Teachable Mmmm..moments.

I love food. Food is energy and nutrition, but it’s also a celebration of tastes and traditions and experiments and seasons. Food is love.

So it’s no surprise that I like cooking, even with kids.

Now, normally I reject the idea of turning every experience into a teachable moment—little life lessons delivered through everyday activity. I am a firm believer that sometimes we should just live in the moment with our children and not worry about what helpful instructions will emerge.

But food is different. Food—gathering it, preparing it, cooking it, tasting it, sharing it—is just begging for us to explore it with kids. Being in the kitchen (or anywhere we prepare food) is a valuable opportunity, and with the potential to have so much fun everyday, there are many hidden teachable moments.

Cooking is culture. The foods we eat—the foods we crave—are rooted in family traditions and community culture. We teach our kids about our families and our history with the tastes we celebrate and the things we reject. Recipes passed down through generations keep experiences alive, and in our ever more global community, the food we eat and the way it’s cooked are a part of our identity. Food is one of the first ways we experience a culture or community that is different from our own, and sharing food is often how we welcome others.

Cooking is math. Without even thinking about it we expose kids to basic math problems. Measuring cups make fractions fun and real. Portions, servings, and timing all need a quick grasp of arithmetic. Cooking translates real-world math concepts into productive daily activity.

Cooking is science. Changing food from its original state into a meal takes a bunch of different science experiments. We use heat and chemistry to shake things up, drawing out new flavours and creating different textures to make food appealing and unique.  Cooking is ‘cause-and-effect’ in action; baking, roasting, mixing, boiling, whipping, and whatever it is that happens with gelatin. It seems like magic to a kid; but it’s science and they love it.

Cooking is healthy. Once kids see how easy it is to prepare real food, processed food loses its appeal. When kids discover what goes into food they love and we allow them to make their own choices based on health and flavour—and they get to eat the delicious result of their effort—then food becomes personal. Food is no longer a cheap novelty to fill a gap. Understanding food is a healthy act to complement an active life.

Cooking is playful. Getting messy is part of cooking. Sneaking a taste of everything is part of cooking. Experimenting with flavours and shapes and sizes and textures is part of cooking. Creating something new is part of cooking. Cooking has rules, but one of them is that you don’t have to follow all the rules. And that sounds a lot like play.

Cooking is community. We venture to the markets and stores to find our favourite ingredients and discover something new. We learn to trust the farmer, the butcher, the fish monger and the merchants—often crossing over many generations—and we learn about the community through their products and stories. And, of course, sometimes the food we cook is simply made for sharing with friends.

Cooking is fun. I doesn’t matter if you are naturally organized and deliberate, chaotic and experimental, or any collection of characteristics in-between, there is excitement and creativity to be had when food is being prepared. Cooking is a sensory explosion, giving sight, sound, touch, taste and smell equal time.

Cooking is growing up. With every new skill they learn, we give kids more responsibility. Toddlers can add ingredients, stir mixtures, and scoop portions. As long as they’re stable, it’s safe to help. As they grow up, a child can help with measuring and shaping, breaking eggs, using kitchen tools and even the stove. (At seven years old my son learned basic knife skills from a pro; scary, but amazing.) Demonstrating safe kitchen behaviour—respect for things that are hot and sharp; respect for keeping food clean—is a great test to make sure your kid is ready to be trusted alone at home. Planning and preparing meals, and being in control in the kitchen, is a core life skill; proof that maybe, just maybe, your teenager will be able to survive on their own one day.

Too often we consider cooking a chore—something that we must do rather than something that we can enjoy—and the pressures of life’s other activities tends to push honest cooking aside in favour of just eating something “easier”. There are many advantages to cooking—cost savings and nutrition are big ones—but too often time constraints or laziness override those benefits. Unfortunately, we don’t realize we are also cheating our kids of so many teachable moments.

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This teacher excites me.

I just had the most inspiring conversation with a teacher at my son’s school. Not his current teacher; just one that I have come to know over the years.

Today we started talking about technology in the classroom, but the conversation quickly shifted to discussing the tools available to her. As a teacher who strives to create differentiated learning scenarios, she shared anecdotes about how the technology she uses benefits the children with different learning styles. Technology gives her the freedom to create different learning experiences, and the opportunity to reach more kids.

But here is where her comments really caught my attention. She kept referring to teaching as an art form. She understands that teaching isn’t about her; teaching isn’t about what she knows and what she can push into the minds of children.

Teaching is about creating a space for a child to learn, and giving them the tools and permissions they need. Teaching is as much about understanding children and how they learn—the capacity each child has to learn—as it is about instilling the core concepts that will be at the foundation of everything else they come to know.

I didn’t like school. Or rather, I didn’t like being tested. I loved learning; and I loved being with friends; and I loved experiencing different things; and I loved discussing ideas; and I loved being challenged. I still do. And the experts said I was smart—I like to think I am still. But I didn’t get good grades in school, and that was a problem for me.

When I was in school (70s-80s) it was clear the institution put the burden back on me to be a good student (and therefore get good grades), rather than sharing any responsibility to be good teachers (and therefore helping me learn).

I remember exactly when I stopped enjoying school and teachers; it was about the same time I was expected to regurgitate answers, remember selective facts, or offer opinions on ambiguous things that were duller than dirt. When the measurement of learning became about knowing what I’d been told—not understanding and applying what I know—then school became a chore to satisfy someone else, not an opportunity to explore my own capacity.

So when my son tells me he doesn’t like school, I start to dread the next decade. I start to wonder if we aren’t going to repeat the same fights I had with my own dad about school grades, work ethic and the disconnect between being smart and testing dumb. I start to dread the expectations society puts on school marks, knowing that he is set up for failure if his teachers have the same attitude many of mine did.

In all the social debates about schools and teachers and how it all gets funded, we don’t often get reminded that school teachers are professionals. Their trade is to facilitate learning for children, and they are experts. In the repetitive formula that makes up the school year, I understand how it’s easy to get caught up in the daily routines and monotony—some might even say drudgery—of school.

We just can’t let people formulate teaching at the expense of the excitement of learning.

I get excited for kids when I meet teachers who know that part of being a professional is to recognize the art in their trade; the ability to apply what they know to the individual needs of a situation. I get excited when I meet teachers who continue to learn how to teach; teachers who want to create different learning conditions to reach students; teachers who take responsibility for learners.

I don’t expect my son to love waking up everyday and shuffling of to a classroom. But I won’t let the school system suppress his desire and capacity to learn by their obligation merely to teach. That’s why this teacher excites me.

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Cool dads can sell.

A commercial from Huggies™ got a pretty severe lashing from a number of men’s groups recently. I didn’t see the ad, but apparently they ran a campaign insinuating that dads were clumsy or rough with diapers. You can read about it here on the Good Men Project, as well as some of the nasty comments from both sides of the issue. Huggies™ responded with an apology and a change to the campaign.

To be sure, not many companies are doing a good job at capturing the real experience of the modern dad in advertising. I am sure it’s hard to find a good concept that is memorable and compelling, and showcases the product. But there is one that stands out.

Cheerios™ “A Guy with a Baby” ad does it perfectly. It’s just a guy holding a baby while reading a paper; he’s just being a dad. The commercial captures the lovely intimacy between a guy and his baby without demeaning the moment or making it feel unnatural. Well done!

(As soon as I can find it online, I will post a link.)

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Boys and Girls

I was really dismayed and frustrated to read the transcript of this week’s #DadChat, a weekly Twitter chat about being a dad. I’ve followed the chat for a while, yet almost never take part, but it’s one of the hash tags I follow out of general interest. The host seems to be a good person trying to create real and positive momentum for fatherhood. Yesterday’s topic wasn’t about being a dad, but more about being a man.

The topic: “Can men and women be friends?”

The answer, of course, is yes.

While I know there are some individuals that are incapable of real friendships with members of the opposite sex, as a general rule it is easy for men and women to be friends. And there are plenty of healthy examples.

Let’s put that in less than 140 characters so the context is clear for Twitter: It’s perfectly normal for men and women—even married ones—to have genuine friendships with the opposite sex.

Being the open Twitterverse, I expected that there would be comments from both men and women to feed into the stereotype of men constantly thinking of sex and therefore incapable of thinking anything else about a woman. It’s a simple and easy opinion to own—and it often gets the laugh—but it’s silly and wrong.

However the host/moderator pushed it. The original question was a fair topic starter, but when some women wrote positively about having true male friends, or men claimed to be honourable in friendships with women, he challenged the comment with innuendo.


It’s okay to push for clarity or honesty in a discussion, but he never once pushed for honesty when someone fed into the cliche. In other words, he chose to feed the stereotype instead of hosting an honest discussion. By questioning the integrity of people—without any sense of proof or context—the moderator indirectly reduces all men to lustful conquerers, simply waiting for the right moment to move in. Essentially, men are something to be feared, or at least not trusted.

So as a dad, this frustrates me.

Some of my best friends are women. And some are attractive. And single. And I refuse to have my son grow up believing that he can’t be a true friend with attractive, single women. Worse, I refuse to have my son grow up with girl friends who believe he’s only their friend because he wants more, and shouldn’t be trusted. What a sad, empty world that will be.

As a final irony, yesterday was International Women’s Day. Instead of celebrating the day by recognizing and honouring women as whole human beings, some dads suggested buying flowers and avoiding any contact with a women other than their wife. You know, because they respect them.

Wow. Just, wow.

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