There is a difference between a hiker who puts rain gear on because you told them they need to, and a hiker who puts on rain gear because they know they need to. And nothing changes a student from one category to the other like getting soaked.

I often tell the story of a group of young men who went hiking for a fairly dry week during New Mexico’s monsoon season. For the first four days there was little more than a sprinkle each afternoon.

“That’s not so bad,” they would say. “Some monsoon season this is.”

“Perhaps,” I’d respond, “But someday we may really get soaked. Make sure to have your rain gear ready”. After four days of this warning they seemed to think of it as some kind of ceremony more than an actual warning.

But, as expected, day five brought a darker cloud earlier in the day. It began to sprinkle at the front edge of the storm.

“Should we put our rain gear on?” I prodded.

“Not for this,” replied the chorus. The sprinkle became more of a drizzle.

“I think we should put our rain gear on,” I tried to help.

“It’s not that bad,” said the young men. The drizzle was now rain.

“You will likely regret this decision,” I informed them.

“We’re almost to camp,” I was shakily assured.

The downpour that continued the 15 minutes to camp and the next hour after meant camp was set up in a near-dark downpour by campers who soon learned everything they owned was wet. One of them ended up under an emergency blanket between two friends for the night.

The temperatures were high enough that people were cold, but never in danger. The daily morning sun meant their gear could be dried. And for the remaining days every drop of rain brought rapid consultation with me at first, then with each other, to decide when rain gear was needed.Their mistake made them miserable, but in ways that soon vanished.

But what did not vanish for the rest of the time I knew those hikers was their careful watch of the weather, their storage of rain gear near the top of their bags, their awareness of their environment, their care for the teammates, and their newfound willingness to listen to their guides who may know better.

As a teacher in public schools, I wonder just how often this type of deep, meaningful, character-changing learning is able to take place in our classrooms. It seems we’ve removed every chance for mistakes, for discomfort, for failure. We are so afraid of a hurt feeling or skinned knee that we prevent the incredible growth that comes from coaching a student through one of those failures.

We need to let students fail so that we can help them grow through those failures.

We are educators. We are meant to change lives. If all we do is shelter weakness we do not foster growth.

You can guide, and explain, and beg, and promise, but until students experience reality and learn it conforms to the wisdom you are trying to share with them they have no reason to listen.

Life comes with rainstorms. If we shelter them from every storm now they will be completely unprepared when we are gone. If we let them experience a storm, and then teach them to survive and prepare, they will leave our care having grown into stronger people.