I asked my partner who is a photographer for an image that he considers an “epic fail.” This is what he gave me (though I find it captivating as hellllll). Zrbuck.com

“I can’t do it.” The furrowed brow of this young person, we’ll call them Rickie, zeroed in on me. “It,” the art project, which had been in their two hands, splayed across the table like wreckage from a storm.

“I can’t do it” is hard for me to hear. Perhaps it’s because I’m hard on myself for not being able to do things, likely a byproduct of this capitalist society where skills are indicators of worth. Perhaps it’s because I don’t want to do it all for this young person and deprive them of the chance to learn.

Perhaps it’s because I’m afraid of their failure (and, perhaps, my own).

Can’t you try

Did you try

Why not

What if..

Could you…

    So many well meaning adultisms run through my mind, each denying the challenge and attempting to bolster up the young person. I swallow them, but not this feeling of failure they’re experiencing.

    “I’m sorry you can’t, that must be frustrating.”

    “It is! I just wanted to make a figure and I can’t!” The resigned grunt that followed gave me pause. “Can you help me?”

    “Sure, what do you want help with?”

    Rickie asked hastily, “can you just make it?” 

    That question is hard for me too, at least it was on that particular day.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Can you just make it!” Rickie did the facepalm emoji impression perfectly at this point.

“I don’t want to make it for you because I don’t really know your vision for it. I’m happy to make it with you but to I more specifics about what tasks you want help with so we can make it together.”

The whole situation reminds me of the notes that a friend from the education startup world gave me after observing a day at a self-directed homeschool co-op I was running in Brooklyn. “This program is preparing the kids to be freelancers, to work together and individually on projects.”

I don’t presume to know what SDE prepares anyone for aside from self directing one’s learning, but in this moment it felt that my friend was not wrong. Rickie and I were collaborating on a project as I’ve done with friends—each person pitching in their part to make the thing a success. There it is again, implied, to make the thing not fail.

Still, this young person struggled with breaking the task into a digestible part that I could help with. So I implored, “looks like you were working on the hair? Maybe one of us could hold the figure and the other could glue the hair to it?”

Perhaps, in this situation, I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel and accept failure on this project. But, it seemed, neither was Rickie who had asked for help and then had perked up at my suggestion of how I could help. When we dove in together on the task, we came out fifteen minutes later with a figure that brought a smile to Rickie’s face. Perhaps failing might have taught them more about coping with disappointment or something along those lines. Perhaps…

But if the role of facilitators in these spaces is only to leave young folks to their own devices, without support, then how can the young folks come to trust the facilitators? And how can the facilitators ask for that support in return on things like clean up and meetings, two standards in much of the ALC world? 

Self directed does not necessarily mean, “you’re on your own, just do it, figure it out,” though it also doesn’t mean, “I’ll do it all for you so that it’s perfect!” I think it’s about finding the hybrid that feels right for the folks involved situationally and maintaining strong relationships of equity and trust along the way.

TEACHER TOM. I’m very inspired by the blogging style of “Teacher Tom” who shares similar narratives on interactions with youth with whom he learns and plays in a free learning space in Seattle, WA. If you’re looking for more reading on the nuanced role of adults in these kinds of environments, definitely check out his page here.