Raise Your Parenting AQ – Chapter 7
“Let’s Just Enjoy The View”
Becoming an accomplished individual and having satisfying relationships are not mutually exclusive goals.
Kids avoid potential humiliation at all costs.
“Tumble Inn”
Greg and Tim, who is now in high school, are back at the gym. Greg notices a bunch of teenagers off to one side who are giggling loudly:
“What’s going on over there?” asks Greg.
“Oh, that’s what we call the “Tumble Inn”, replies Tim.
“Sounds like the name of a bar.”
“You are not too far off. Half the kids over there are high before they get to the gym.”
“That section of the gym looks like one of those terrain parks they have at ski areas.”
“More like the Play Land section they have for little kids who can’t ski very well.”
“A little harsh are we?” Greg is taken aback by Tim’s tone.
“Well take a look dad. Do you see any serious climbing going on over there?”
“Well …”
“There is no section of wall over eight feet high and there’s a giant foam pit to fall into.”
“Isn’t that a good spot for a kid to work on climbing technique on his own?” Greg asks.
“That’s probably why the gym installed it originally, but now it’s a place for all the Pseudo’s to hang out.”
“Sudo’s? As in working Sudoku puzzles like your Mom?”
“You are showing your age, Dad. Besides, Sudoku would require more concentration and effort than this group could handle. They don’t do anything frustrating if they can help it. No, it’s P-S-E-U-D-O, as in faking or pretending …”
“I got it. But how is what they do pseudo?”
“Look at them. They’re all dressed in the latest climbing fashions. That kid has a K-2 shirt. As if he even knows where K-2 is,” says Tim as he tries to be discreet by pointing with a nod of his head.
“What’s wrong with that? All teenagers care about how they look,” responds Greg.
“But they’re passing themselves off as climbers, … but can’t climb worth crap.”
“Why does that bother you so much?” wonders Greg.
“It shouldn’t. I don’t care if they put Beaumont Climbing Club on their college applications. I don’t care about the fake part. What bothers me is the fact that they’re all losers. See the guy in the yellow over there? Do you recognize him?” whispers Tim.
“No.”
“Didn’t think you would. That’s Jamie. Remember? We were best friends all through grade school,” explains Tim, with a real edge to his voice.
“That’s Jamie? He sure doesn’t look like I remember him.”
“That’s my point Dad. All he wants to do these days is get high and act goofy with his new friends,” explains Tim.
Greg looks surprised. “I thought he was going to turn out to be one of the better climbers from your original group.”
“Yeah. So did I. But he never wanted to work hard at it. When we were little, he was such a good athlete, he could do everything more easily than anyone else. Then when a sport started to require work, he just quit and went on to something else.”
“That’s sad,” observes Greg.
“When I see him, it just pisses me off.”
“That’s what I mean. It makes you sad.”
“No, it makes me mad,” Tim turns and looks at his Dad.
“I know it does, but he used to be someone special to you and you’ve lost him as a friend. Sad and mad go together,” Greg calmly responds.
Although his dad’s observation hit a nerve, Tim doesn’t want to go there and quickly moves away from the sadness he started to feel when his father made the observation about his lost friendship with Jamie.
“Look how much climbing they actually do. Every once in awhile, one of them will get up and “perform” on the wall. When he falls off into the pit, they all start laughing so hard, it can go on for ever. They tease him about it and rave about what a great fall it was and how funny it looked. It is almost like – make a good fall, because that’s what everyone wants to see.”
“I’m not following you,” asks Greg.
“Think about it, Dad. If someone got serious about climbing, it would ruin the mood of the group? Getting good means leaving the rest behind. In fact, they shout down anyone who tries to ‘show them up’. They call us ‘Suck Ups’ and ‘Geco Geeks’.
“So no one in the group dares to work on climbing competence?” Greg seems surprised.
“No. They’re all about fitting in with the group and having fun. When my friends and I are over in that part of the gym, we are showing each other new moves, or betting on who can traverse the wall the fastest. These guys are doing just the opposite. They want everyone to fit in as a goofy failure and be proud of it.”
The kids at the Tumble Inn are a caricature of middle and high school aged kids who are choosing to avoid serious engagement and challenges, preferring to just hang out together. they like the label of climber, but don’t want to do the hard work of getting really good at it. They are concerned about fitting in and feeling adequate. In this group, fitting in seems to involve getting high, dressing like part of the group, and doing what seems to be fun in the moment with the group. These kids are avoiding challenges, but they, as a group, have a rationale for what they are doing. They claim to be rejecting authority or the expectations of others. Kids this age are often faced with the bind of choosing between fitting in and developing themselves. Although those two goals should not be at odds with each other, many times it feels that way. This group has chosen to fit in rather that focus on achievement. To relieve their feelings of disappointment, they belittle those who do strive to achieve by labeling them as “suck-ups”. Instead of moving toward competence, they are preoccupied with staying connected. In this case, that involves not showing up anyone in the group with striving or achievement. Hence, falling off the wall is more valued than climbing it.
In addition, they are living in the moment, seeking immediate stimulation or pleasure, not willing to forgo that for longer-term goals. If they are envious of others’ achievements or feel badly about wasting away their goals, they do not allow themselves to feel that or ponder it. That is easier to do when they are laughing together or getting high together. Another part of the caricature is the emphasis on appearance over substance. They care about what clothes they wear, emphasizing the exterior rather than the interior (mastery and competence).
(the Tumble Inn story continues)
“What do their parents think?” asks Greg.
“T-h-i-n-k is the key word there, Dad. I don’t think their parents think.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Their parents do not want to know what is really going on. I bet if you asked Jamie’s dad about him, he’d proudly tell you Jamie was a climber. Because he belongs to the climbing club.”
“So his parents don’t have a clue?”
“Well all the clues are right there for them to see. He’s not exactly carrying off all academic honors. I think they prefer to remain clueless. Isn’t that one of your favorite words, Dad?”
“Yeah, and so is ‘denial’. So why do these kids keep coming to the gym. Especially when you serious climbers are right over there in plain view?”
“Funny you should ask, Dad. I’ve given this some thought, because at first it doesn’t seem to make sense. But having us nearby doesn’t make them want to climb and achieve; at least none of them will admit it. If they do, and how can they not, they would have to risk giving up being a part of this group. They spend quite a bit of time joking about what “sell outs” we are and how they are so independent or …”
“Cool?”
“Cool? Yeah, whatever. Their mentality is kind of anti-everything. Anyone who wants to achieve, either at climbing or school, is selling out.”
“Wow. So what motivates them?” asks Greg.
“Fitting in to this group and being what the group expects. Having fun. Being funny. Staying together.”
“So why are they a part of the Climbing Club?” Greg wonders.
Tim answers with, “To the outside world, they go to the same high school and belong to the same climbing club as I do. Nobody asks or cares whether they take easy classes or AP classes. Nobody knows whether they play on these walls or strive to be really good.”
“Kind of like being on a cruise boat vacation instead of doing the hard work of planning a trip?” offers Greg.
“If you say so, Dad.”
“So, you say they like to get high?” Greg continues.
“Most of them are on a steady diet of weed. Helps with the goofiness and not thinking too deeply. At least that’s my theory,” Tim conjectures.
“And school?” Greg wonders.
“I think most of them wish the desks were more comfortable for sleeping,” Tim’s harshness is returning.
“So why don’t their parents step in?” wonders Greg.
“It’s just like being part of the Climbing Club, Dad. If they are going to school and not failing, no one notices. Everyone assumes everything is okay. Or wants to believe it’s okay.”
Greg observes, “So these kids sort of fly under their parents’ radar?”
“I’m not sure the radar is even on. I think the parents only respond if the kid gets into major trouble. So if these kids, who are all basically pretty smart, pull out B’s and C’s at school, no one notices.”
“If you came home with C’s, we’d notice,” Greg reminds him.
“I think every family has their own WTF level,” Tim laughs.
“You mean, “What’s The Matter” level?”
“Yeah. WTM. These kids know what they have to do to stay off anybody’s radar screen, be it parents, teachers or even police.”
The parents of these kids seem to be clueless, either through ignorance or denial. They do not to see that their children are failing to fully engage in their lives in school or even at the sport of climbing. They assume that if no one sets off a warning bell, everything is okay. In that sense, these kids have learned to fly below the radar of adults. It feels good in the moment, but they are wasting their lives in terms of developing competence and self-reliance. As Tim and Greg speculate, they will not look much different when they meet for the five and ten-year reunions; still drinking, laughing and developmentally stuck. Their parents’ cluelessness will likely come to an unhappy ending with the obvious proof of their children’s failure to grow up, adjust to college, or stay free of drugs and alcohol.
Greg and Tim let it be known that their family has clear limits and boundaries. It also appears that those boundaries are open to discussion and demonstrations of readiness to alter them if Tim proves he can take responsibility. All kids need limits and boundaries. They provide safety during development and they foster growth because it is natural for kids to strive for independence. In their family, independence comes with taking responsibility. The Tumble Inn kids feel like they are achieving independence through their rejection of rules and adults, but it is pseudo independence. They are doing nothing to prepare themselves to become self-reliant. Even the matter of money and working within budgets and limits teaches self-reliance.
(the story resumes)
“Where do they get the money for the marijuana?”
“Same place as the clothes. Mommy and Daddy.”
“Why do their parents give them money for weed?”
“I doubt they make that connection. But these kids get money either as an allowance, or just by asking.”
“Wow, you’ve been living in the wrong family.”
“Tell me about it, Dad.”
“You are fully clothed and fed.” Greg reminds him.
“Barely,” Tim sighs with exaggeration.
“So why all the free cash for these kids?” Greg asks.
“I think it keeps things peaceful at home.”
“Oh, so it’s ‘appeasement’,” concludes Greg.
“Yeah, we read about that in school. Lots of Lord Chamberlin’s out there are posing as parents.”
“So the parents buy love?” Greg asks.
“Well, they buy calm. I think it’s easier to hand out money than constantly fight or have hurt feelings.”
“We don’t battle that much,” Greg reminds him.
“That’s because you listen, Dad,” explains Tim.
“But you still have limits.”
“But I feel like they are always open to negotiation.”
“Well, they are. As long as you agree with me,” adds Greg with a twinkle in his eye.
“Very funny. I like the fact that you listen to my reasons for making changes.”
“So how does money avoid conflict for these kids and their parents?” asks Greg, returning to the conflict and money theme.
“Well you know how you and Mom give me a clothing allowance. I know not to ask for more money for clothes. If I want something I save, shop around, buy it used, or get Grandma to give it to me for my birthday. These kids are forever asking for stuff and each time they ask, it’s either an argument or a payoff.”
“Don’t their parents use the word ‘no’?”
“It’s really strange, but I think it’s hard for them to keep saying ‘no’. One kid told me if he asks often enough, his mom eventually caves.”
“So three ‘no’s’ and one ‘yes’ equals a ‘yes’?” Greg says, following Tim’s reasoning. “You teenagers are pretty smart.”
“We teenagers? That approach hasn’t gotten me a thing. Come to think of it, Dad, isn’t the word ‘no’ a classic response of two-year-olds?”
“Actually, it is when their kids reach age two that parents learn that they can use the word too.”
“Well, not in all families. I heard this one girl telling how she works her mom and dad against each other. They are divorced, and she knows that dad doesn’t want to be seen as the bad guy, so he gives her anything she asks for.”
“And the mom?”
“She gives her anything she wants, because it’s her ex’s money and she kills two birds with one stone.”
“So how come you don’t use that strategy with Mom and me?” Greg asks.
“I tried it around age five and the two of you were on to me,” Tim recalls.
“Yeah, it’s a pain when parents talk to each other isn’t it?”
“Well, financially it’s a pain, but not otherwise. I wouldn’t trade places with any of those losers, designer jeans and all,” Tim honestly tells his father.
“I saw some sweet cars out in the lot when we were coming in,” Greg says.
“Yeah, that’s where the family loyalty thing gets hard, Dad.”
“I didn’t give you a car but I taught you how to climb.”
“They don’t need to be mutually exclusive, Dad.”
“They aren’t. I consider teaching a form of giving.”
“Now you are getting slippery with the words, again,” Tim reminds his father.
“No I’m not. You have transportation everywhere you need to go.”
Tim is envious of the easy access these kids have to cars and clothes, but he also sees enough of their lack of accomplishment or missing sources of satisfaction to know he does not want to trade places with them. When he longs for something, he knows that he has to find some way to make it happen for himself. Ultimately, that makes him feel better about himself and more respectful of what he has.
“If I get a job, can I get a car?” Tim responds.
“No. And when would you have time for a job, with all the things you do – climbing, soccer, guitar, and yearbook? Sounds like you already have four jobs after school,” Greg reminds him, preparing for the ‘oh-poor-me’ riff Tim can be good for occasionally.
“But I don’t get paid for them,” Tim reminds him.
“Well, your older brother got a merit scholarship because he did some things that showed special talents and saved twelve thousand a year in college tuition. Do you know any after school jobs that pay $12,000 times four years?”
“You mean Y-O-U are making $48,000,” Tim clarifies.
“Your brother chose where he wanted to go to school. You’ll get to choose too,” says Greg, hating it when he and Tim start to argue about money.
“So I’m making more money climbing than Nate is flipping burgers after school?”
“In the big picture, you are,” Greg says.
“So can I borrow some money against my future?” asks Tim, in his best lawyer logic.
“I know you are kidding. Right?” asks Greg, not quite sure whether Tim is serious or not. (Ann warned him long ago that his sarcastic style of interaction would eventually come around to get him.)
“Well, when I see what those kids get for not doing anything, I occasionally get a little resentful. But after I sit and watch them for a little bit, it goes away,” Tim reminds himself.
Relieved, Greg says, “File this one away for the future. I’ll bet when they come back for your high school reunion, they’ll sound just the same as they do now.”
“That’s a depressing thought, Dad. What a waste. ‘cause they’re good kids.”
“Are any of them going to college?”
“Oh, sure. What else would they do? They aren’t exactly employable.”
“So the ones who are seniors have been accepted to college?”
“Yeah, a B or C average, reasonable ACT scores and money will get you in lots of places, Dad.”
“I’ll have to be more careful who I hire in the future,” Greg says as if writing himself a memo.
“No kidding. Grades don’t mean anything. Some teachers pass you just for coming to class, regardless of whether you are awake,” Tim complains.
“Aren’t there any standards? Like having to demonstrate mastery? Like what you have to do to advance from a V-3 wall to a V-4 wall, or a brown belt to a black belt, or however that system works?” Greg asks.
“Well, in the AP classes, there certainly is, because we all have to take the AP exam at the end of the process and that pretty much tells you what you’ve learned or mastered. But in lots of other classes, there aren’t any standards or mastery as you call it. It’s just what the teacher decides to do. Like I told you, those kids over there probably are all passing their classes, and some are probably even getting B’s in some of them,” Tim explains.
“I remember you got a D+ on your first AP English paper,” Greg recalls, wishing he hadn’t said it as soon as it left his lips.
“Yeah. Nice of you to remember, Dad.”
“I also remember how proud you were when you got a C on the next one,” now trying hard to recover.
“I worked my butt off for that C,” Tim reminds him. “As a matter of fact, I worked hard on that D+ paper. I just didn’t know that I was a crappy writer when I was working on it.”
“Well, I enjoyed reading what you wrote last semester,” Greg recalls.
“That was the hardest class I’ve ever taken. It took me all year to go from a D to an A-.”
“A-?” says, with exaggerated emphasis.
“Yeah, You know how those guys in the old movies had dueling scars on their cheeks? Well, I think of the minus next to the A as my dueling scar. I wear it with pride.”
“Nobody has a dueling scar in the shape of a plus sign?” Greg simply can’t edit his rejoinders before they exit his mouth.
Lucky for him, Tim is used to his comments and knows what his father really feels about him. “Are you turning into one of those pushy parents, Dad?” Tim lands his own dig.
“You mean the families where the kids have hand prints on their backs? No. You seem to push yourself, just fine. So how are those pushy friends of yours doing these days?” Greg asks, recalling some frustrating go-rounds between Tim and his friends.
“Sam keeps reminding everyone about his perfect score on the SAT math test. He’s going to MIT and doesn’t let anyone forget.”
“Do you wish that was you?” asks Greg, trying to be a little more sensitive.
“Yeah. Sometimes. Kind of wish I had it to do over. I would have worked a little harder earlier on. But, you know, Sam’s parents were always pushing him. He was always having to leave what we were doing to go home and practice the piano or practice vocabulary words. I think I’d rather play soccer with my friends than get those few extra words right on the SAT. Besides how many presidents went to Ivy League schools?”
“I can think of two.”
“Did you vote for them?” Tim reminds him.
“Good point,” laughs Greg.
By the time he reaches his late teenage years, Tim has a set of accomplishments that make him proud. He has interests he has pursued and skills he has mastered. These pursuits now have enough importance to him that when he is tempted by attractive, competing sources of stimulation, he has valuable sources of esteem and satisfaction that he is unlikely to sacrifice for them. He also has a set of friends who share his goals and attitudes and they have fun pursuing them together. In this example, it is as part of the climbing team. He has also learned to value mastery more than external grades. He values being able to write effectively more than what his GPA is. It really tugs at him when others flaunt their higher GPA’s, but he takes great satisfaction in knowing that he had to really grind it out, night after night, rewrite after rewrite, to produce quality work in the challenging classes he decided to take. His parents have preached, “It’s the mastery, not the grades”. For an ambitious kid, grades and GPA’s can feel like badges of worth (or worthlessness). It is no wonder the Tumble Inn kids reject a system that comes with built-in humiliation. For a kid like Tim, there needs to be tangible, usable sources of mastery to build the internal strength to resist the powerful external methods of valuation. Having parents available to help keep that in perspective is essential. Without their support and values, the child is left to the value system created by others, which is usually one in the service of safety (from humiliation and rejection), but one that takes an expedient and developmentally unhealthy approach. Tim is ready to launch. These kids at the Tumble Inn are not. The Tumble Inn kids have forsaken the development of healthy genuine selves for the sake of staying connected and staying free of disappointments.
Early development of sources of satisfaction and friends who share those goals are counterweights to the negative peer pressures of adolescence.
(this scene continues where we left off)
“Those kids over there in the foam pit have parents that aren’t involved enough. And then there are parents, like Sam’s who are involved too much.”
“I’m pretty involved,” Greg says.
“Well, you’re involved in a different way. You know what’s going on, but you aren’t telling me what to do,” says Tim.
“You are pretty good about talking to us about decisions,” Greg reminds him.
“That’s because I know nothing bad will come of it. In fact you and Mom are actually good for an idea once in awhile.”
“Wow. The flattery is overwhelming. Restrain yourself,” Greg often relies on Ann too much to modify his sarcastic responses. His son is paying him a complement and he is about to ruin it.
“Seriously. In Sam’s family, there are no discussions or problem solving. There are lectures and goals. He makes everyone think he’s so happy about his accomplishments, but I wonder how many of those were one’s he actually got to choose,” Tim speculates.
“You don’t think he chose his activities?” Greg is interested in getting Tim to talk more about this process he has seen get played out in seemingly high achieving families.
“I think he believes he did, but there’s no arguing or debate in his house. Everyone is on the same page. Don’t you think that’s a little odd. You are a good guy, Dad, but you are wrong half the time. You know that don’t you?”
“I have a house full of people reminding me. How could I ever forget?” Greg laughs silently pleased with a mishit rate that only approached 50%.
“But you are also right half the time, and I really appreciate taking advantage of the times you get it right,” Tim tells him, looking him in the eye and nonverbally telling him how much he appreciates his dad, especially when he is around these other kids and the contrast between families is most available to him.
“And I suppose I only get it right because you led me to the right answer?” Greg appreciates the complement, but can’t just accept it.
“Is that what you think you do for me?” Tim asks, knowing his father all too well.
“No, I think we raised you to ask questions and search for answers and not just settle for simple ones,” Greg is rather proud of how his kids think for themselves.
“You mean you taught us how to argue for what we want,” Tim clarifies.
“No, I think you and your sister came by that naturally. I think it was in your DNA. Actually, your mother’s DNA as I think about it. Anyway, a little revolution is okay, as long as the blood shed is kept to a minimum,” Greg expounds, recalling how frustrating dealing with argumentative kids can be sometimes. Especially Tess, who makes him want to resort to a simple authoritarian approach to childrearing, ala, “Because I said so, Tess!”
“You realize that if DCFS overheard this conversation, I’d be hauled off to some foster home,” Tim laughs, reminding his dad that they understand each other, but someone overhearing them might take them literally.
“I’ll try to be more discrete. We tried not to send you to school with any visible bruises,” Greg continues, blowing right through Tim’s yellow flag.
“Well the arguing that you and Mom tolerate isn’t tolerated well elsewhere. Like school,” Tim complains, now adding a little more seriousness to the musings.
“You seem to have learned to temper it to fit the situation or the person,” Greg reminds him. “Besides, there is big difference between arguing and debating or discussing. Your mom and I don’t mind strong opinions. We just don’t have much patience for thoughtless actions.”
“I gathered that. Like when you sat Jamie’s ass down for a game for taking a swing at the umpire,” the discussion and the setting bring a relevant memory to mind.
“He never did it again, did he?” Greg reminds him.
“No, he knew he wouldn’t get to play if he did,” Tim recalls, admiring his father for his willingness to be firm with kids who really needed it.
“You can discuss something with the umpire, so maybe next time he will think differently, but you can’t take a swing at him,” Greg is also caught up in the memory of that Saturday afternoon with Jamie.
“Too bad you couldn’t have continued to be Jamie’s coach,” Tim says, again feeling sad about his seemingly lost friend.
The parents of the Tumble Inn kids failed to monitor their kids closely. Monitoring involves knowing where your kids are, whom they are with, and what they are doing. Ann and Greg have always monitored their children. But the form of monitoring shifts with development. The physical monitoring of behavior is gradually replaced with trust and communication. Eventually, being able to trust in good judgment is the predominant mechanism. Jamie is an example of someone who has been unwilling to stay engaged and tolerate frustration and failure in the course of gaining competence. Unlike Tim, whose father encourages engagement, that sort of encouragement to stay engaged and gain mastery has apparently been lacking for Jamie. For some reason, Jamie thinks that everything needs to be easy. There has been no analysis for him of why he avoids challenges. He simply moves automatically away from challenges and toward external sources of soothing or pleasant stimulation. In that sense, those who should have been more attuned to his needs and more involved in his development have neglected him. As a young boy he was always naturally talented, but no one helped him learn that everyone needs to grind it out through frustration and failure to continue to pursue a goal successfully, no matter what kind of natural ability they start with.
Tim has an especially strong reaction to and dislike for these kids. Much of that stems from the fact that he and Jamie were once good friends and he feels hurt that Jamie let that friendship drop. He also resents the fact that Jamie seems to prefer company of these other kids. Finally, he is angry at Jamie for throwing so much away. He too was one of the kids who originally looked up to Jamie, admiring or envying his natural ability. As we see in this discussion with his father, Tim often responds with anger when he is feeling sad. The situation with Jamie is sad and we will see, later on, things keep getting worse.
Jamie was the biggest, strongest and fastest kid in grade school. Everything came easy and the other kids looked him up to for his athletic ability. He did not have to apply himself; his athleticism and physical maturity were sufficient to keep him well ahead of his same-age peers. Ultimately, this became a trap for Jamie. He came to expect that everything should come easy the first time. No one expected him to work hard at becoming more competent. At that age, he did not have to. By the time he reached middle school, when other boys had caught up to him in physical development and the sports he enjoyed required continued skill development, he lacked the understanding that he needed to work hard and practice like the other boys. To improve in any sport, one has to tolerate frustration and failure.
Mastery of a sport is like other areas of competence. It requires sustained engagement involving repeated attempts, failures, new attempts, and more failures. Done right, we learn from these failures. But for a boy who was supposed to be “special”, failing could be more than frustrating. The flip side of the esteem he basked in for being so good at something so early and so easily could become humiliation if he could not continue that fast and easy path. Failure, frustration, and for Jamie, humiliation, could be a set of feelings and perceptions worthy of avoiding – especially if he wanted to preserve that “specialness”. Ultimately, Jamie had been cheated out of an internal, lasting sense of accomplishment that comes from working hard at mastery and seeing the results. His had always been the result of external comparisons between him and his same-age peers. Jamie never learned to soothe himself (internally) as he tolerated failures and learned how to improve. At the Tumble Inn, he had gravitated to a group where the threat of humiliation had been reduced by their unspoken collusion not to aspire to frustrating challenges and not to achieve in ways that made others feel bad in comparison. In other words, they totally dropped ambition and all its messiness. Eliminating ambition eliminated humiliation. This group’s rejection of academic ambition saves its members the potential for humiliation that striving to achieve in school poses.
“Mind Your Own Business!”
Driving home from the gym together, Tim and Greg begin to talk about Jamie.
“Dad, what should I do about Jamie?” wonders Tim.
“What do you mean, what should you do?” asks Greg
“Well, it doesn’t seem fair. He’s wasting his life and no one seems to notice or care.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to tell him to get his act together and start caring about something.”
“So, what keeps you from doing that?”
“Actually, when we were in middle school, I asked him a couple of times to come climb with us. And then freshman year, I tried to get him to come out for soccer.”
“What happened?”
“He was all friendly and agreeable. But he never followed through.”
“That’s really disappointing.”
“Suppose you could say something to his parents?”
“I usually see his father at the Rotary meetings. Mind if I wait and do it there?”
“That could work. You could do your old dumb cop routine.”
“You mean my Columbo routine? How do you know about that?”
“Mom helped us give it a name when we asked her why you sometimes played dumb. She warned us about what you were up to.”
“That kind of spoils the effect.”
“No, it still works. Nobody can resist trying to help someone who seems clueless.”
“Well, I can ask Jamie’s father about school and climbing. Maybe I can encourage him to look more closely at what is going on.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too high. People don’t see what they don’t want to see.”
“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t seem like anyone expects enough of Jamie. They just let him get by.”
“Being gifted or talented can be a curse sometimes.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, if someone is always naturally good at something, then they never learn to work hard at it. Then, if they think they are supposed to always get it immediately, they may worry that they are a disappointment if they don’t.”
“Jamie worked pretty hard when he was on our baseball team.”
“After he missed a game for not coming to practice. He adjusted pretty quickly to the expectations.”
“I’ve got some teachers who expect a lot and others who’ll just let me coast.”
“We hope you are signing up for the challenging ones.”
“Most of the time I do, but it takes a toll on the GPA.”
“I know, but you wouldn’t want a soccer coach who just let you slide on your current ability would you?”
“Depends when you ask me. After the wind sprints or after the 90 minute whistle when I still have my legs.”
“You raise an important question that I am not sure I have the answer to, Tim.”
“What’s that?”
“When is it our responsibility to stick our noses in other people’s business when we know something is not right? Like with Jamie. He and his dad may not appreciate us saying anything, but it is pretty painful to sit by and see what’s happening.”
“Yeah, and saying something is often a quick way to piss someone off.”
“I find that being direct and keeping people happy are not always compatible.”
“Yeah, Tess and I would agree with you on that one. Well, at least I would agree that you and Mom and Tess don’t always win popularity awards.”
“Not everyone can be as nice as you, Tim.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No, it was just a reminder that you don’t always have to please everybody.”
“I’m working on it. Tess has been giving me pointers.”
“Tess will do very well in life, I guarantee it.”
“Let’s get Tess to go talk to Jamie and his father. She’ll straighten them out.”
Greg and Tim are wrestling with a touchy subject. Even though Greg and Ann raise their children with high expectations and expect them to engage in activities and relationships where there are high expectations, they cannot tell other people how to raise their kids, although sometimes they would like to. However, both of them have been very involved over the course of their children’s lives in roles such as coaches, leaders, or teachers. In those capacities, they have permission to expect a lot, and the kids invariably rise to the level of expectations.
Ann has been on the school board and this continues to be one of her missions, getting the faculties of the various schools to set high expectations for kids and measure progress with testing and standards. Some of the principals love her. But there are some teachers who have actively campaigned to defeat her at election time. Ann is of the belief that standards for mastery help promote a process in the classrooms where expectations are raised for many of the kids who are being overlooked. But she has plenty of critics who think she doesn’t trust teachers to use their own good judgment in how to teach. Ann has seen empirical evidence from programs such as Teach For America, where student mastery in areas such as math, reading or science is constantly measured and monitored to assess progress across the school year.
It is painful for Tim and Greg to see Jamie wasting his life, not just his talent. Later vignettes will return to a discussion of some of the lost opportunities with Jamie.
“Use Your Own Good Judgment”
During their conversation, Greg is recalling an exchange he once had with Tim:
“You are always saying, ‘Use your own good judgment,’ Dad. Why don’t you just tell me what you want me to do?” complained Tim
“Because then you will just trust my good judgment and never learn to trust your own good judgment,” responded Greg.
“But what if I don’t know what is right?”
“I wouldn’t say it to you if I didn’t trust that you were capable of making that particular decision on your own.”
“You just say that so we’ll feel guilty and do what you want.”
“A little guilt is good for you now and then. But I really do trust you to make these decisions. If they don’t turn out right, that’s okay. You’ll get it right the next time.”
When someone needs our help, our natural inclination is to want to give it. When it is our kids, the pull is even greater. Offering the help requested not only can ease the distress of the person in need, it also eliminates the tension in us, the ones being asked for help. Tolerating that sense of urgency, both in them and us, is hard but necessary at times, especially when it is important for that tension to remain the child as a source of motivation to learn or grow or think more deeply.
Children need to learn to think for themselves. Otherwise, they will be vulnerable to unhealthy influences later.
“My ‘Favorite’ Teacher”
One night at dinner, Ann asks Seth and Tim, “who is your favorite teacher this year?’
“The one who assigns the least amount of homework,” responds Tim, without hesitation.
“Really? Who is that?” asks Greg.
“Mr. Samuels. He’s cool. He’s always telling us stories about when he was a pitcher and got called up to the big leagues for a month.”
“What class is this?” asks Ann, barely able to muzzle her disgust.
“Social Studies. You remember Mr. Samuels. You met him at Parent Visitation Night.”
“I remember him. He was the guy wearing the Cubs ball cap, remember, Ann. A bunch of us had a post mortem Cardinals-Cubs session, arguing about who got the better of whom,” recalls Greg.
“What I remember is you came home that night knowing nothing about Tim’s class.”
Tim laughs, “Sounds like the same thing that happens in his class. We have fun, but don’t learn a thing.”
“And he is your best teacher?” inquires Ann, now a little fed up not only with Mr. Samuels, but Greg and Tim as well.
“Mom. You asked Tim who his favorite teacher was, not his best teacher,” explains Seth.
“Yeah. Who wouldn’t enjoy sitting around all day talking to Mr. Samuels. He sat in the same dugout with Kerry Wood and Derek Lee. He has dirt on all those guys. I’ve heard some of his stories two or three times and they’re still funny,”
“Are you taking a class or meeting him for a beer?” asks Ann, who is getting really frustrated.
“So he’s good at the social part but not the study part of Social Studies,” cracks Greg.
“I guess you could say that,” answers Tim.
“Seth. Who is your best teacher?” asks Ann, having had enough of the fun Tim and Greg were having at her expense.
“That’s easy. It’s Mr. Gilman, my chemistry teacher.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” chimes in Tim. “He’s the dude who restores old Corvettes. I saw his daughter driving one the other day. It was the first time I ever looked at the car longer than the girl. And she’s cute.”
“Unlike Mr. Samuels, Mr. Gilman really teaches us something,” explains Seth.
“He’s not a very charismatic guy,” observes Greg.
“Neither am I. But that is beside the point Dad. He’s got his class set up so everyone really learns the material.”
“How so?” asks Greg, now ready to be serious.
“First of all, he expects all of us to do really well and wants us to succeed. There’s no grading on a curve or any b.s. like that. Second of all, he let’s you retake quizzes as many times as you want. He says, ‘it’s the concept, not the grade, you are after’. Next, he lets us have as much time as we need to complete his tests. And finally, we can go get help from him any time. We can even contact him at home.”
“Only you would call a teacher on a Friday night,” chortles Tim.
“Only you would find a car more attractive than a hot girl.”
“How do you know Mr. Gilman’s daughter is hot?”
“Because she sits next to me in Calculus.”
“Wow, a hot geek driving a hot car.”
“We geeks will end up with the hot cars and the hot girls in the end, bro.”
“We’ll see.”
“Your mother used to be a hot geek with a hot car,” interjects Greg.
“Used to be?” grins Ann.
“Your car’s still pretty hot,” responds Greg.
“I’ll deal with you later. So Tim, who is your BEST teacher?” asks Ann, wishing Tess were home so there would be some gender balance to this conversation.
“Now that’s easy, Mom. Mrs. Starks, my English teacher,” answers Tim.
“That’s curious. That’s not exactly your best class,” observes Ann.
“You mean it is my lowest grade,” corrects Tim.
“Mom. I thought you were a scientist. Don’t you know that grades and learning are not highly correlated?” interjects Seth.
“Yeah, whatever he said,” agrees Tim.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” demands Ann.
“Actually, Seth is right for once. Grades and learning don’t correlate,” explains Tim.
“Sounds like excuses to me,” counters Ann. “What makes Mrs. Starks so special?”
“Two things. She is very clear about what makes for a good paper. She has this sheet that gives all the characteristics of an A, B, C, or D paper. When she gives us back our papers, we can read her comments and know exactly what needs improving or what was missing.”
“And the second point?”
“Be a patient, Mom,” puns Tim.
“Yeah, Mom, give the doctor routine a rest,” agrees Seth.
“Since when do you two agree on anything?” asks Greg.
“We stand together or fall apart,” cracks Seth.
“Anyway. The second thing is she let’s us rewrite as often as we want. And she gives detailed comments on every version.”
“So why haven’t you been getting an A in the class?” observes Seth, now back to being the normal brother.
“Because she has really high standards. Don’t worry. I’m getting there,” explains Tim.
“Who was your favorite, I mean best, teacher in school, Dad?” asks Tim.
“That’s easy. It was Mr. Benson, my physics teacher,” answers Greg.
“Is he why you became an engineer?” asks Seth.
“He got me excited about science. That’s for sure,” recalls Greg.
“So, what made him so special?” inquires Ann, glad to see her husband returning to some seriousness.
“Mr. Benson could make the most complicated principles so easy to understand,” remembers Greg.
“Kind of like Mr. Samuels?” asks Tim, sarcastically.
“Actually, he was just as interesting to talk to as Mr. Samuels, but you were learning something the whole time,” recalls Greg. “He would start with something that everyone was familiar with and could visualize and then he would gradually add more and more complexity to the idea. For instance, he would have Higgins, my lab partner and the catcher on the baseball team, bring in his catcher’s gear. Then the whole class would go out in the hall and he’d throw a big curve ball to Higgins that made you think, “Why was this guy wasting his time teaching school?” Next, he’d give us all whiffle balls and we would all learn to throw a curve ball, girls included.”
“I beg your pardon,” protests Ann.
“Sorry, that didn’t sound very PC did it?” apologizes Greg.
“Don’t get distracted. This sounds good,” encourages Seth, standing in as the parent.
“By the end of the week, after all the layers to the onion had been reapplied, we knew all about the principles of aerodynamics, the Magnus effect, the coefficient of friction, and why baseballs fly out of Mile High Stadium,” explains Greg, fondly recalling his time with Mr. Benson.
“Teachers like that are special.”
“How about you, Ann? Did you have a favorite teacher?” asks Greg.
“Best or favorite? Actually, my favorite teacher was one of my best teachers. At least she was exactly the teacher I needed at the time. Learning to read was hard for me and my second grade teacher, Mrs. Wallace, was the kindest, most patient woman.”
“You had trouble learning to read, Mom?” a surprised Tim asks. “So, you going to cut us a little slack with our struggles in school?”
“Your only struggle, Tim, is opening your books.”
Tim helps make an important distinction between a favorite teacher and a best teacher. If a teacher is overly focused on being liked by his students and sacrifices academic rigor in the process, he has failed them as a teacher. The popular Mr. Samuels has abandoned the development of self for an emphasis on connections, which represents not only a failure as a teacher, but stunted development on his own part. In contrast, the other teachers in this vignette have relationships with their students that are valued by virtue of their ability to promote the growth of their students.
A common characteristic of the best teachers for the four of them is the emphasis on mastery. None of these teachers seemed to put grades and between-student comparisons first. Each had a way to promote subject mastery, without fear of failure. Each seemed to find a way to either engage their students in a deeper understanding of the material, or encouraged sustained engagement on the part of their students.
If a teacher creates a one-time method of evaluation, whether it is for quizzes, tests or papers, then that teacher has often limited the opportunity for students to learn from their mistakes and re-engage with the material with more clarity as to what remediation is needed. They are also left more anxious about submitting to the one-time assessment. Mr. Gilman let his students retake quizzes after they had a chance to study what they had not yet mastered. Mrs. Starks gave her student very clear feedback on what was lacking in their papers so that they could rewrite even better papers. Imagine the quality of literature if we were forced to read only the first drafts. The majority of us have to write, edit, get feedback, rewrite, over-and-over to produce something with depth and quality. One-time evaluations do not encourage depth. Students are not encouraged to risk mistakes and learn from them. They are not encouraged to think more deeply about their ideas and find even better ways to develop them and refine them. It is no wonder many kids opt for avoidance instead of engagement.
By letting his students take as long as necessary to complete exams, Mr. Gilman is telling his students, “In academics, speed should not be a measure of competence.” He is recognizing that students vary in their processing speed. Other students cannot quickly access information or processes, but given time can – sometimes by virtue of deriving the principles in the testing session. Mr. Gilman has also helped his students engage in the testing process with the best chance to tolerate the anxiety and soothe themselves when they hit portions of the test that may upset them. He is interested in measuring mastery and he has concluded that he wants factors such as speed and anxiety to enter into that process as little as possible.
Mr. Gilman and Mrs. Starks have changed the definition of failure in their classrooms. For them, failure to meet standards simply means you have more work to do, not that you are stuck with the label or the grade. In these classes, their students are not afraid to fail because failing is just a marker of what still needs to be learned. A resilient child takes a loss at the state chess tournament, licks his wounds and uses the loss as a blue print for what he needs to improve so that next year he will be even more competitive. When failure is an end state, in terms of grading, many children focus on avoidance. Some study harder, but the majority literally avoid engagement with a process or institution that has failure built in. They tend to devalue it and rationalize their avoidance. That was the case with The Tumble Inn crew. A tennis player who willingly plays people better than she is will improve with each “failure”. Mr. Gilman and Mrs. Starks have created this healthy climate in their classrooms. Their students realized that how much they learned and what grades they earned were totally under their own control. The process was not arbitrary, subjective or externally determined.
Mr. Benson was obviously a master teacher. He could take what is complicated and break it down into its understandable components and present it in ways that all his students could relate. This is not just giftedness on the part of Mr. Benson. It represents a level of attunement on his part for what his students understand, what they are capable of, and how to move them along in their understanding. He gets them to personally engage with the material in ways that promote a deeper understanding than memorization. This interplay between engagement and mastery is a hallmark of quality instructors.
Finally, Mrs. Wallace was just the teacher Ann needed at a critical point in her school life. Learning to read is a challenge for many children, especially boys. Children develop at different rates and a teacher who is aware of that and tolerant of that is essential. Expecting children to learn to read on a chronological schedule is a set up for half to be bored and half to be seriously frustrated. Mrs. Wallace’s unconditional acceptance of where Ann was developmentally allowed Ann to learn at her rate. In the end, what does it matter when we learn to read, as long as the skills are attained?
Good teachers emphasize mastery and engagement.
They make failure nonthreatening and a source of learning.
Mastery and speed are rarely correlated.
Good teachers develop an internal sense of control in their students.