What kids can teach adults about asking for help YeYoon Kim
Transcriber: Leslie Gauthier
Reviewer: Krystian Aparta
What can we learn from children
about being better humans?
They’re fiercely loyal to their friends,
fast to defend, quick to apologize
and swift to forgive.
But as a past kindergarten teacher –
always a kindergarten teacher at heart –
I want to share with you
a surprising lesson I learned from them
about being asked for help.
I love human behaviors –
how we act differently in different
situations and environments –
and these cute five-year-olds
with their adorable cheeks
and the perfect height
to give warm, morning hugs to
and almost a competitive
love for high fives,
were so interesting.
My first class was called a Mars class.
I had 10 students,
and each were so full of character.
But there was this one kid
I’ll never forget.
Let’s call him Sam.
Sam behaved like he forgot
he was only five.
He was so independent.
Not only did he know
how to tie his own shoelaces,
but he knew how to tie
other kids' shoelaces too.
He also never took home a dirty thermos,
because he would clean it after his lunch.
And if something happened
and he needed a change of clothes,
he would do so very quietly
and discreetly by himself.
He didn’t ask for help much himself,
but he was the one
that his classmates went to for help –
help on things like,
can he help them finish their kimchi?
Because it’s too spicy.
He didn’t like showing
any type of affection to teachers
and came across as “the cool kid.”
If you gave him a good-morning hug,
he would roll his eyes
and make a funny face
as to show discontent,
but also stand there and wait
if he didn’t get his morning hug.
He was so smart and reliable
that even I would forget
that he was only five.
As a novice teacher,
I spent a lot of time observing
how more experienced teachers
interacted with their students.
And I noticed something very peculiar.
Oftentimes when kids fall,
they don’t start crying immediately.
They would stand up, puzzled,
as if trying to make up their mind –
you know, “What just happened?”
“Is this a big enough deal for me to cry?
Does this hurt? What’s going on?”
Usually kids will be OK
until they lock eyes with an adult:
one that they trust
and know can do something for them.
Eyes lock, and then,
they burst out in tears.
When I noticed this,
I so wanted it to happen to me,
because to me, that meant
that you had earned a kid’s trust
and had proven that you’re capable
to help them with anything.
You were a hero to them.
Weeks went by of me
just watching other teachers
have kids run to them in tears,
and I’d watch in jealousy.
Oh, was I jealous.
I mean, of course
I didn’t want the kids to fall,
but I really wanted
that moment of validation
that yes, I had earned a kid’s trust
enough to be the one to help them.
Then, it finally happened.
It was a beautiful day.
It was during recess
at the indoor playground.
The kids were playing
and I was getting some things laminated –
because teachers
are forever laminating stuff –
in the teacher’s room next door.
Then I heard a kid yell,
“Teacher, teacher, Sam fell down.”
So I went out to peak,
looked around for Sam,
and there he was, looking very puzzled,
as if he was trying to add double digits.
Then he looked at me,
our eyes locked,
and then it happened.
His lower lip started to tremble
and his tiny eyes
started to fill with tears.
Then he burst out in tears
running towards me,
and it was glorious.
I’ll never forget that moment.
He let me give him a big hug
to help him calm down,
and it turns out that yes,
he did trip over his own two feet
so there was no one
other than the floor to reprimand.
We checked to make sure
that he wasn’t hurt
and he overcame
that with not even a bruise.
It was in that moment, oddly –
it didn’t feel like
I was there to help Sam,
but rather he was giving me this gift,
this opportunity to help him.
And it’s something very weird
that I struggle putting down in words.
With his vulnerability
in coming to me for help
as if I could do something about it,
you would think that gives me the power,
but in that moment,
no, it was quite the opposite,
and the power shifted even more so to him.
Being asked for help is a privilege:
a gift for you to do
something for someone,
especially when it’s coming
from their place of vulnerability.
With everything I learned
from kindergarten,
or in “teaching” kindergarten,
I went to conquer other things in life.
Fast-forward nine years,
and I landed in an association
for project management professionals
in a role that works
extensively with volunteers.
Working with volunteers
is a wonderful experience,
but there are some things
I wish had a been warned about,
like how to set boundaries.
It’s very easy to fall
into the rabbit hole
of “because they’re volunteers.”
Late night calls?
Yes, because they’re volunteers
and have day jobs.
Business trips that are almost
exclusively only on weekends?
Yes, because they’re volunteers
and have day jobs.
Not to pat myself on the back,
but I got quite good at my job.
I was thriving off of
the relationships I was building.
And the best way I knew how to judge
whether I had earned someone’s trust
was if they would come
and ask me for help.
I loved it.
Every time we did year-end retreats
and we talked about what we wanted
to be in the next year,
my keywords were always
“help” or “helpful.”
The problem was that I wasn’t
being just helpful.
Over time, I put more and more
pressure on myself
to always be busy
and to always do a good job.
Soon my self-worth became associated
with my performance at work,
which is basically a recipe for disaster.
But don’t worry, because I had
the best coping mechanism,
which was denial,
distraction with even more work
and drinking –
and lots of it.
I was so busy being helpful
and independent
and being a great Sam
that I forgot how to ask
for help when I needed it.
All I had to do was ask,
and if I truly believed
that asking for help was a gift,
then I should have been
doing it more, right?
Well, we don’t always practice
what we preach,
but about two years ago,
I was slapped with a big, fat reminder.
To say that I was burned-out
at the time was an understatement,
but thanks to my coping
mechanism, drinking,
it looked like I was
just having a great time.
But one day,
just like Sam in the playground,
I tripped over my own two feet.
I blacked out
and woke up with a big cut
on my foot from broken pieces of glass,
eyes swollen from crying
and a voice so hoarse
that I’d most likely been wailing.
I don’t have much recollection
of what actually happened,
but I remember feeling
frustrated, sad and afraid.
Now you’ve known me
for only about 10 minutes,
but you can probably tell
that this was really not like me,
so when I came to my senses
about what had happened,
I was in shock.
There was no other way of saying it
other than that I needed help,
both in the sense of I needed
some type of therapy help,
but also help in getting
out of that situation.
It was one of the lowest
moments of my life,
and even in that moment,
my mind was running at hyperspeed
into problem-solving mode.
What do I do with this?
If I don’t fix this,
then I’m even more of a disappointment.
If I don’t resolve this,
then I’m even more of a failure.
Those are things
that were running through my mind,
and it didn’t even occur to me
that I could ask for help.
I was surrounded by so many people
who cared for me and wanted to help,
but I just couldn’t see them.
Until finally, my good friend
had to literally hold me by my shoulders
and force me to ask for help.
“Can you do this?”
“No.”
“Do you need help?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get others that love
and care for you to help you too?”
“Yes.”
That was my grown-up version
of locking eyes with my teacher.
And just like that,
as soon as I said, “Yes, you may help me,”
I felt a tingling of hope
and some sort of control coming back.
And if you think about it,
isn’t it so weird we spend
all of childhood
being so good at asking for help
and are expected to grow up
to be these self-reliant human beings
and we get so good at it
that we have to be reminded
that it’s OK to ask for help?
Later, that moment helped me
realize so many things.
I’m always so happy to help
others and I love it.
Why wouldn’t others be willing to help me?
And more importantly,
why wouldn’t I want others
to feel the happiness and joy
that comes from helping
the Sams of the world?
We all want to be the best Sams in life:
to be strong, independent
and self-reliant,
but we don’t always have to be.
So let’s start asking for help more often,
because helping Sams
is a privilege and a gift.
Thank you.