‘I was different,’ Bill Gates describes his childish self, ‘School… felt slow. I found it hard to stay interested in what we were learning; my thoughts wandered. When something did catch my attention, I might leap up from my seat, frantically raise my hand or shout out an answer.’
In his autobiography, Source Code: My beginnings, the schoolboy who went on to become the original tech bro, co-founder of Microsoft and global philanthropist, describes his fascination with learning outside the box. Let classmates dutifully repeat their multiplication tables; he was discovering that the Adelie penguin could hold its breath for six minutes under water and that sound was a propagation of energy made by vibrations affected by the density and stiffness of the material it travels through.
Taking risks means trusting our own abilities
Source Code’s heart-tugging memories of loving, community-spirited parents, a mould-breaking grandmother, and a succession of mentors who didn’t write off the little boy who rocked back and forth as he asked outlandish questions, have earned Gates positive reviews. It helps too that the nerdy but sociable young Gates provides a welcome contrast to the narcissism flaunted by the current head of the tech bros, Elon Musk.
As they search the book for explanations for Gates’s unique achievements, reviewers have overlooked what young Bill had in common with his peers: risk. Teenagers undertaking a week-long trek in the mountains of Washington state without mobile phones, miles from civilisation; selling burgers from a makeshift stand in their front garden; using driftwood to cross a river; going for a meal into a stranger’s home.
To today’s ever-frightened families, these experiences sound inconceivable. What if someone got hurt up the mountain? Or had a nut allergy? What about ‘stranger danger’? Or germs? Or trauma, for goodness’ sake?!
In the early 1960s though, risk-taking was routine. I too attended primary school in Washington – DC in my case, rather than Gates’s home state. From morning, when a nine year old on his bicycle delivered newspapers to us and our neighbours; till night, when a group of classmates camped under the stars without chaperone or iPhone, our parents stood back and watched us take risks.
Indeed, parents and schools positively encouraged that risk-taking. ‘Don’t be a scaredy-cat!’ rang the playground chant, while head teachers – unlike today’s – allowed snow-ball fights and even dodgeball, where balls were thrown (hard!) at children lined up against a wall as they tried to catch them and take out the thrower. If a nincompoop dared complain (or worse their parents) our muscular PE teacher, Mr Wood, would remind us that in Sparta, children of seven were conscripted into the army and were told ‘Come back with your shield – or on it’.
Without going to war, or even much understanding of neuroscience, the grown-ups in our lives instinctively recognised that playing hard may carry risks but builds resilience. Ingenuity, grit, humour – these were the by-products of an approach to childhood that allowed for autonomy, and appreciated that standing still may avoid risking a slip but it gets you nowhere.
Our mothers and fathers didn’t need Harvard (though nowadays its Center on the Developing Child is proving a welcome resource to counter anxious parenting) to teach them that minor setbacks like an unforeseen storm on a camping trip or a painful fall in a snowball fight build our ability to overcome bigger setbacks like bullying, exclusion, or failure.
Taking risks means trusting our own abilities. For parents, though, it is more complicated: allowing our children to take risks means placing our trust not only in them but in our parenting. Have we taught them how to handle disappointment? Have we prepared them to endure pain? And do we know how to deal with a crestfallen child coming home to rush upstairs to their bedroom, door slammed in our face?
Today’s parents, rocked daily by news of a loneliness epidemic among the young, spiralling mental health issues among children and social media addiction even in primary schools, feel wary of testing their offspring’s mettle further. With so many obstacles already in the way of their child’s happiness, why lob more rockets at them? And so mothers and fathers drive their children to school rather than risk their walking unaccompanied; ask for special considerations during exams rather than risk a poor mark; and even, incredibly, force teachers to potty train their toddlers in school rather than risk the ‘antagonism’ associated with this hygienic ritual.
Unfortunately, sweeping away bumps on the road may have smoothed a parent’s life but it means that children never use their resilience muscles. As these atrophy, difficulties mount rather than been resolved.
Read Bill Gates’s memoir for a clue not to an individual’s genius, but to a generation’s go-getting spirit. Risk-taking could help our children dispel their self-doubts – and who knows, they too may go on to found a tech giant and a global charity.
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