More yo-yo. Less TikTok.
Two weeks ago I was chatting with a new cohort of 5th graders in the Slöyd classroom. As we waited for the rest of the students to arrive we discussed interests and hobbies. One of the students brought up yo-yos. A lightbulb went off immediately : I had to make a yo-yo.
The following weekend I grabbed a two-inch thick piece of hard maple from the scrap pile. When I say had to make, I mean it. It was almost a compulsion (I want to write more on the idea of “compulsion” in a future blog…there’s a lot to unpack there). There were plenty of other things I had to do, all of which were undoubtedly much higher on the priority list, but this endeavor of mine somehow quickly transformed from a want into a need.
I wasn’t exactly sure what my design or methodology was going to be; however, I started drawing circles with my compass and shaping with my turning saw, block plane, and spokeshave. My blades could (should) have been sharper, but the stones were in the Slöyd classroom. As the shape of the yo-yo evolved, I realized that I was in the process of recreating my childhood yo-yo: a Duncan Butterfly. I had not thrown, let alone thought of a yo-yo in decades. However, of all of the toys, gizmos, and gadgets, that Duncan Butterfly was imprinted on my memory with a higher degree of clarity than most of my other childhood “things”. The shape, the color, the weight, the feel…it was all there.
The time had come to put the string on my new maple yo-yo and give it its first toss. The anticipation was high - the whole family was watching! As soon as I threw down, it was apparent it was horribly off-balance…it didn’t have a prayer of making it back to my hand, as it wobbled and spun wildly out of control. Disappointed? Yes. Determined? Yes. I immediately retrieved our coffee scale and weighed both sides; they were off by a couple of grams. I reached for the block plane and shaved the big one down until they were both 45.7 grams. After that, I strung it back up and gave it another throw. This time, success…just like my old red Butterfly.
The next day, my youngest son (5 years old) decided he was going to make a yo-yo, too. He is often influenced, motivated, and inspired by the projects he sees made by my wife, his older brother, and me…it is quite common for him to try to replicate the things we make. He grabbed a random branch of apple we had designated as firewood, cut off two ½”-ish discs, and used a knife to debark them. Learning from my mistakes, we put them on the coffee scale first. They were within a tenth of a gram right off the bat! I helped him eyeball the centers and he made holes for the axle with the egg-beater drill. Both of the holes turned out to be quite crooked - at this point I wasn’t too optimistic it was going to work, but we were still going to give it a go. Once it was assembled, we strung it and threw it. Truth be told - it spun and returned beautifully…significantly better than my first attempt! The joy - wonder - excitement on his face was absolutely priceless. He had done it, and done it well. This is a special shared moment for both of us.
The yo-yo is cross-generational and cross-cultural. I’m not going to go into a deep dive on the history of the yo-yo, but if you want to learn more, it seems like this guy has certainly done his homework. Regardless of any ambiguity of its origins, it is safe to say the yo-yo has been around and interesting to humans for thousands of years. Furthermore, in my humble opinion, the yo-yo will always be interesting as long as humanity exists. It’s mesmerizing…it’s beautiful…it becomes compulsive…the more you throw it, the more you want to keep throwing it…tricks and competition arise. Especially as children, it seemingly defies the truths we have learned (gravity) and become exposed to new mysteries (physics / angular momentum). Every kid I show the yo-yo to in the Slöyd classroom wants to watch it, touch it, try it…the curiosity it inspires is incredible.
It seems almost silly (maybe bold) to say, but the ubiquity and timelessness of the yo-yo itself makes it part of our shared human experience. It is something, a feeling, that we can all relate to. I’ve been asking neighbors, friends, and teachers if they have ever thrown a yo-yo to test my theory. All of them have, in fact, most of them have “yo-yo stories” that they can recall from decades past. The relevancy of the yo-yo has not been lost (and again I argue will likely never be lost) due to its seemingly magical intrinsic properties. However, what has been lost is the ability…the opportunity…the need for individuals (kids and adults) to truly create. Modern yo-yos are now, and have been for nearly a century, mass-produced and made out of plastic, just like my red Duncan Butterfly from Walmart.
However, it wasn’t always like this (obviously). Yo-yos were handmade by people for thousands of years out of wood, clay, metal, etc. In these times, the use of the yo-yo itself was actually the second part of the story. The idea, the initiative, the entire trial and error of the crafting experience was the first part of the story for each individual and yo-yo that has ever been made by hand. That authentic experience went on to better inform cognition, and without a doubt, resulted in increased resilience and perseverance to overcome adversity. The making process also produced feelings of true joy and satisfaction. I’m certain there were plenty of yo-yos crafted by children in ancient Asia that were off-balance or had crooked axles, but those problems turned into an exercise of problem-solving, followed by faces of excitement, just like my son’s.
“Many people object to this kind of instruction. ‘It takes,’ they say, ‘ten hours to make a spoon; why not buy one for 2 or 3 dollars?’ For exactly the same reason that we do not tell children to buy copybooks filled with writing instead of filling them. It is not the filled copybook that we require in education, neither is it the spoon in Sloyd; both are means having the same end in view - the development of the child.”
(Theory of Educational Sloyd, pg. 2)
Unfortunately, for the vast majority of kids today, this important part of the yo-yo story (and other classic toys) is completely lost. From the comforts of their own homes, a plastic yo-yo can arrive on their doorsteps with the click of a button for $5.99. The making and crafting part of the story of our lives is no longer part of our shared human experience the way it once was. Although the yo-yo may still enjoy wide ubiquity, this is not true for craft education. That authentic portion of our shared human experience has been replaced with a virtual shared human experience consisting of Amazon, YouTube, TikTok, and screens in general. Modern convenience, addictive entertainment, and social pressures now pervasively, yet unknowingly, rob individuals and cultures of some of life’s most absolute richest treasures.
In Slöyd education, the children are the sole focus of attention…not the tools, the techniques, or the products. What is happening to the children during the work process is our principal concern…the joys, the struggles, the emotions, the discoveries. Slöyd aims to restore that lost part of the story of the yo-yo by creating an environment in which there is an actual opportunity for children to experience the “work process”. In doing so, we hope to make better people, better communities, and a better world by creating a more complete and real story of our shared human experience. This simple vision is what keeps us going.
