In case you’re lucky enough to be blissfully unaware: This past week a dad went viral on Twitter for telling a very lengthy, 20+ tweet story about his hungry nine-year-old daughter. She wanted a snack, and he suggested she open a can of beans. She didn’t know how to work the can opener, and despite her asking him for assistance, dad helpfully suggested she figure it out on her own. He documented her entire struggle on Twitter, and SIX HOURS LATER, she’d figured out the tool and she had her beans. Multiple people asked me for my take on the matter, so here it is…. my unfiltered response to Bean Dad.

Dear Bean Dad,

We have something in common. I figured I’d start there because there’s so very little that qualifies, and it only made sense to start off on common ground. There’s actually two things we have in common, but I’ll get to the second one a little bit later.

We both know that sometimes lessons are best learned on our own, even if it involves some frustration. I think of my now twenty year learning to ride a bike. Unlike my oldest, who took the more cautious scooching approach, he was bound and determined to ride the “right” way, all in one day, all at once. He fell. He got back on. He got frustrated. He got back on. He got mad. He got back on. We encouraged him in his efforts and also let him know it was okay to take a break if he needed one. But he was determined. It was truly something to witness, and do you know? By the end of the day, he was riding, all on his own.

The difference between my son and your daughter though is that she asked you for your help. Right from the very beginning.

She asked you (politely, I might add) to open the can for her. That would have been your moment to either 1) open the can, or 2) show her how the can opener worked and let her open it herself. But you chose to look at it as a Teaching Moment instead, and essentially leave her to her own devices. That’s where you lost me.

After awhile of trying, she “collapsed in a frustrated heap.” You watched your (hungry) daughter collapse in a frustrated heap, you knew what the problem was, and you still refused to step in. This would have been a perfect time to say, “You’ve almost got it. You just need to clamp it on, like this.” But you didn’t. You let it go on. And on.

Once tears appear, you’ve lost your teachable moment. She was exhausted, she was hungry, she was dealing with “anger-management” issues, and she was in tears. Again, a good time to step in. At this point, I’m a little confused at what lesson she is supposed to be learning. Because all I’m seeing is that dad won’t help her, no matter how much she’s struggling.

SIX HOURS. I find it interesting that you use the word, “us” here. The kachunk of puncturing the lid was not eluding you. It was eluding her, and her alone. It had been eluding her for six hours. And yes, as you detailed in the next several tweets, she did eventually get it, and she had her beans. But… at what cost? What did she actually learn? Sure, she learned how to use the can opener, but she also learned that:

A most basic need (hunger) was less important than learning a lesson.

That Dad wouldn’t help her, no matter how frustrated she got.

That she couldn’t ask for assistance when doing something hard.

That it’s okay to be amused and entertained by someone else’s struggle.

Now, I saw that you apologized – sort of. You said that the story had been poorly written satire, that you both actually spent a lot of time laughing, that it was a positive moment, not a negative one. I’m sorry, but none of that changes the fact that your daughter asked you for your help, and instead of giving it to her you let her struggle, hungry, for six hours, all while splashing it about on the internet as though it were entertainment.

But I’m not alone in my assessment. In fact, you got so much backlash that you eventually deleted your Twitter account altogether. I can relate to that, as deleting is my first instinct too. But I’ve learned (or am currently learning – it’s a process) that there is something to be said for standing in the bed you made, and facing the music as it were. Yes, there were people being hateful, name-calling and shaming. But there were also people telling you, parent-to-parent, that you made a mistake. Telling you that there were other ways. Telling you that could have done things differently. Those are the people you could have listened to. Those are the people you could have learned from.

I hope that your time away from Twitter is a positive step for you, truly. I hope that you spend some time in self-reflection. I hope that you do eventually realize that the situation with your daughter could have unfolded much differently. And much more peacefully.

Mostly though, I hope that the next time your daughter comes to you and asks you for your help, that you stop what you’re doing and help her.