Why It Seems Like No One Shares Free Knowledge Anymore (And What It Means For Your Kid’s Learning)
Last Tuesday, I was wiping Goldfish crumbs off the kitchen table at 7:30 PM, and my 10-year-old Milo was leaning over my shoulder, begging me to pull up a back handspring tutorial. He’d just made the rec cheer team, and all the other kids already knew how to do one, so he was determined to practice before the first clinic. I typed the query into Google, and we clicked through three pages of results: the first was a 25-second Instagram Reel that cut off mid-explanation of how to fall safely, the second advertised a $49 “beginner cheer masterclass” with a 30-minute guarantee of a perfect back handspring, and the third was a “free tutorial” that asked for my credit card info to start a $12/month membership before I could watch a single clip. Milo huffed, crossed his arms, and asked the question that’s been bouncing around my head ever since: “Why does nobody give you any knowledge unless you pay them?”
I brought that question up at the elementary school parent coffee the next Friday, and half the room nodded along. Milo’s 4th grade teacher said she can’t find a single free printable fractions worksheet aligned to our state’s standards anymore—every education blog that used to share free resources now locks everything behind a paywall. A dad there whose son loves rock climbing said he can’t find a free beginner route guide for the local crag anymore; every good tip is locked in a $20 e-book. Even the summer reading list I got from the public library had links to three “free book discussion guides” that ended up costing $8 each to download.
I thought back to when I was Milo’s age. I wanted to learn how to cross-stitch for 4-H, so my mom’s friend who did cross-stitch brought over a stack of extra fabric and floss and sat with me for two afternoons, didn’t ask for a dime. When I messed up my science project on constellations the night before it was due, the school librarian printed me a full-size map right from her office computer, no charge. My piano teacher wrote out extra finger exercises for me on scrap paper every week, never added it to my bill. It wasn’t that all knowledge was free back then, but it felt like a lot of the small, specific bits people picked up over the years were just… shared, if you asked.
It’s easy to get mad about this, to call creators greedy, but that’s not the whole story. Most of the people putting learning content out there aren’t big corporations—they’re former teachers, cheer coaches, and hobbyists who spend 10+ hours a week making tutorials, worksheets, and guides. They have rent to pay and kids to feed, same as the rest of us. It makes sense that they want to get paid for work they put hours into. I get that. But the problem isn’t that people charge for their work—it’s that almost everything has shifted to that model now, and that leaves kids with the wrong idea about what knowledge is. When every single skill, every tip, every worksheet costs money, kids start to think that if you can’t pay to learn something, you don’t get to be curious about it. If your family can’t swing the $49 masterclass, you just don’t get to learn the back handspring. That sticks with you.
After we got frustrated with the tutorials, I texted a mom from my playgroup who used to coach cheer. I remembered she’d retired a few years back and lived 10 minutes away. I asked if she’d be willing to show Milo the basic stance and a few drills, offered to bring her a loaf of the sourdough I bake as thanks. She said she’d love to have him over that Saturday, no sourdough needed, she missed working with kids. We went over, she spent an hour with him in her backyard, showed him how to hold a handstand against the fence, how to engage his core, how to fall without hurting himself. No charge, no membership, no fine print. He practiced every day after school for two weeks, and last weekend he nailed his first clean back handspring on the grass.
That got me thinking about the small, low-effort shifts we can make at home to counter the narrative that knowledge has to be bought. First, I started making a point to share whatever small skills I have with the neighborhood kids, and to ask other people to share theirs with Milo. Last month, I taught three of his friends how to braid friendship bracelets for an hour after school, no charge. Last week, our neighbor who fixes cars for a living showed Milo how to change the oil in my old minivan, just because Milo asked how cars worked. He came home with greasy hands and a notebook full of notes, didn’t cost us anything but a batch of chocolate chip cookies we brought over.
Second, I started reminding other parents that their public library card is a free pass to almost any knowledge you could want. Most people don’t know that pretty much every public library in the country gives free access to LinkedIn Learning, which has thousands of classes on everything from coding to drawing to chess. Our library lets you check out free passes to rec center classes and museum workshops, and they have tutors who will meet with your kid for free once a week. I never would have found that if I hadn’t asked the librarian last year, but it’s all there, no extra cost.
Third, when your kid asks that question Milo asked—why do I have to pay to learn this?—don’t just brush it off with “that’s how the world works.” I say something like, “The person who made this worked really hard, and they deserve to get paid for their time. But not all knowledge has to be sold. People who love what they do often share it for free, just because they want other people to love it too.” It’s a simple, honest answer that doesn’t sugarcoat how things are now, but also doesn’t let kids think curiosity is only for people who can pay for it.
I still get annoyed, I’ll admit. Last week I spent 20 minutes looking for a free multiplication chart printable that wasn’t behind a paywall, and I ended up just drawing one on a piece of notebook paper for Milo’s homework folder. It’s not perfect, and there are still a lot of things he wants to learn that cost money we don’t have. But so far, leaning back into that old way of sharing— I’ll show you what I know, you show me what you know—has worked better than any paid class I’ve ever bought for him. We don’t have all the answers, but it’s better than letting him think he can’t learn something just because he can’t pay for it.
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