Learning not to Teach

During the week I was incredibly touched to be asked by one of my friend's daughters if she could come and bake carrot cake with me.  She has been taking an interest in cooking lately and remembers this particular carrot cake that I made for them once (well, mainly the scrummy lemony cream cheese icing).   It was lovely that she would want to spend time with me and I am also secretly chuffed that she liked my baking!  As I was about to discover 8 year olds are very honest and to the point so I take it as a compliment indeed.

I was a little unsure how to approach the imparting of my carrot cake knowledge.  My "daughter for the day" is unschooled and from her mama's blogging I suspected that trying to turn it into a structured "lesson" would not be successful.  We had a lovely time and she popped in and out of the kitchen and helped with sifting, mixing, carrot grating and bowl licking...

It was actually harder than I thought to not turn it into a lesson and I had to stop myself often from wanting to instruct, take over and show her alternative ways of doing certain steps.  I wasn't always successful in this but true to herself she could see my manoeuvrings a mile off and would always want to find out what her way did.  I like that.

Looking back I realise that not only was I fighting the way of my own schooling, but also how I was trained in my job and how I have gone on further to train others.  Having worked for years in hospitality, I have had to train a lot of people quickly and efficiently (often on the job during busy services).  It is a fast paced work and there is rarely the time or room in the wage budget for people to discover how to do things for themselves.

Aside from the baking we also had a good play at the playground around the corner and chatted away amongst Seb getting in on the action.  It was so very refreshing to have the company of a young girl who just tells it as it is.  Us adults can hold back a bit.

I was treated to a few "things kids say".  I'll share my particular favourite with you.  Early in the piece she asked in a roundabout way how old I was.  She was finding it hard to work out, due to my grey hair that is usually more common to older people.  On the way to the park she was pondering what people might think suddenly seeing me with her.  Would they think I was her daughter? Then...after a little glance at my hair.... "or maybe they might think you're my grandmother?"  Well. What can you say to that other than "pass me the henna!"