A Reflection on Childhood: Why We Should Color Outside the Lines

It was 20 years ago when I visited my son Owen’s kindergarten class, and I overheard a conversation that’s stayed with me ever since. The teacher, sitting primly in a red plastic chair, lectured the kids in a stern tone:

“Scissors are NOT for cutting crayons or playdough. They’re ONLY for paper.

We cut paper to learn the skill of cutting. We study bears because they are interesting. Tommy, pay attention, Bears ARE interesting. Hands in your lap Susan. Eyes on me. Eyes on ME. Bears are interesting and you are learning important skills that will prepare you for the first grade. Excuse me, excuuuuse me. I am waiting. Kindergartners, sit quietly and don't talk when I am talking.”

The lecture went on and on. I couldn’t help but imagine the kids as birds in a cage, their curiosity and creativity being stripped away.

I wanted to burst in, waving crayons and scissors, shouting “REVOLT!” I wanted to free them—to tear down the rigid rules that seemed to choke their imagination. But of course, I didn’t. I’d long ago graduated from the school of “color inside the lines” and had become that grown-up who obeyed all the rules. My son, however, was already walking toward me, liberated for the day, and I wondered: why can’t we color outside the lines? Why can’t we cut playdough with scissors or sing in class without being shushed?

As an educator, I understand the need for structure, but I ache for the child in us all—the one who wants to explore, experiment, and express without limits. Today, we still see classrooms where creativity sometimes takes a backseat to quiet compliance. But it’s in those messy, unstructured moments—whether it’s scribbling outside the lines or cutting something “off-limits”—that true learning happens. These are the moments that teach our children to think, to solve problems, and to be themselves.

To the parents of young children today: encourage exploration. Let them color outside the lines. Let them cut whatever they want to cut (yes, even playdough!). Let them sing, dance, and dream. These experiences are more than just fun—they’re how kids learn to be creative, resilient, and curious.

I’ve carried that spirit of creative rebellion into my work as a teacher, always adding scissors to the playdough in my studio. It’s about keeping that spark of curiosity alive, not just in children, but in ourselves as adults. There’s always something new to discover, a fresh way of seeing or interacting with the world. The key is to never stop being curious, to never lose the wonder we had as children when we saw the world as a vast, open space for exploration.

So, go ahead—grab your crayons, eat your playdough, glue your friends together with laughter, and LIVE like you’re alive. Because in the end, it’s not about sitting still and following rules—it’s about discovering who we are and how we can shape the world.