It's a great mistake, I think, to put children off with

In the words of Anne Sullivan: “It’s a great mistake, I think, to put children off with falsehoods and nonsense, when their growing powers of observation and discrimination excite in them a desire to know about things.” These words burn with the fire of truth, for they remind us that the child is not a vessel for deception, but a living flame eager to grow brighter with knowledge. To feed that flame with shadows is to stunt its light, but to nourish it with truth is to let it illuminate the world. Sullivan, who guided Helen Keller from the silence of darkness into the brilliance of understanding, knew better than most the sacred power of honest teaching.

The ancients, too, saw that the mind of the child is fertile ground. Plato warned against filling young minds with lies, for falsehood planted early could twist into crooked roots that would mar the tree of character. The Greeks spoke of “paideia,” the shaping of the soul through education, and they knew that when the powers of observation awakened, they must be directed toward truth, or else they would hunger in vain. To give a child nonsense when they seek wisdom is to betray the very essence of education.

Consider Sullivan herself, standing beside young Helen Keller. Helen, blind and deaf, reached out for knowledge with a desperate intensity, eager to bridge the chasm between isolation and understanding. Sullivan did not soothe her with illusions or falsehoods; she met her hunger with truth, teaching her the names of things, the nature of reality, and the beauty of the world. Had she dulled Helen’s questions with evasion, the miracle of Helen Keller’s voice and writings would never have been. Sullivan’s words spring from this sacred experience: that to honor a child’s desire to know is to unleash greatness.

History also gives us darker lessons. In many ages, rulers and leaders sought to keep the masses ignorant, feeding them only myths and distractions, fearing what knowledge might inspire. But time proved that such nonsense cannot bind the human spirit forever. Where truth is denied, rebellion rises; where truth is given, societies flourish. Just as nations suffer when citizens are denied knowledge, so too do children suffer when their curiosity is met with deception. A young mind dishonored becomes an adult disillusioned.

Her warning is also heroic in tone. To tell the truth to children is not always easy. It requires patience, courage, and respect. But in offering honesty, even in simple forms, parents and teachers declare that the child is worthy of truth. They affirm that the questions of the young are not foolish, but sacred. The powers of observation within the child are like the first shoots of spring—fragile, but unstoppable if given light. To give them truth is to cultivate life; to give them lies is to choke the seedling before it can grow.

The lesson is clear: treat the curiosity of children with reverence. Do not dismiss their questions with falsehoods, nor bury them in nonsense. Speak honestly, in words they can grasp, and honor their desire to know. For their wonder is a gift, their hunger for truth a sign of life’s deepest purpose. To dishonor this hunger is a grave mistake; to nurture it is to build a foundation of wisdom that will endure long after you are gone.

Practical action lies before us: when a child asks, listen first. Give them answers that are true, even if simplified, and admit when you do not know. Encourage their observations, guide their questions, and celebrate their discoveries. In this way, you become not a warden of their ignorance, but a companion in their awakening. For in truth, every child who learns becomes a torchbearer, carrying the flame of wisdom into a future yet unseen.

Thus, Anne Sullivan’s words endure as a commandment of education: never betray the hunger of the young with deception. Their powers of observation are a holy fire, their desire to know a sacred trust. Feed them with truth, and you give them not only knowledge, but dignity, strength, and the courage to become who they are meant to be.