Contingency is the Curriculum of Success

Benjamin Franklin was once credited with saying, “Tell me and I forget, teach me and I remember, involve me, and I learn.” Last week at the gas station, our kids got the opportunity to experience all three of these things. They “forgot” to take the keys out of the ignition before stepping out to get fuel—and the dogs were quick to lock the doors. We “taught” them how a piece of wire can be slid down inside the window to unlock the doors. And they “learned” that the speed at which we accomplished that task we would make us poor thieves indeed. After blocking the fuel island for close to an hour, we finally said goodbye to the patient attendants, as well as the owner of an asphalt company, who had stopped in for snacks and stayed to help. Once back on the road, we continued on our way to California for fruit. One of the great things about homeschooling is that the classroom is everywhere—and every day is a chance to discover something new. And what a field trip it was. My oldest got the opportunity to make the drive in his own pickup and trailer, he also experienced driving a forklift with a joystick—some thing he didn't add that to his Christmas wish list. He also learned to drive in bad fog and maneuver his trailer through wrecks and California traffic. On our way home, he also experienced his first blown tire under a full load. He handled it well, and two hours later we were back on the road—in the dark with fog—when the trailer lights went out. It was a good experience—if one can ever call a blown tire or wiring issues good—in that life itself rarely goes according to plan, and it's good to learn to think on your feet—to stay calm and let your contingency plans have contingency plans. On our latest trip to Mexico, we'd been exploring one of the only Mayan ruins set on the beach. The day was hot, and my youngest was ready to call it a day. But there was one trail we hadn't explored. I'd wanted to go, but my husband's knee was hurting. He offered to wait under the tree with our youngest. My oldest and I scooted off down the trail. About 5 minutes in, the path veered into the jungle where three uniformed men stood. I started to question one about where the path went, and he motioned us on through “ya ya ya, to the beach. Come come,” he said. We followed a young family down the trail that led to a glorious view of the ocean and eventually a lighthouse and a white sand beach. We took lots of photos, and laughed as we hopped over lazy iguanas basking in the sun in the middle of the path on our way back to our family. When we got back to the uniformed men, they began shouting and waving at us. “No! No! No! Out. Go back! Exit only!” They weren't listening to our explanations, and when they reached for their weapons, it was a clear we would not be going that direction. We again walked over the iguanas, past the beach and the lighthouse until we got to the exit. I didn't have cell service so we asked several people to make the call, but no one could call an American number. Another guard, another exit, same story—no entry, no exceptions. A kind Mexican couple even tried asking him in Spanish, but the answer was still no. Forty-five minutes had passed. My husband had our tickets, so we couldn't just go back through the entrance. A Russian group walked passed and one girl spoke English. She took my husband's WhatsApp info as she was getting on the bus, and she said she'd send him a message. Not sure what to do next, we started looking around. There was a symbol for wifi on a biblioteca sign. We scurried down the street following the library signs. When we got there, guards stood at the door only allowing ticketed guests to enter—the tickets that were in my husband's wallet. The first guard moved us along, but at the second entrance, the guard listened as I talked slowly—while my son's fingers flew rapidly over my cellphone trying to connect to their internet just long enough to get a mes sage out to my husband. During this entire time, my oldest never broke a sweat or seemed uneasy. Separated from our group in a foreign country, without money, tickets, or a phone, he remained calm, collected, and confident. I was proud. Benjamin Franklin's quote could have continued: “Tell me and I forget, teach me and I remember, involve me, and I learn, show me how to plan for contingencies and I develop confidence.”