Autonomy, Toddlers, and The Remote (from 2011)

My son can operate the remote control.  It has 63 separate buttons.

He is four years old.

I'd like you to think about that for a moment.  Since he can operate the remote, I can assume that he's grasped a wide accumulation of knowledge, ranging from the fairly simple to the very abstract:

1. He understands cause and effect, and expects the universe to be a consistent and logical place, since certain buttons always bring about certain outcomes.
2. He knows his numbers, since 298 is Noggin.
3. He knows his letters, and is on the way to reading independently, since he found "Indian in the Cupboard" in the DVR queue one day, working all on his own.
4. He reasons, since his rationale for finding "Indian in the Cupboard" was that he knew what letter it started with ("I-I-Indian"), and there was only one show there that started with I.
5. He recognizes that a single device performs multiple functions, since he knows the difference between live TV and recorded TV
6. He is capable of memorizing multiple complex sequences related to similar contexts, since he can make a single remote operate both the TV and the DVR.
7. He understands that the universe is subject to invisible forces that we can harness with physical objects, since there's no concrete link between the remote and the TV.
8. He's at least aware of the second law of thermodynamics, since he asks for new batteries when the remote doesn't work, rather than assuming it's the remote that's broken.
9. He is capable of making conscious entertainment choices, since he decides whether he's in the mood for "GI Joe" or "Phineas and Ferb"

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Think about that list for a moment.

Now think about how analogous it is to many of the skills that are routinely demanded of K-12 students:  can you do this list of steps to find x, which poem do you like more and why, what's the next number in this sequence, why did World War II happen, who signed the Declaration of Independence...

I'm not saying my son could elucidate the things he understands; I'm merely observing that, on some level, he has a rudimentary understanding of complex processes and a fairly wide swath of scientific concepts.

And my son is not some sort of savant; he may be one day, but right now, I'd say he's a fairly average, reasonably inquisitive child.  And this fairly average human (like many, many others) has learned to work a device that routinely frustrates my wife.

That's the "what."  We now have to consider the "how" and the "why."

The "how" is easy, as anyone with children knows.  

He learned by doing four things:

1. watching other people do it.
2. asking questions.
3. giving it a shot
4. asking more questions when something didn't work

It turns out, whether you're a four-year old trying to watch "Phineas and Ferb" or an intern trying to repair intracranial blood vessels, those are the steps--THE ONLY FOUR STEPS--to learning anything at all.

Notice that the gap between steps three and four assumes that something went wrong.  Failure, it turns out, is perhaps the most critical and memorable part of the learning process.  This is why I refuse to obsess over my children's grades:  

...a kid who never fails at anything, by definition, hasn't learned very much.  They've just figured out how to do school.

In fact, I just asked Jack how he learned to work the remote.  Here's his answer, delivered with all the wise gravity his peanut-butter smudged face could muster:

"Ummm…I mashed the buttons until I figured it out."

So, I asked him, if you couldn't make the remote do what you wanted, what did you do?

"Ummm…I went and got somebody to show me."

So how about the "why?"

That part is easy: he actually wanted to know the thing he was learning.

Jack Tyler learned to work the remote because he didn't like relying on his big sister; it turns out, when she works the remote, we watch a lot of "iCarly," which he hates.  It is ludicrously, stupidly simple.  I don't know how to change a transmission or train a sled dog.  You know why?

It doesn't seem like any fun to me. So I don't want to know it.

So the job of American education, then, seems much simpler than anyone ever told me about in teacher college:

Step One:  let kids learn the things they want to learn.

Step Two:  try to figure out how to make them want to learn the things you think are important.  It should be noted that step two is optional.

There is no step three.  There is no backup plan.  They are going to learn what they want to learn, and nothing else.

Your thoughts?