In the early days of my literary escapades—when I still thought that tearing through classic novels like some Adderall-fueled word junkie was a good idea—I stumbled upon a rather curious theme. It seemed that every other story involving children had the poor souls trapped in a web of strict agendas, meticulously designed by adults who apparently believed in micromanagement as an art form. By “micromanagement,” I mean scheduling every nanosecond of a child’s day with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker.
I’m sure you’ve seen it in countless tales yourself. Some earnest adult decides that Johnny needs exactly twelve-and-a-half minutes of playing with blocks before transitioning to a twenty-two-minute session of staring blankly at a chalkboard. Heaven forbid he takes an extra minute to stack those blocks into a wobbly skyscraper; that would throw the entire cosmic balance out of whack!
Now, while these absurdities were laid bare in literature, with authors often winking at the audience as if to say, “Yes, we see how ridiculous this is,” real life was playing an equally bizarre game. The reality of childhood became a battleground for control freaks disguised as well-meaning educators and parents, all of whom seemed hell-bent on squashing any notion of spontaneity.
As I grew older and slightly more jaded, I realized that the trend wasn’t exactly disappearing. IN fact, the restrictions on play were alive and kicking; only this time, the kids weren’t having any of it. Today’s children, bless their rebellious little hearts, have flipped the script entirely. They’ve taken one look at the structured activity charts and responded with a collective “Nah, we’re good,” opting instead to plunge headfirst into the chaos of unstructured freedom. Apparently, they’ve collectively decided that if life insists on being absurd, they might as well enjoy the ride.
Of course, the irony is delicious and I’m here to feast upon it. The literature that once mocked these overbearing schedules has inadvertently inspired a generation to reject them entirely. We’ve gone from forcing kids into rigid time blocks to throwing up our hands and saying, “Fine, do whatever you want—just try not to burn the house down.”
Now, here’s where I go all academic on you, while smirking, of course. Play isn’t just a nice thing-to-have. It’s not some frivolous add-on to a proper education; in fact, it’s an essential ingredient. True education isn’t about memorizing dry facts or ticking off boxes on a standardized test. If that were the case, we’d all be walking encyclopedias, and trust me, the world would be a much duller place. No, real learning happens in those moments of play, when your brain is free to wander, explore, and connect dots in ways that no textbook ever could.
Yet modern education, in all its bureaucratic glory, is laughably bad at understanding this. It’s as if the powers that be got stuck in a time loop where rote memorization and rigid schedules reign supreme. Hands-on learners are particularly out of luck. Individual learning styles seem like a nice idea, but for all the talk of individual curriculum plans, for most of us we’re forced to conform to this one-size-fits-all model that bureaucrats simply won’t retire.
So, where does that leave us? Well, it leaves us with a generation that knows the value of play far better than the so-called adults who are supposed to be guiding them, for better and worse. Sure, sometimes the best way to learn is to break the rules. After all, if there’s one thing that literature and life have taught me, it’s that rebellion, in its own way, is a form of play too. Really, who am I to argue with that?
~ Amelia Desertsong
