All of this bruhaha over Amy Chua's "Tiger Mom" parenting has gotten me alternatively thinking deeply and stewing over what it means to be an effective parent these days. Simultaneously, my book club is reading The Price of Privilege by Madeline Levine. (If you're raising a child in an affluent environment, this book is a must read.) And on top of all of that, we've recently had several school interviews with our daughter, Petunia, who is applying to various private middle schools as we weigh our excellent public school options, too.
So basically, I've been thinking a lot about what makes a successful parent, what yields a successful kid, what are my oldest child's strengths and weaknesses... what could I have done better, differently, etc. And I've come up with a few ideas that I think are worth sharing. (And just as an FYI, I'm referring to Petunia a lot throughout this; Dash is important to consider, too, but Petunia is my best example because of her age and the admissions processes we're going through right now.)
Most notably, I've thought a lot about what parental goals for a child should be. Some of my friends say that they don't care what their child becomes in life as long as they're "happy." I once wrote a post about how I'd replace "happy" with "joy-filled," but I've decided that, for us, the whole concept should be scrapped. It's not that I don't want my kids to be "happy," but happiness as an end itself is not a goal I have for them, for it is certainly not enough in life to be "happy." In fact, I often find people set a goal of "happy" as an excuse for not encouraging their kids to work hard in school, to join activities, to strive for success ... because, after all, if the work's too hard, the kid might not be "happy," and that's a dealbreaker. But what does that really teach a kid about life?
That thought leads me to digress into a story about the best lesson my child ever learned. Petunia tried out last spring for 3 competitive soccer teams, and she failed to make any one of them. One coach told her, "You'll never play in this league." (I have some choice words for that woman, who is one of the biggest jerks I've ever met.) One coach did not add any players to her team, so that loss was easy to take. The third coach told Petunia she was "on the cusp" and gave her a host of pointers, including mentioning skills to work on, suggesting some summer soccer camps, and leaving the door open for another tryout. When Petunia learned of these failures (let's call them what they are), she didn't cry. She wasn't even really mad. She was determined. She seized on those last words from that coach, and she attended a couple of summer sports camps. When the team had openings again in the fall, she tried out again, and she gave the tryout her 110% best effort. She made the team! It was very exciting then and has remained so for her, especially as she has taken on additional goalie training, preferring to be in that slot for the team.
Meanwhile, let me tell you what many of my friends were saying during this process: "I'd tell her to find a new sport." "Why don't you just tell her it's not her thing?" "I'd never let my child suffer like that." And my favorite: "Aren't you embarassed?"
In that situation, I was only embarassed by my friends. My daughter was much more grown-up about the experience than they were. The Price of Privilege speaks a lot to those parents who would do anything to avoid seeing their kid fail. They need to meet my kid and see how much better off she is having had that experience -- and how lucky I feel that she's had it now rather than years down the line when there are so many other stressors in life.
Where was I in all of that experience, though? Was I standing over her, screaming at her, calling her stupid, and denying her bathroom breaks to make that point (like Amy Chua did)?
Nope. I didn't even have to tell Petunia a thing. We've taught her that the keys to life are "brains, hard work, and a good attitude." Emphasis on "hard work." She worked hard to make that soccer team. She works hard in school. She remembers that "to whom much is given, much is required" (that's the primary Proverb, Luke 12:48, by which we govern our house). Above all, we expect her to be a good person, but, second to that, we expect her to work hard at whatever she chooses. There are no slackers here! And now she knows -- she learned from that soccer failure -- that hard work yields great rewards.
Enter: The Tiger Child. The Tiger Child knows what she wants, and she goes for it full-force by her own self-motivation. To survive, she must be able to get ahead on her own. She must be able to self-manage in a world that demands more than "happy." She knows first-hand that she needs to make her own opportunities in life. In turn, those achievements will make her "happy."
Am I hard on my kid? Sometimes. That's a story for a whole other blog post. Do I demand excellence? Absolutely. Do I crush her when she fails? Never. Do I lift her up? Nope; I help her figure out how to get herself up. I'll hand her the shovel with which she can dig out.
At the end of the day, I don't have all of the answers, not for my kids, and not for yours, but I do know this: when I sat down in interviews and was asked to describe my kid, I had some great examples of how she self-motivates, works hard, never gives up, and maintains a good attitude throughout. And in the back of my mind, I knew that all of that came from my self-sufficient kid who perhaps was born that way, perhaps was nurtured that way ... regardless, it didn't need to be beaten or screamed into her. We gave her the latitude she needed for self-discovery, and darned if we don't all love who she's become. I have no concerns about her ability to manage herself in this big, scary world, and, somehow, she got there without being tortured by her parents and at only age 10. I think that it's a testament to the fortitude of this child, guided by loving hands but expected to self-direct -- either that, or luck. Then again, "luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity" (a quote from Roman philosopher Seneca). I'm thinking she made her own luck. Petunia: well done.
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