When I was seven, I wanted to build a treehouse. Not the kind with pre-cut lumber and adult supervision - the kind where you figure out which branches can hold weight by testing them. My parents said it was too dangerous. I should wait until I was older. Until I could "do it properly."
I'm still waiting.
The Great Deception
We've been sold a story about childhood that would make a con artist blush. The story goes like this: kids are fragile, the world is dangerous, and the best thing we can do is wrap them in bubble wrap for eighteen years while feeding them a steady diet of worksheets and participation trophies.
This isn't protection. It's preparation for a life of asking permission.
Think about it. We take the most curious, energetic, fearless humans on the planet and stick them in rows of desks for six hours a day. We tell them to raise their hands before speaking, ask for hall passes to use the bathroom, and memorize facts they could Google in three seconds. Then we wonder why they graduate feeling lost and unprepared for "the real world."
The real world? We've been living in a simulation.
What We Lost
A hundred years ago, a twelve-year-old might apprentice with a craftsman. They'd learn by doing, fail by trying, and contribute something real to their community. They had skin in the game.
Today's twelve-year-old has homework about the Revolutionary War but couldn't start a lemonade stand without permits. They can recite the periodic table but can't change a tire. They know the capitals of all fifty states but don't know what they're passionate about.
We've optimized for safety and gotten fragility. We've optimized for compliance and gotten conformity. We've optimized for test scores and gotten test-takers.
But humans aren't meant to be test-takers. We're meant to be world-builders.
The Anti-Fragile Truth
Here's what nobody tells you: kids aren't fragile. We're anti-fragile. We get stronger from stress, smarter from mistakes, more confident from overcoming challenges. Every scraped knee teaches physics. Every failed project teaches resilience. Every small responsibility teaches competence.
The current system does the opposite. It removes all meaningful stress, prevents all meaningful failure, and delays all meaningful responsibility. Then it acts surprised when eighteen-year-olds can't handle college or twenty-five-year-olds can't handle careers.
You can't learn to swim by studying water.
The Real Curriculum
The most successful people I know share one trait: they started early. Not early in school - early in life. They found something they cared about and began the long, messy process of getting good at it while their peers were still asking for permission.
The tools have never been better. A teenager today has access to more knowledge, more mentors, and more opportunities than a university professor had twenty years ago. We can learn any skill on YouTube, build any product with open-source tools, and reach any audience through the internet.
The only thing stopping us is the story we've been told about childhood.
The New Story
Here's a different story: We're not preparing for life. We're living it. Right now. The years between ten and eighteen aren't a waiting room - they're the most energetic, curious, fearless years we'll ever have. Don't waste them on worksheets.
Find something you care about. Build something. Ship something. Fail at something. Learn from someone who's already where you want to be. Take responsibility for something that matters.
The world doesn't need more people who can follow instructions. It needs more people who can see problems and solve them, who can imagine futures and build them, who can take responsibility and deliver results.
It needs fewer students and more apprentices. Fewer consumers and more creators. Fewer people asking for permission and more people asking for forgiveness.
The Choice
Every day spent in the childhood trap is a day not becoming who we're meant to be. The system will tell us to wait, to be patient, to follow the path. The system is wrong.
Our life's work doesn't begin at graduation. It begins the moment we realize we don't need permission to start.
The treehouse is still waiting to be built. The only question is: will we build it, or will we keep asking for permission?
The most dangerous phrase in the language is "we've always done it this way." The second most dangerous is "you're too young."