Paper airplanes. Hundreds of them. In every room, every bag, every car cup holder.
If there is a surface in our home that isn’t already covered with them—give it five minutes.
But here’s the thing: When my son is folding those airplanes, I see something in him shift. His focus sharpens. His hands, steady. He becomes calm, grounded, regulated. He’s “in the zone.”
He’s learning through doing—through building—through motion.
And yet, as parents, even when we love our children’s interests, we can find ourselves frustrated by the timing of them.
Like… bedtime. Or minutes before school drop-off. Or any moment when we’re already overwhelmed and running behind.
So, one morning, seeing yet another paper airplane peeking out of his backpack, I made a comment to his teacher that came straight from that old conditioning—the place in me that fears judgement, the place that sees me as a good parent:
“Feel free to take the airplane away if it’s distracting him…”
But her response stopped me in my tracks. She smiled through her bold, chunky glasses and said, “Oh, his airplanes are great! I let him and the other kids test them out in our dedicated ‘classroom neighbourhood,’ next to our room. And if he’s okay with it, I’d like him to teach a lesson in our STEM class sometime this year.”
For once, I was at a loss for words.
She sees him.
She sees his strength.
She doesn’t see the distraction.
She sees a child learning in the way his brain naturally learns.
And in that moment, she also gave me permission to honour my natural inclination to follow his lead. To believe that his way of learning is valid. To stop trying to fit him into a mould that was never made for him.
A few months later, life moved us across the country as we became the primary caregivers for his ailing grandpa. The paper airplanes multiplied and soon became a source of connection. We continued school remotely, and true to her word, his teacher made that STEM lesson happen—via Zoom.
There he was—my son—confidently teaching his entire class of six- and seven-year-olds how to fold paper airplanes, explaining the logic of wing shape and launch force.
Leading.
Confident.
His tiny hands and raspy voice moving in harmony as his classmates enthusiastically let him take the lead.
Learning didn’t stop because our life changed.
It simply found a new shape. One uncannily similar to that of a glider delta wing.
And yes—part of his teacher’s Christmas gift from our family included a replacement ream of printer paper. Because when a teacher chooses to celebrate the spark in a child—when they take what could easily be dismissed as disruptive or “too much” and instead transform it into confidence, community, and belonging—they’re going to need a much bigger paper budget.
His paper airplane obsession was a doorway, not a distraction.
For another child, it might be rearranging the same LEGO structure 20 different ways.
For another, it’s taking apart toys to understand how they work, or climbing everything in sight to test balance and courage or losing themselves in water play. (Lucky for my already overwhelmed brain and my aching LEGO-induced feet trauma, my kiddo dabbles in all the above).
These interests can look messy, loud, inconvenient. But they are also windows into how our children process the world.
This is education.
Hands-on exploration develops resilience, imagination, patience, innovation and confidence.
Learning is not only what happens at a desk. Learning is a child discovering who they are.
And sometimes, all we need to do is step back and say: “Show me how your mind works. I’m here. I’ll follow your lead.
When we follow their curiosity instead of resisting it, that’s where the magic of connection happens.
Supporting Your Child’s Strengths (Without Losing Your Mind)
1. Name the Strength Beneath the Behaviour. Instead of “They won’t stop fidgeting.” Try: “Their body needs movement to learn.” This takes away the need to constantly correct.
2. Build a “Yes Space” for Their Interest. A bin of scrap paper, a LEGO corner, a designated water play towel and bucket that lives close to a sink (this has been a gamechanger for us!), a small basket of child-friendly tools and fixable items. Give their passion a home.
3. Collaborate with Their Teachers and Care Team. Share what lights them up and ask how it can be woven into learning time. When home and school reflect a child back to themselves with acceptance, confidence grows.
