I was searching the underside of a square, plastic camera battery this morning, looking for a model number when I read the warning label:

Do Not Incinerate
Do Not Expose To High Temps
Do Not Disassemble

I have a somewhat vague idea of the consequences of extreme heat coming in contact with a battery. As such, those first two warnings glide right over my radar. But the third: Do Not Disassemble. Now that is interesting.

I’ve seen old, oozing AA batteries, but this is plastic and square and I’ve taken for granted its contents might be different. That one simple statement has me asking myself how one would go about disassembling it in the first place, wondering what it looks like inside (one big cavity?), what would happen if I did open it (immediate mess or would it be contained within the plastic?) and what else might I find (electrical components or just battery acid)?

These questions never once entered my mind until I was given the instruction to avoid them.

So, what do I do? I grab all the kids in the RV park and we crack that puppy open.

Knowing vs. Understanding

I consider myself a life-long learner. I love learning and trying new things. And so do most kids when given the freedom to expand independently, a privilege we adults often take for granted. But there is a difference between learning and being told, knowing and understanding.

While knowing implies understanding, the two words are not necessarily mutual.

I know I shouldn’t disassemble a battery. After all, I’ve been told. But I don’t really understand why.

And a lack of understanding in an interested person inevitably leads to investigation.

What My Disassembled Battery Tells Me About Parenting

We can inform our children of potential dangers until we’re blue in the face. We can tell them to quiet down when someone is sleeping. We can insist they not live in squalor.

But until they understand it for themselves, we’re likely just stoking their curiosity in the very thing we wish they’d avoid.

Without understanding they’ll be wanting to try swimming alone, wondering just how loud they have to be to wake the neighborhood or just how many insects can live under a pile of dirty socks.

Children have a desire to do well. But they can also only do as well as the tools they possess, and understanding is a mighty big tool. It’s often too big for many kids to grasp.

This is not an excuse to force them to understand something you feel is valuable.

After all, telling them repeatedly something they don’t understand, nor have a desire to understand, does not lead to real understanding. It leads to knowing. (And I may know E=MC2 but I’ll give you one guess as to whether or not I understand it.)

When Our Desire Clashes With Their Inability

There are obviously times when our desire for their understanding feels urgent: safety being the most obvious.

At ten years old, Zeb has been an avid bike rider for six years. When he first learned I really wanted him to know the dangers of traffic, the inability of a large vehicle to stop quickly and the impossibility of seeing a small bike from the seat of a large truck.

But more importantly underlying those desires, I desired him the life skills to be safe, the ability to look ahead (or behind), remain aware of his surroundings and possess what is often considered “common sense”.

Here’s the rub: common sense didn’t become common by word of mouth. It became common because we humans have the common desire to explore, experiment and experience. And we also have the common ability to learn best by doing and seeing for ourselves: we do and thus we understand, making something “common sense”.

But something most parents don’t understand: they aren’t encouraging common sense, nor are they allowing for understanding. They are simply demanding obedience.

But without a person’s ability to explore, experiment and experience, real understanding of the world (and actions appropriate to living in it) remains elusive.

What do we do then, when their lack of understanding poses a risk?

Fill In The Gaps

So many adults (not just parents, but grandparents, teachers, store clerks, neighbors, our culture in general) fall into the trap of expecting too much from children and feeling frustrated or inconvenienced when they fail to meet our expectations.

But children are not miniature versions of an adult. They cannot and will not be able to understand everything you, as an adult, can comprehend. No matter how many times it’s repeated.

Children will have gaps in their knowledge, just as adults with a busted battery have gaps in theirs.

Do not attempt to fill a child’s understanding gap with your own knowledge (demands, instructions, lecturing).

Fill that gap with your presence.

The next time one of them wants to crack open a battery pack, grab the screwdriver, a tin pan and some safety goggles and explain the purpose of each. They want to ride their bike in the wide open space of the street? Grab your bike and play Shadow together, yelling “Car!” as needed. They want to climb on the roof? Pack a picnic and a blanket and see if you can count the stars together.

Don’t tell them what it’s like; show them how to safely enjoy it.

Knowledge and understanding are contagious. By your simply being there, taking care of the precautions and creating a winning environment, your kids will grow in their own understanding. They’ll ask questions (and have you present to answer them) and they’ll emulate your actions.

To quote Naomi Aldort, “You gave yourself the gifts of children. You have what you want. Take it.”

Be the parent who puts down the phone and picks up the baseball bat. Be the parent who gets excited to try something new and potential dangerous with their children.

Be the parent who realize the gift they have given themselves and do your part to create a world in which that gift  can live and grow and thrive, free from fear, or pressure to perform and without the burden of remembering a million little things they simply can’t yet understand.