
“And 26 plus five is?”
I was playing minigolf with my kids the other day and I couldn’t help overhearing the dad behind me. He was there with his two little boys, about five or six years old. He clearly saw the minigolf game as a learning experience. He was making the boys add up their scores as they went along. In fact, his entire conversation with them was more like a test of their knowledge than a casual chat.
His voice was a little bit louder than it needed to be. Did he want me to hear him asking his kids maths questions? Did he want me to be impressed with how good their maths was? Their maths was good. But rather than being impressed, I felt a bit sorry for them.
Couldn’t he just let them focus on hitting their golf balls through the windmill? That’s tough enough.
I’ve seen it before. Parents in playgrounds, determined that their kids shouldn’t waste a second that could be spent learning.
I remember a toddler clambering to the top of a climbing frame and his mum standing in front, waving her arms and desperately trying to get him to sing along with her: “ABCDEFG…”
Come on. Give the kid a break. He’s made it all the way to the top of the climbing frame. Just let him enjoy the view.
