking, feeding her images of beauty to nourish her soul, and then get out of the way and trust that she will shape her life in a meaningful way. I need to let them bake mud cakes, even though I may not have the faintest idea what they might be learning in the process. But I know I need to let them learn in this way, as this is the work of their childhood. And so once again I am grateful for all my children teach me. Dad got some lovely t-shirts and a card for Father's Day, I got a reminder that all is well with my children if I just get out of the way sometimes.