Teddy–AKA Mr. Terrffic
When I student-teach a riding lesson, a very experienced instructor is in the arena at all times, sometimes at my elbow, sometimes simply observing. When the lesson is over, we debrief. What went wrong, what went right, next steps for this student, open questions… It’s old-fashioned mentored learning, and I like that (mostly).
I finished up a lesson where a good time was had by all, but my almighty lesson objective–walk/halt/walk transitions, or some other utterly dazzling equestrian feat–hadn’t really gotten across to one of the students. “What else should I do? What should I do differently?” Because my endless flow of brilliant instruction hadn’t worked, my imagery had fallen flat, my pantomiming the correct aids was useless when the student was watching where her horse was going (always a good idea) rather than watching me…
The senior instructor thought for a minute, then said, “Let them fail.” She did not mean, let the student become in any way unsafe, nor was she advocating a downer lesson. I wasn’t sure what she meant, really, other than maybe–???–allow some trial and error? I have much to learn. MUCH.
Another week rolls around, and a student who normally rides as part of a group ended up having the lesson all to herself. She’s an utterly delightful child–sweet, bubbly, giggly–and she’s been taking lesson for a while. In groups, she tends to be a follower, and almost never asks questions.
I thought the exercise was simple: Stop the horse in the exact middle of the arena. The center of the arena is like the break room for the horses. It’s where they get to stand around while stirrups are adjusted, girths are checked, and where the dismounts often take place. But on this occasion, the 25-year-old pony decided that he would just keep moseying along toward the (securely latched) gate. He wasn’t rude about it, he simply kept shuffling in the direction of his version of the promised land.
I’d already told my student to shorten her reins, to make her reins shorter, to move her hands down to the yellow section of the reins so she had a better feel of the horse’s 
mouth. She smiled and laughed and told the horse to stop and asked him to stop and told him he was supposed to stop.
Toddle, mosey, shuffle.
Teddy was a pony on a slow-mo mission. The horse leader very wisely did not intervene, and when I would have put a hand on the reins to stop the wee beast, I instead wondered aloud how anybody could get a horse to stop with such looooong reins?
As Teddy made it darned near to the end of the arena (nice try, Tedster), the rider shortened her reins (a not-so-simple business of sliding both hands wide on the reins, then bringing the hands together), and stopped her horse.
Oh, thinks me: Let them fail. From that point on, the rider’s steering was more effective, and she was more focused on communicating with her horse in ways he understood. 
The lesson for me though, was that to not intervene, to let the horse be the teacher (within the dictates of safety), to trust that the student will eventually puzzle out the solution… that’s hard. That’s… hooboy. I’m not supposed to help, not supposed to fix anything, not going to fix anything by controlling the outcome?
Hard, but in this case, for me to let the student fail was the path to a learning moment for the student, and for me.
Have you experienced any educational failures in life? Have you had to step back and let others fail for the sake of a useful lesson?
PS: I’ll be going on holiday hiatus after next week’s post, and be back in the saddle in early January. I hope to have ARC files for A Gentleman of Sinister Schemes right after the first of the year. Wheeee!
Have a great hiatus, Grace. See you when you get back!
I have had educational failures. The one that haunts me the most is that I missed graduating with “high honors” by .01 point, so graduated with “honors” instead. If only I’d studied just a bit harder in Physics (required class though I was a liberal arts major), for instance… Oh, well.
I did try to let someone else fail when I tutored Accounting in my second academic career, but the male student just kept trying to hand me the pencil to do the work. I told him I’d watch him do the work and give guidance and corrections if necessary, but I wouldn’t do the work for him. Surprisingly, he didn’t show up for subsequent tutoring from me.
I won’t wish you a happy hiatus now since I think you’ll be back here next week (I’ll do it then). But if I misunderstood, consider this your wish.
“Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.” C.S. Lewis
Oh Lord. My most infamous fail was my first solo cross country when learning to fly in the UK. I took off from the RAF base in the aeroclub clunker, turned in the appropriate direction…and could not for the life of me find the little civilian runway I was supposed to land at even though everyone had assured me it was clearly visible once one reached altitude from takeoff. Maybe for those familiar with the UK from the air. But this Yank newbie simply couldn’t see it.
I was forced to get on the radio, admit my failure to the very nice British air traffic controller at Honington, & follow his instructions as I bimbled back to the very obvious RAF base with my tail metaphorically between my legs. My instructor tore a strip off me in that gloriously understated British way that had me sobbing uncontrollably against the side of the Piper until I got a “there, there”, a clean hanky thrust into my hand, a brief hug, & back we went aloft with said instructor parked in the seat beside me having me repeat it all until he sussed out my problem.
The Honington air traffic controller met me later over a burger at an Aeroclub function, teased me gently with an, “Ah yes, the Yank woman perpetually lost,” then was kind enough to praise me to the heavens in front of my instructor for following procedures to the letter as soon as I realized I was in difficulty & doing an excellent job of following his instructions precisely as he talked me back to base.
That experience remains burned in my memory 30 + years later, so one could say it was definitely a lesson well learned via failure. And to quote my instructor, “You took off & landed again quite competently, so as soon as you’ve sussed out that middle navigation bit to go with your quite decent aviating, we’ll be able to call you a pilot.”
Happy student teaching, Grace!
Enjoy your time off, Grace!
Your student may be visual learner. She may do better with someone to copy/watch. My son’s basketball skills improved by practicing with people who were also tall. Thank you for working with your riders. Merry Christmas from a long time reader.
I also have a hard time not helping my kids. Both of my kids have special needs but very different special needs so it can be difficult to figure who needs what, when. Failure might lead to a breakthrough or a breakdown. Sometimes you guide and sometimes you step back and I guess wrong about which to do a fair amount of the time still.
My own past is riddled with failures big and small and I’d like to say they were neatly coupled with wisdom gained, but I am still trying to learn some of those lessons. I have made friends with failure though and no longer think it can be avoided.
I have a great deal of experience with educational failure. The weird thing is my struggle to put forth the effort not to fail. I found out I could succeed quite late in life and the stress level is quite intense. It is so bad in fact that I usually feel like I am about to have an MI or stroke. Not matter how much I succeed and feel great about it this continues. I think it is tied to a deeply ingrained fear of failure which I have been unable to shake off.
I like the comment of a rabbi, who’s name I inconveniently forget, who said, “I fall down six times. I get up seven.” Edison didn’t fail, he just found many ways not to make a lightbulb.
Each failure is a chance to improve. Frustrating though it is at the time.
I can’t believe it… It’s almost-January? Again? How did this happen? When did it happen?
On the subject of learning, something I discovered a long time ago is that we generally have the wrong idea of what learning is. We see a toddler crawling and stumbling and we wouldn’t think that “he is making a mistake” every time he falls down… and yet we are very hard on ourselves with “I’ve already made a mistake again” … and yet this is how we develop the inner, invisible skills that make us master an art or skill.
In many aspects of my life I am learning and one of the things I practice is to look at myself with the happy and benevolent gaze with which we look at a toddler crawling and stumbling.
The times I’ve tried this. It’s difficult when you don’t want to fail and don’t want to feel you’ve failed THEM. But as you rightly noted, allowing the failure can work and what’s more is remembered.