postcards for parents

Greetings!

Last week I missed my self-imposed deadline for sending out my postcard. 
Instead of writing as usual on Tuesday night, I was called to honor the 
priorities I have set for the allocation of my time and energy.  

My kids come first.  I make a serious effort to drop whatever I'm working
on when they decide to talk, especially now that they are getting older 
and more independent, and are less and less chatty about the details of 
their day and their feelings about things.  

I was saying goodnight to my son when he remembered that there was an 
assignment due the next day which he had not completed.  Watching the 
panic and dread play across his face, my own school days came flooding 
back in a rush of adrenaline.  I felt that lump in the pit of my stomach 
and the constriction in my chest.  

Underneath those physical sensations ran the certain conviction that I 
was never going to be perfect enough to be worthy, and that nothing I 
did would ever be good enough or right enough.  I remembered so clearly 
that feeling of being caught, cornered, trapped, by a deadline or an 
impossible amount of work.  I actually felt sick to my stomach.

I had forgotten the horrible angst that I felt for most of my academic 
life under the pressure to perform.  To be fair, I have to say that it 
was not pressure placed on me by my parents or teachers, but by my own 
ignorant complicity with a system that judged the value of its members 
by their ability to obey, perform, and follow the rules.  I was so good 
at the game that they invited me into their honors classes.  It never 
occurred to me not to accept.  I graduated from high school having 
already earned 16 college credits.  Today I wonder, at what cost?

It's fortuitous that back then I had no other reference point, so I was 
mostly unaware of my suffering.  It never occurred to me that maybe not 
everyone felt that horrified panic every day when they realized that 
there simply weren't enough hours between after school and bedtime to 
complete all of their homework.  

Not until long after college was I able to see that I had swallowed 
standards that were not nourishing or fulfilling to me, and spit them 
back out.  As a young student it never would have occurred to me to 
just blow off an assignment.  I would have stayed up all night in a 
panic to meet the deadline . . . terrified of failing.  I'm still not 
exactly sure what I was so afraid of . . . being wrong . . . being 
irresponsible . . . being stupid?  

In any case, thankfully last Tuesday I was able to be aware of my inner 
dialogue and sensations without projecting them onto my son.  I took 
notice of my reaction, and subsequently filed it away to be processed 
later, on my own time.  Then I sat with him and rubbed his back as he 
released his feelings in a torrent of words.  

As he ranted and raved, I let him know that I heard him and was not 
judging or condemning his opinions.  He was very angry that he was 
being required to complete this assignment and meet standards that 
had no relevance to him.  He offered an eloquent defense of the right 
of all citizens of the USA to be free not to do any particular assignment;
to decide for themselves how they would spend their private time and 
energy. (They've been studying the Constitution.  At one point I almost 
suggested that he write down his objections along with their Constitutional 
backing and submit that instead.  I thought his arguments were brilliant. 
If he had been running for office, I would have voted for him!)

Then he wondered out loud how he was going to get out of the predicament 
he was in.  He considered lying, or falsifying the research he was 
supposed to have done.  I gently pointed out some potential consequences 
for these choices, while still respecting his right to take his chances 
with them if he chose.  

I also offered the suggestion that he consider simply telling his teacher
the truth, and asking for permission to use invented research so that 
he could still learn the format and style of the report.  He didn't much 
like that idea, though, figuring he'd get in even more trouble if he 
admitted that he just hadn't cared enough to do the work.

In the end, there was no resolution.  By about 10:30 he was just too 
tired to argue his point anymore.  The next morning I wished him good 
luck, and with a twinge in my heart, sent him off to face the music.

When he came back to my house after being at his dad's for the next few 
days, the crisis had passed.  He had decided to tell the truth.  His 
teacher had consented to the use of invented research, since they were 
working on style, not content.  He was having a great time making up a 
wild family history for his report.

I was delighted that his teacher had reinforced the benefits of telling 
the truth by allowing him flexibility in meeting the requirements.  And 
I was happy to see that my son's self-regard had not been affected by 
the experience.  He didn't think he was stupid or a failure -- he just 
thought the assignment needed some tweaking to make it more relevant and 
interesting.

Watching him go through this experience was very healing for me.  My 
'inner child' was thrilled to learn that there was another way to handle 
the pressure to perform.  She relaxed when the world did not stop turning
even though he had not done his homework on time.  She cheered on the 
sidelines as he stood up for himself and became an advocate for reform 
and relevance.  She felt vindicated when his initiative was rewarded, 
not squelched.  

So what's the moral of the postcard?  I'm not sure it has one.  

Maybe it's just that I'm glad my son isn't like me, and he's not 
succumbing to the pressure to succeed academically as if it's a life 
or death situation.  Maybe I'm just grateful to his teacher for being 
flexible enough to make room for his students to add their own meaning 
and relevance to an assignment.

Or maybe I'm just gratified to see my offspring keeping life in 
perspective.  School and academic performance are only one thread 
in the colorful tapestry of their unique beings.  Keeping a sense 
of the big picture allows for a much more positive self-image.  
Woven into that tapestry are many strengths, and if academic 
performance isn't one of them, it's ok, because there are so many 
others.

Sometimes the lines between parent and child, student and teacher, 
get delightfully blurry, and it's not clear who is learning from who!  
(I realize that my grammar is not so hot here, but in the spirit of 
non-perfectionism, I'm letting it go.)

Thank you for taking the time to read me each week!  

Blessings,  

Karen