My father’s attitude to looking after multiple grandchildren was rather unique. I like to think he had an odd mixture of backgrounds that lead to experimentation. His mother had died when he was very young (around two or three) so in one way he could easily relate to lonely and unusual children. Fortunately, his mother was one of 12 siblings so, on the other hand, there was an excess of aunts and uncles and cousins to lavish care and attention on him. His sociability probably sprang from this huge extended network which he took long road trips to renew and strengthen over the decades.
Then, he was the headmaster of a secondary school and had taught in the UK, Canada and Australia. That gave him ample opportunity to get to know the developing mind of a wide range of youngsters. So, when he had grandchildren one would have figured he would use his extensive educational experience to great advantage.
However, he claimed that the best way to look after a herd of grandchildren was to leave them alone. He would generally take them to a huge flat beach where they could walk for miles and only get ankle-deep in the sea. Then, he would studiously ignore the children but follow them from a safe distance. He claimed parents were far too interfering with instructions like “Take your socks off”, “Keep your shoes on”, “Where is your coat!” “Do you need a drink?” Or be the font of too much useless information, “This is a limestone rock”, “Here is the shell of a mollusc” or “This sea is called the Atlantic?”
Or constantly made fear-inducing statements like “You could easily drown”, “The sun is really bad for your skin”, “That dog might bite”, “Beware of strangers”, “You could easily get lost, be careful”.
Instead, he felt that silence allowed the child to really explore their environment in a much more personal and intimate way. He discovered a herd of small children usually unconsciously appoints a natural leader and they keep the group together. All his energy would then be devoted to ensuring safety not distracting conversations. Adults feel the need to talk, inform, respond, elucidate to each other but especially to children. The frightening reality, he claimed, was that most talk is just gibberish and many of us have come to so many false conclusions it might be much safer to opt for silence instead.
Children were clean slates ready to write their own reality, he felt, and thought it really unfair to interfere or mess them up. This hands-off attitude changed when he had just one child in hand. Then, he’d question them mercilessly trying to work out how they thought, what they valued, their views on things etc. It was that unique ability to flick from silent bystander of the group to loving inquisitor of the single child that build epic bonds with children. When children sense you don’t need them to be an audience they relax. If you talk less, they listen more when you do speak. If you respect their space both physically and mentally they sometimes gain much more.
A friend recently described being in Africa on the savannah and learning that by walking a few steps in one direction stopping and then heading in another and stopping repeatedly, the nearby animals grew used to his presence and began ignoring him. To them, he just seemed to be another grazing animal.
Perhaps by adopting the same approach with young children we can get the necessary closeness to observe the important interactions they’re experiencing rather than our own flawed expectations.
