My first memorable experience in the kitchen: trying to fry an egg when I was about 10 years old. I cracked the egg cleanly, dropped the white and yolk with a splat on the floor and tossed the shell onto a hot pan. That cured me from cooking for the next 11 years. 

Now I have three kids. They know what I do and see me in the kitchen all the time. Sometimes they even ask to help...and I love it. Three summers ago, my oldest son, then 15, learned how to make omelets, which he'd make for himself and his brother and sister.  My middle son, now 13, likes to keep things moving in the frying pan.  He doesn't do this often - no time: he's a dedicated, no kidding movie maker & rocker,...  

 ...but at least he knows what to do and even (allegedly) likes it. Then there's my 11 year old daughter - just a year older than I was when I splatted that egg. She's the most adventurous eater of the kids and also offers the most help in the kitchen. She's the one who taught me how to make a Tortilla Pizza. She's an expert at omelets. I'll shoot a video with her soon about how to make Ramen noodles.

And, no, my kids aren't halo-headed, wing fluttering angels. I'm glad they're not - just as I'm glad they're comfortable learning what they're learning early in life. The best thing of all is they actually want to do it (cleaning up's a WHOLE different story). And, sure, they make mistakes, and they'll riddle me with, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dad". And sometimes I have to yank myself by the collar to keep from fixing it for them - unless I know they're going to get hurt. Bottom line, though; they're way ahead of where I was at their age…and that itself is a darn good thing.