Firefly Exchange

The deepest and only wisdom I possess.

We just saw yet another film with a brilliant kid skipping several classes. Early evenings, the three of us watch together. Mostly series, sometimes a film, or whatever one of us has found fascinating enough to share.

Carrie Pilby, why do they always have to be labelled brilliant? She’s just good at certain aspects, and sucks at other stuff.

How are the skipping and our screen habits related?

In several ways. My son has skipped all classes since the age of seven. For many other reasons than him being so brilliant or 'ahead' of everyone. One of them, is that schooling sucks. Also for a whole bag of why's. Which is confirmed by both ends of the spectrum, too slow for the fast kids, the wrong voltage altogether for too many other kids.

This essay is not an argument for non-schooling, it is also not a plea for graduating from Harvard at seventeen. It is about the learning journey. About the nest, and learning to fly.

My thirteen-year-old has to learn to navigate an insane world. Who will teach him? Me? (I know it's supposed to be I, but ‘me’ sounds more according to my limited capacities.) Education then? Or humans having the same production year stamp?

Flawed human Sherlock on a bad day…

We watched the British series Sherlock. The main character is a high-functioning sociopath. The opposite of the ideal grown up son. Every episode a truckload of bad examples, insults, contempt, arrogance, murder, suicide, abuse, political violence, corpses and brain-tissue dripping off the walls.

"Great fun!" was my son's judgement after the insane episodes (spoiler) when Sherlock dies by jumping off a roof. Visualised from all angles.

Us adults, genuinely shaken by the cliffhanger himself smashing into the pavement.

"No worries," my boy of thirteen uttered, "that guy has plot armour." The same kid runs out to catch the light of sundown, setting the world ablaze with colour. He knows stuff I certainly didn't at his age. He laughs at the stupidity of targeted advertising. He comments on how Netflix has used the wrong font on the series title screen. How someone messed up, while removing the background incompetently. He never fails to point out weak spots in the reasoning, in the dialogue. He also completely fails to understand why skin-colour is/was a reason for anything, let alone segregation. We had a hard time explaining war. Yes, but why, he kept asking. How? It doesn't make sense to him. Not the fact it is happening, not that people spend time on anything related. Screen violence is not real to him. Real-world injustice is. Fake behaviour is ignored, even avoided.

He is better at English than me, while being a Dutch native in France. Better with most digital stuff. He hacked his VR headset to play any song on Beatsaber. A game he plays at the highest possible level. Demanding a hand eye coordination I can only dream of. He thinks Bohemian Rhapsody is the most ridiculous excuse for music. The boy fits the profile of a screen addict, but handles it better than the adults in our household.

He sure misses the good bits that schooling can bring. The situation is far from ideal. There are gaps in his development. His handwriting is near to nonexistent. Despite both his parents being the very practical maker type, he prefers thinking over doing.

Of course, I am deeply worried about his future. I don't want him to fit in, I do not want him to be a dropout either.

Our conversation the other night drifted into children who have difficulty learning. His memories of being in daycare with a Down-kid and how he noticed them both being different. I told him the big thing he has is the capacity to self-learn. To direct his own path, to find out for himself and apply.

Learning is such an astonishing thing. It happens all by itself when allowed. And it is served massively by a stimulating environment. By facilitating.

Teaching, on the other hand, is perfectly capable of taking that self learning ability and replacing it with an existing concept.

Why?

Why do we teach this set of standardised skills? Why do we give kids fixed answers? Why do we explain the world to them? It's not as if we understand. It's not as if history can be in any one book.

Are we afraid of what they might learn? Of them pointing out plot holes in the narrative? Of finding new perspectives?

Sure, we do not want them to develop bad habits. But can we really expect them not to do stuff we keep getting wrong? Who says giving good examples teaches better than running head on into the bad ones?

I want our nest to be a haven. Safe, yes, but with the sharp tools, the box of matches, the doors unlocked, and within reach the deadly poisonous digitalis blooming beautifully right next to the strawberries that look like evil temptresses but are perfectly safe. I want him to grow up with trust. A trust consisting of deep knowing, of brave listening, of brutal observation, of razor-sharp discernment. A trust that embraces what longs to be embraced.

I have hardly any answers for my kids, but I know what I want for them. It is the same as I want for me. The complete self-learning adventure we're all thrown into so harshly and that is not easy or straightforward in any sense. I think it is the reason we are here.

We are learning to love.

And if that's what you try to do, I couldn't care less about how. It is the hardest lesson imaginable, but it is the only one I yearn to master and wish for my children, for all of them. Nothing else will do. And trying is enough.

Even a medium-functioning-near-sociopath like me is on the right path when attempting to get this lesson right. My son stands a better chance than me to learn. But he also faces a world much harder to love.

Self learning is about knowing where to begin. It is finding the entrance. Asking questions of which you do not know if they are the right ones.

I do know one thing. I know what you are trying to learn. Even if you do not yet know yourself. And I know where to start. Without pretending to know any of the answers you need.

And my only task in this world is to learn and therefore teach this one skill. This one tiny bit of knowledge, that only takes a second to tell, and a lifetime to teach. The one lesson I flunk time and time again. The deepest and only wisdom I possess. It is the only point worth remembering. And I can't help you find it. You must reach for it on your own. Uncover it. Defend it all by yourself. Nurture it as if all life depends on it.

Learning starts with love. Love starts in you.

Love who you are, love what you are, love where you are, love who you are with, starting from that single point, that tiny firefly in your chest. You are the treasure chest of beginnings. Right there is your loose end to untie the knot.

Start by loving bits of you, bits of where you are. Connect that inner bit of light and it will exchange energy. Love wants to grow love.