listen to the quiet voice

Once, when Jackson was maybe 3, the director of his preschool proclaimed him a genius within his earshot. In the car on the way home he asked me what genius meant, so I explained the concept of exceptional intelligence, creativity and vision. "I don't want to be a genius" he sighed, "I just want to be happy." The irony stuns me.

Children come into this world knowing everything; it's our job to keep them from forgetting. I am thoroughly convinced all the answers lie within and only they know which path will lead them to happiness, but I have a tough time reconciling this with my parental responsibility. When and how should I nudge my children to work harder at something? How much 'trying' is required before deciding it isn't right for them? How do I help them avoid succumbing to fear or laziness without crossing the line? Is there a way to support and guide my children without undermining their natural wisdom?

The path to parental success seems to wind right through the unholy trinity of praise, criticism and expectation. For my oldest son, the slightest perception of external pressure to achieve immediately provokes a gruesome combination of rebellion and paralysis. The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree. The more my accomplished father celebrated my alleged wealth of natural talent and ability, the more I dreaded inevitably proving him wrong by failing to meet his lofty expectations. Where praise provoked panic, criticism inspired rage. Critical self-talk drove my father to work harder, but directed at me the harsh words merely confirmed my deepest fears: I was the queen of the underachievers. Never has a literary line resonated more intensely than McInerney's claim to membership in "the brotherhood of unfulfilled early promise." That was me. And yet it wasn't. 

Perspective is everything. Many 50 minute hours later I understand that my father wanted only my happiness, but couldn't see any path for me other than his own. This hard won knowledge is the foundation of my parenting philosophy: I do not presume to know better than they who my children are. 

As preschoolers the kids wanted to try everything indiscriminately. I exposed them to as many activities as I could cheerfully transport them to and afford. My twins have tried everything from mural painting to skateboarding while my older kids played lacrosse and studied ballet. It wouldn't occur to me to choose their activities. When they have clearly lost interest, it's a no brainer to stop signing up. The difficulty arises when one of them clearly loves an activity and possesses some talent but doesn't want to continue.

Which brings me back to Jackson, now 11. The kid has a voice that could melt butter. He dances and sings his way through life, lives his life like a Broadway musical. When he told me he wanted to quit the chorus, I paused before pointing out that he loves to sing and has a gift. It's my job as his parent to make sure he doesn't ignore the gifts he has been given, the talents he is surely meant to share with the world. When he countered that he did not want a job as a singer later in life I told him that for all I cared he could sing only in the shower, but he was going to sing, damn it. And in hindsight it was exactly the right decision. He is most happy when singing, and this chorus is the perfect place for him. There is not much pressure to perform, he's appreciated for exactly who he is, and he sings with a group of kids diverse in age, skill, ethnicity and socio-economic background. He is at home and he is thriving. He may have quit and sat around playing video games on his computer all afternoon if I'd let him, which would be ok except that he acknowledges every Monday and Wednesday as he leaves chorus that he's much happier after the hour and a half of singing than he was before.

Other cases are more difficult, because his resistance is not about laziness. At the moment, the tough call involves the guitar. After a miserable attempt to learn the violin through free school lessons, he begged me to let him quit. He hated the violin! The violin was the problem! If only he could play the guitar. So I agreed. He didn't know how to play, so he was going to have to learn. And as Maria advises, the beginning is a very good place to start. We got him a guitar and we found him a teacher. Here's the thing: it's not that he dislikes hard work, he's just particularly anxious when he has to do things that don't come easily to him. He's convinced he's a failure, and that everyone will know. This is something I understand all too well.

One thing the kid does not lack is tenacity. If he'd apply his considerable force of will to learning guitar, he'd be Hendrix by now. But he won't listen to reason and he's sworn he will not play. He swears all kinds of things when the time to practice guitar rolls around. If he is to be believed, upon his 18th birthday he will smash his guitar to pieces and then devote his life to outlawing the playing of guitar upon penalty of death; a modern day musical Burgermeister Meisterburger.
 
I promised myself I would never force my kids to do things they didn't love, much less ones they claimed to hate with a burning passion capable of producing exorcismic rants. Except, when he figures it out, when it all comes together and he's belting out some ballad to the melodic accompaniment of self-created chords, he seems blissful, powerful, triumphant. Playing guitar and singing makes him most, well, him. Should I let him quit?

Sometimes I just don't know what to do. 

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. 

Sometimes the decisions are not mine to make. 

With trepidation, I share my deepest, darkest secret. I confess! My best answer is that I don't have the best answer. Like my father, I want only happiness for my children. Thanks to him I understand that I don't hold the map to their destinations, only the means of teaching them to chart their own paths. My job as a parent is not to decide, not to instruct, just to show them how I do it, then let them take the wheel. Alex tried to explain this to me ages ago with his toddler mantra "I do myself!" but some of us are slow to learn. Allowing them to decide seems risky but right, and with great risk comes great rewards. My heart is full watching my children succeed by waiting patiently, listening to the quiet voice and holding fast to the wisdom they find within themselves.