What I’ve Learned From Your Kids (And Why I’m So Grateful)

Before I was a toy designer, I was the person your kids came to for the summer - a camp counselor, a swim instructor, an afternoon babysitter. 

For a little while—just a few weeks out of the year—I get to be their teacher. But here’s the thing no one tells you: they become mine too.

Every child I’ve spent time with has taught me something. Lessons about patience, courage, compassion, joy—and often, lessons that adults take decades to learn. I think that’s what I love most about working with kids. For a few months, they let me be their teacher. And for those same few months, they become mine.

Here are some of the best lessons I’ve learned from the kids I’ve worked with over the years.

Sam, Age 4: You Can Feel Scared and Still Be Brave

Sam didn’t just dislike the water—he was terrified. At first, lessons meant sitting on the steps, clinging to me, refusing to even dip his nose under the surface. But he wanted to learn. And more importantly, he wanted to not be afraid.

We talked a lot—about fear, about trust, about bravery. Over time, his confidence grew. He could float. He could blow bubbles. He could even swim short distances. But when it came time to jump in? He froze. Every. Single. Time.

So we kept talking. About how bravery doesn’t mean you’re not scared—it means doing it even though you’re scared. One day, standing on the edge of the pool, Sam looked down, shook a little, then whispered to himself, “I am brave.” He jumped. He surfaced. I lifted him high and spun him around as we both laughed and cheered.

His mom clapped from the bleachers and asked, “Was it scary?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but that’s okay. Because I am brave.”

He didn’t wait to be fearless. He chose to be brave anyway. That’s emotional courage.

Kelsey, Age 5: You Can Be Mad and Still Keep Swimming

Kelsey was furious when I told her she couldn’t cut to the front of the line during jump time. She stomped to the back, turned her back to the pool, and crossed her arms. When it was her turn, I told her she could wait if she wasn’t ready.

She huffed, turned, and jumped anyway.

When she came up, I asked if she was feeling better.

“No,” she said, still frowning. “I’m still mad. But I can be mad and swim at the same time.”

I had to laugh. Because, honestly, she nailed it. She acknowledged her emotions, didn’t bottle them up, and still chose to move forward. She didn’t let her anger ruin her fun. That kind of emotional clarity is something even grown-ups struggle with. Kelsey showed me that it’s okay to feel big feelings—as long as we don’t let them take the driver’s seat.

Charlie, Age 3: Take Time for Yourself 

At my first lesson of the day, Charlie bounced into the pool area holding a water bottle in one hand and a coloring book in the other. Before we’d even gotten in the water, he was telling me about the new book he got—each character, each page, and, most importantly, the new crayons that came with it. We practiced kicking on the wall and he gave a running commentary on the color choices he would use for each superhero. Between bubble blowing and floating, I got a complete outline of his coloring plans for the week.

At the end of the lesson, I helped him up onto the pool ledge, gave him a high-five, and said, “See you next week, Charlie!”

But Charlie shook his head very seriously and said, “No, I can’t come next week. I’m going to be coloring.”

No guilt, no explanation, no hesitation. He had other priorities, and they involved his imagination and a box of crayons. And honestly? I respected that. Charlie knew what brought him joy and wasn’t afraid to make time for it. At three years old, he was already better at self-care than most adults I know. (he did come to class the next week, but was ready to show off his newly colored pages)

Penny, Age 6: Kids Aren’t Giving You a Hard Time—They’re Having One 

Penny could go from gentle and sweet to explosive in the blink of an eye. One afternoon, as we sat outside her brother’s piano lesson, she asked about the flags on the buildings nearby. I pointed out that one was the American flag and the other was a Maryland flag.

She stared at me, confused. “But I live in America.”

“You do,” I said. “And Maryland is part of America.”

“But I don’t live in Maryland—I live in America!” she insisted, and her frustration started to build. 

She kept asking questions with more and more anger behind her confusion, and I tried my best to navigate the conversation.

What began as a simple lesson quickly spiraled into emotional overload. She wanted to understand, but she couldn’t. And I could tell she wanted to stay calm so she could figure it out, but she couldn’t. 

“Why don’t I get this?” she screamed.

“Why does this happen to me?” she cried.

“Why am I always so mad?” she whispered.

She wasn’t trying to yell, or cry, or overreact—she was genuinely overwhelmed and confused. That moment reframed everything for me: behavior is communication. And sometimes, a meltdown is just a child’s way of asking for help with their feelings.

Nemo, Age 8: Don’t Put Kids in a Box 

At camp, Nemo was known as “a lot.” Energetic. Talkative. Curious to a fault. I assumed he wouldn’t do well in a complex team-building challenge—but I was wrong.

He listened carefully, led his group thoughtfully, and asked smart, insightful questions afterward.

That day, Nemo taught me this: don’t assume a child is only who they’ve been. Give them room to grow into who they are becoming.

Eli, Age 14: Kids Will Rise to the Challenge 

Eli was in the oldest boys’ cabin at camp. He was wild. Loud. Constantly pushing boundaries. The kind of kid who made every activity twice as hard to manage—but three times more fun when he wasn’t driving me up a wall.

One sweltering day, we had a camp-wide free swim at the lake. Dozens of kids splashing around always makes me anxious, and my worst fear happened: a camper was missing their buddy.

This is a code-red. We blew the whistle. Some counselors dove in to search. Others scrambled to check cabins. I stayed on shore, trying to organize the chaos.

Then Eli showed up. “What’s going on?” he asked. I started to brush him off, but he didn’t move. “How can I help?” he insisted.

So I told him: “I need all the campers lined up, quiet and sitting down.”

And he did. With all the authority of a last year camper, Eli commanded the other boys’ attention. They listened. They lined up. They stayed calm. Eli read the urgency in the adults' eyes and matched it with maturity, leading the other campers to do the same.

Thankfully, the missing camper was found safe—a quick trip to the bathroom that no one had noticed.

He reminded me that when we trust kids with responsibility, they often rise to the occasion. He was ready to be as serious as the situation was. Leadership isn’t about age—it’s about being ready when it counts.

Gus, Age 32: We’re All Just Learning to Stay Afloat 

Okay, Gus isn’t a kid. But I learned something important from him, too.

He came to swim lessons in his thirties, preparing for his honeymoon on an island. His fiancé loved the ocean. He… didn’t. But he did love her enough to learn to be comfortable near the water.

We didn’t have enough time for him to become a swimmer, but we did have time for him to learn to float.

Every day, he practiced floating. And every day, he learned to trust the water, and trust himself. 

Months later, he sent me a letter: the dock collapsed during his honeymoon, and he fell into the ocean. But he floated. He stayed calm. And he was rescued.

That’s what so much of life is. Not mastering everything—but learning to trust yourself enough to stay afloat. Whether you’re parenting, teaching, or just living, sometimes all you can do is breathe, float, and wait for help. And that's enough.

I was there to help Gus learn to float, and now Open the Joy is there to help YOU stay afloat (so we’re really glad you’re here!)

Sarah, Age 7: Kids Notice Your Attention—and They Thrive in It 

During swim lessons, parents usually sit on the bleachers. Some chat, some scroll, some sneak in work emails, and many glance up just in time for the ever-famous “Mom, watch this!” jumps.

Sarah, a tentative swimmer, made a deal with her dad: she would get in the pool if he would promise to watch her the whole time. She could check on him anytime, and he would give her a big thumbs up. It was simple. It was brilliant. And it worked.

Every time she swam, she looked up, and he gave the thumbs up. Sometimes two. Sometimes with a proud smile. The connection was constant. And other kids noticed. Slowly, more kids in the group started giving thumbs up to their parents. Then asking for thumbs up. And little by little, I saw more phones go away, more eyes stay on the pool, more connections made in the quietest, simplest way.

And you know what? That group of kids made more progress than almost any other I’d taught. They were bolder, more confident, more engaged. Kids don’t just crave our attention. They thrive in it.

In the End... I Learn Just as Much as I Teach

These are just a few of the incredible lessons I’ve learned from the kids who’ve shared their summers with me. For a few months each year, they come into my life to learn. But what a gift it is, every single time, to learn from them, too.

I get a front-row seat to the moments that shape them—and me. Their courage, honesty, curiosity, and resilience are powerful reminders of what emotional intelligence really looks like.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.