Some people think homeschoolers teach their kids at home, short and simple. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sure, I might teach my son, the Chief, how to do math, or how to find out more information about his favorite planet, or we might read stories together. But truly, the learning goes both ways. Take this, for example:
A few years ago, the Chief discovered video games. The only thing we had at the time was the original PlayStation game and a few disks, including his favorite, Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage. I usually sat on the couch and was watched him play while I did other things. Every two seconds, I would cringe and say things like, “Be careful! No, don’t do that, you’re going to die!” And, “You’d better get more butterflies so you can earn more lives.” At one point, there was this big boss, and he was shooting fireballs, and the little dragon couldn’t move fast enough… and… and… and… D’OH, sure enough, Spyro bit it. Not only that, but it was his last life, and the screen filled with the message “GAME OVER.” This was back when dying was a little more complicated than it is now, and you could lose a day’s worth of gaming progress.
I have to admit, I was hesitant to look over at my son. I felt kind of crushed on his behalf. Then I heard him LAUGH! He just pushed a button and started the game all over again, continuing on as happily as ever. All I could think of were all those times I had played that same game, and all the times I died and became so frustrated and stressed out that I…well, might have said some things that weren’t acceptable in mixed company. And yes, I knew how silly it was to get so frustrated over a game, something that didn’t really exist, but there it was. I admired my son for his good attitude, and for keeping the good spirit of the game.
Fast forward to the other morning. I’ve been working on a scene in my current novel, and it just would not work out. In fact, something was extremely broken about my whole idea, which seemed to be working so well up to that point. I pulled my hair out and cursed at my computer, finally announcing that the thing was impossible.
Then, I remembered. The Chief, who has the attention span of an ant and who should be the one to get frustrated by things, just accepts when things don’t go right the first time, like when he had to start over again at his game. He simply saw it as the nature of the beast. He wasn’t good at something, he didn’t get it right, so he just kept on trying until he did get it right. He can be so zen about it all. I suddenly felt kind of foolish. Why was I getting so frustrated? Furthermore, what sort of example was I setting for the Chief? That you just quit when something gets too hard? No way.
So thanks, Chief, for that lesson.