As a pediatrician and a parent, I often find myself reflecting on the lessons we impart to our children, especially during their early school years. Recently, my youngest, who is in kindergarten, completed a project that sparked this reflection. For his age, the project was commendable—a true representation of his effort and creativity. But let’s be honest, it wasn’t going to win any awards.
Having navigated the educational journey with my eldest, who is now 10 and in 5th grade, I’ve come to understand that doing the work for them isn’t the answer. I’ve learned the hard way that hovering over homework and demanding perfection only leads to frustration—both for them and for me. It was a journey marked by late-night battles over math problems and spelling tests, leading me to realize that my academic achievements would not guarantee my children the same success.
When my youngest had to create a poster illustrating what he wanted to be when he grows up, I was excited to guide him but made a conscious decision not to take over the project. My initial thoughts were grand—perhaps we could visit local fire stations, snap photos, and create the perfect poster. But then, reality hit me. That would be an overwhelming amount of work for a kindergarten project, and quite frankly, more for me than for him.
So, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, we sat down to tackle the blank poster board together. “I want to draw pictures, Mommy,” he announced. Thank goodness for that! Armed with crayons and colored pencils, I helped him brainstorm ideas, offered guidance when he was stuck, and showed him how to sketch out his thoughts—except for the fire hose that accidentally resembled something inappropriate (an accidental artistic blunder on my part!). I assisted with spelling and helped him organize the sections of his poster.
In just about half an hour, he had completed his project. The pride on his face was infectious, and I felt a genuine sense of accomplishment watching him celebrate his own work.
A few days later, while visiting his classroom, I saw the other children’s projects—meticulously crafted with tiny pieces of paper arranged in perfect lines, their handwriting flawless and neatly formatted. I briefly felt a pang of concern that I hadn’t done enough to help my little one shine alongside his peers. But then, I reminded myself—this was his work, not mine. He had the autonomy to decide how to present his ideas.
Sure, in comparison to the other projects, his might not have stood out, but he had learned a valuable lesson: he is capable of completing tasks on his own. When he faces bigger projects in the future, like science experiments or dioramas in 5th grade, he’ll understand that I won’t swoop in to save the day at the last minute.
I believe in starting young. It’s natural to assist our kids more in their younger years, but I’m setting the groundwork now. I will support them, guide them, and provide advice, but ultimately, they need to take ownership of their work. After all, they don’t go to work for me and hand in my assignments; why would I do the same for them? There’s a valuable lesson in independence, and it’s one I want my children to learn early on.
My little one may not have delivered a picture-perfect project, but he managed his age-appropriate, mostly independent work, and his teacher recognized his effort. The true lesson he gained was not that “Mom will finish it for you if you struggle,” but rather, “I can do this myself.”
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In summary, embracing imperfections in our children’s projects can foster independence and resilience. By allowing them to take charge of their work, we prepare them for future challenges, laying the foundation for lifelong learning.