One Size Fits All
Photo Courtesy of Micah Klassen
By Micah Klassen
“I love the trees, they’re so beautiful, I just want to hug them!” my eldest son exclaimed, his blue eyes sparkling with rapture beneath the red rim of his bicycle helmet. We were on our way home from the park and he was riding his little Strider bike a few paces behind me as I pushed his younger brother in the stroller. “You do?!” I laughed, turning for a moment to witness his delight. It was so contagious, I couldn’t help but buy into it too. We stood, looking up into the green boughs of a spreading roadside tree, orbs of sunlight expanding and refracting through the leaves, dappling the sidewalk with honeyed shadows. Summer was nearing its end and I was clinging to the final days of blue sky and warmth like a child clings to a favourite soft toy, afraid to let go. But my son’s observance reminded me that instead of thinking ahead to the end of the season, I could choose to pause and drink in the beauty that was present in this moment, slow my thoughts down and just BE.
Sometimes, a three year old’s perspective is the perspective I most need.
Moments like that one continue to imprint a deep sense of awe upon my heart – they remind me of the privilege it is to nurture a young and expanding mind; that there’s almost a mystery to it, a sense that when it comes to interactions and conversations with my son, I am both a teacher and student at the same time.
I often pray he never loses this simple wholeheartedness, that ability to bask in the beauty around him without reserve. He’s happiest outdoors, particularly when the sky is blue and the sun is shining. Observing ladybugs. Digging in the dirt with toy excavators. Riding his bike, letting the wind ripple through his wild hair. He is curious, observant and focused for a three year old. Mischievous. Cheeky. Deeply sincere, and of course, the instigator of some pretty challenging behaviour, at times. He’s conversational and not at all shy to engage with adults and kids alike when his interest is piqued. He loves figuring out how machines and tools work, and will spend hours constructing unique vehicles with the small pile of Legos he currently shares with his little brother. He’s always loved building things (he built his first Duplo tower at eleven months) and I’m so curious to see where this passion will take him, whether it will develop into anything more. He’s like his dad, that way. Always inventing things.
According to our infrequent visits with the doctor, he is developing well in relation to his age, meeting the milestones he should – although he’s always been tall. And he was “late” to start speaking – that didn’t happen until after he turned two, but when it did, his use of language progressed faster than we could keep up. Yet in saying this, I also find it easy to disregard the whole milestone ideology because it seems to be a widely-accepted truth that every child is different and develops uniquely. Or at least, according to the conversations I’ve had, it is. I hear these sentiments expressed so often in conversation with other mothers when we’re discussing or sharing experiences. Talk will inevitably turn to the subject of development, and a question such as “so when did he start talking?” is asked. Stories are told and empathetic comparisons are made, but eventually the conversation will predictably conclude with a few deferential shrugs and mutual acknowledgements of “but every kid is different; they’ll talk when they’re ready to talk”. (Or walk, or crawl, or roll over, or start eating solids, or master hand-eye coordination etc. The lists continue on through every stage, relentlessly.) I’ve been the recipient of this kind of validation on more than one occasion, after sharing a story about my son being late to talk, or not getting the hang of potty training when I was hoping he would, or after casually mentioning something about my boys’ development to a sympathetic listener. Sometimes I’ve wondered, is this just the “polite” way of making each other feel better when we worry our kids aren’t progressing properly? (I’ve also said it plenty of times, too). Is it like a euphemism? Or do we – as a society – really, truly believe that every child is different and deserves to be treated as such? I think if the latter is true, the way our systems of culture and education are currently designed don’t feel reflective of this.
What feels real to me is that there seems to be a benchmark set by society, and it dominates a lot. From birth, we are constantly being categorised, labelled, sorted, defined and numbered. I think terms like “prodigy” (a person, especially a young one, endowed with exceptional qualities or abilities) and “over-achiever” exist for a reason. The implications of these words have given me cause for much thought and reflection, lately. Especially as my oldest son approaches preschool age. They are words typically tied to ability – to accomplishments, to the things we do, to what someone can achieve. Very rarely are these words applied to the way a person thinks. And as our world is becoming more and more aware, mental health matters much more than we give it credit.
What if our exceptionality was due to the fact that we each have the capacity to perceive and process the world in a completely unique way? What if it was how we thought, rather than what we did or how we performed, that really mattered? What if our systems of education didn’t emphasise a “one size fits all’ model of learning, but allowed space for young minds to explore, experiment and discover in ways they naturally initiate? What if we didn’t set ultimatums like “you need to pass this exam” or “dress like this” or “sit there and listen even though I know you don’t have the cognitive ability to do so”, just because it’s “how the program works”?
My eldest son is not yet emotionally mature or cognizant of social etiquette, or able to be left alone for too long with his younger brother – because he’s only three. And yet, because he’s three, he sees the world in a way that is different to me, a more simple way, a way that has brought me back to things that truly matter. He is constantly hungry to learn (kids start learning the moment they enter the world), aware of the beauty around him, and unashamed to say things like “I can do this” or “I’m so strong” or “I like your shoes” with complete authenticity. Because he’s three, he is himself – free of the layers of pretense, insecurity, imposter syndrome and ego that we adults often find ourselves bundled up in, fretting continuously over our appearance – never sure if we’re projecting the right image. We learn to dress in preparation for winter while still enduring the summer heat, whilst children simply shrug into the clothes they are handed and ask “can I go outside now?”
We are all being shaped in some way. By what we read, listen to, watch, learn; by those we surround ourselves with. My sons’ worldview is being shaped as we speak, by my husband and I and our family and friends, and this is something we take very seriously, whilst knowing we will probably make mistakes along the way too. Yet as much as we are here to guide our boys as they grow up and mature, I think they will do a fair amount of guiding us, too, as we all go forward together. This has already been proven in the short amount of time they’ve been in our world, and I hope I will continue to remain receptive to such learning as the years progress.
My hope is that, as our boys enter into systems and structures that will no doubt shape them, groom them, and mold them in various ways, they will know just how much they have to contribute as well – regardless of their age. They will know they have the capacity to shape others, and that this is a sort of special power we all possess, not to be trifled with or taken lightly. The power to make a difference, to influence ways of thinking, to lead, not just to follow. To think for themselves, and to understand that this life we’ve been given was never meant to be a “one size fits all” textbook deal, but a grand and interesting choose-your-own-adventure story!
MICAH KLASSEN was raised in New Zealand and homeschooled by her mum, who was the first to spark a love for creative writing in her during primary school. That spark quickly morphed into flame — writing is such a cathartic expression for Micah and has helped her through some very difficult seasons. In 2010, she moved to Australia, fell in love and married her Canadian sweetheart — They now have two babies and Micah is doing her best not to fall off the wild rollercoaster ride that is Motherhood! Currently writing from Vancouver, Canada.