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The Teacher, The Guru and The Lesson
By Elizabeth Russing
Web Exclusive - August 7, 2006
When Lucy, my first-born, was just a few months old, someone told me about a book entitled, The Little Goo-Roo: Lessons From Your Baby. The book is about the profound lessons that parents learn from their children. I was a schoolteacher before Lucy was born, and I thought I knew all about how students teach the teachers. As a new mother, though, I was much more focused on practical matters than I was on any profound lessons. At the time, my thoughts were totally occupied with things like how to keep runny breastmilk poop from leaking out of an ill-fitting cloth diaper and how to construct an intelligible sentence on two hours of sleep a night. The learning curve was steep, as it is for most parents, but the time for reflection was non-existent. I dismissed The Little Goo-Roo with a chuckle over the clever title and went back to breastfeeding. Years passed before I had a chance to think about what I might be learning from my parenting experience.
When Lucy was nine months old, I got pregnant again and my life was even more fully occupied with parenting a toddler while coping with the challenges of pregnancy. George was born when Lucy was just seventeen months old and my life was reduced to a state of permanent crisis management. But somehow the days and months flew by, and soon they were both out of diapers and becoming more independent. Time for thinking slowly began to creep back into the schedule. Today, I even have the space and free attention for moments of reflection. I'm grateful for the return of contemplation, and have recently realized a profound lesson from one of my little gurus:
During an ordinary home-school lesson, I was showing Lucy, now six years old, how to do embroidery. George, at four and a half, was not about to be left out of any fun activity involving sharp objects. After putting him off several times, I gave up, fixed an embroidery hoop with a piece of fabric, threaded a needle with his choice of thread, and showed him how to do it. To my surprise, he sat quietly and worked the needle in and out for some time. Distracted by various household chores, I was probably less attentive than I should have been, but he seemed to be doing fine with it and I was pleased to see him working so diligently. After some time, he declared that he was done and I rushed over, tied off the thread for him and admired his work. It was really impressive. Wow, I thought, what amazing things children can do when given the opportunity. I mean, how many four-year-olds can do embroidery? Even random stitches on a piece of fabric are impressive for a four-year-old.
Like a true guru, though, George gave me some time to think about this lesson. Sometime later, as we sat down to lunch, I got the real story. There was a momentary lull in the conversation as we were all eating and I took the opportunity to tell George how proud I was of his effort at embroidery. "George," I said, "you did some really amazing work today on your embroidery." He nodded at me, while chewing his food. "You did all that stitching," I went on, "and you didn't poke yourself once, did you?" He beamed at me. "No," he said very proudly, "I poked myself three times!"
As he struggled to count out and hold up three fingers to illustrate how many times he'd poked himself with the needle, I choked back my laughter. Then I sat back dumbfounded, awed by his determination. This kid had poked himself repeatedly with a very sharp needle, but he had not given up. He had not even complained. He bit his lip and pushed that needle in and out until there was just barely enough thread left to tie off in the back.
Each time I recounted the story to my husband and friends, I found it more and more profound. How many things had I started and never finished because the obstacles seemed too great? Why does our public school system not realize the power of self-direction? Why does our culture put so much emphasis on the three 'R's and so little on practical things like sewing, cooking or balancing a checkbook?
Seeds of doubt that had been creeping in to question our decision to home-school were suddenly gone. My children would, indeed, learn to read. Probably they will learn algebra and history, but more importantly, I am learning lessons that are essential to me. I hold two college degrees and have over 42 years of life experience, but none of that prepared me for the moment when my four-year-old taught me about determination, perseverance and the joy of completing a project. In the lexicon of the generation before mine, he blew my mind. I felt like my head was split open and enlightenment was pouring in. And it was coming from a cherubic small face with tousled sandy hair, baby teeth and the dancing green eyes of his father.
How thankful I am to have been admitted to this University of Parenting. During our 13-month battle with infertility, I often wondered if I would ever pass admissions. I know all too well that not everyone is so fortunate. I'm also thankful to my hard-working and supportive husband for giving me the opportunity to attend this university full-time. I know that this is not my first lesson or my last, and I will probably need a refresher course somewhere down the road, but for now I'm just glad to be making progress. Thanks to my two little gurus.
Beth Russing is a part-time writer and full-time teacher at Two Trees Resource for Experiential Education (T.T.R.E.E.) in Clayton, North Carolina. Her co-teacher, Cole, teaches full time at Lees-McRae College and part time at T.T.R.E.E. Their two students, George and Lucy, are currently completing kindergarten and first grade, respectively, and spend a good deal of their time educating their teachers. Aside from fiber arts, they enjoy swimming, reading and making mud pies.
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