About a month back, we received a medium-sized white manila envelope in the mail, addressed to the kid. Inside the envelope was a letter announcing that she’d been nominated by someone at her school – her teacher, most likely – for the Johns Hopkins Center for Talented Youth, plus some additional brochures about the center’s programs. The letter urged us to have the kid tested this month to see if she’d qualify for their courses and services.
Upon reading this, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. Okay, pride and nausea. But I was distinctly nauseated. Pukey, if you will.
Why? I’ll tell you why.
There’s no question in my mind that the kid is a smartypants to some degree or other. This is a girl who writes Valentines to polygons and watches PBS documentaries for fun. And sure, to an extent these interests are related to how we’ve raised her. Like most parents I’ve certainly encouraged her interest in brainy things over the years – things like science and the arts – and subtly discouraged her interest in stupid things – things like Justin Bieber and those goddamn Bratz dolls – always mindful to not be too heavy-handed or controlling in either instance. Suggestion and influence are the name of the game in my view, because as corny as it sounds, from the very beginning of her life on this planet earth I’ve just wanted the kid to become the full breadth and depth of who she is, for her to grow into being her best self, without necessarily becoming exactly who *I* might want. And as she’s gotten older and started testing out above grade level, I’ve been extra mindful to not be overly pushy about academics in particular. I want her to grow up really loving learning, and for it not to become tiresome or a chore. I’ve adamantly refused to be one of those parents who signs their kid up for a gajillion after school activities, pushing them to be better, stronger, faster, only to have them rapidly burn out and grow to resent learning and see it as a burden. I want her to have time to just be a kid, to grow up and into herself without any extra pressures or requirements weighing her down. God knows she’ll have plenty of those soon enough, right?
Add to that line of protective thinking the fact that the kid – much like her mom – is a perfectionist and worrier, and you’ll come to understand the multi-faceted nature of my nauseated reaction. I knew as soon as I showed the kid the brochures for the CTY program she’d be thrilled and want to do it. (And she was, and she did.) But I also knew she was immediately going to commence with worrying the whole thing to death – about how she’d do on the test, and if she’d get in, and what if she didn’t(!), and if she didn’t get in what she’d miss out on, and WOE, THE WEEPING AND RENDING OF GARMENTS IF PERFECTION IS NOT ACHIEVED. (All of which she did too, as predicted.) But moreover, I think I was/am concerned about this being the first step in putting her on an pressurized, overachiever track from which I fear she’ll have no escape. That she’ll be slapped with that label – gifted and talented – and yoked with all the expectations and presumptions that go along with it forevermore, and GOODBYE CHILDHOOD!
Okay, so I may be being a little hysterical about this. I realize that. I also realize that most parents would be over the moon if their kid was recommended for such a thing. And to an extent, I am over the moon. But it also feels like a train whose haunting whistle I’ve only heard at a distance for years is finally pulling into the station – suddenly all blaring and demanding and pushy-like. YOUR KID IS SMART. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THAT, HMM? BECAUSE CLEARLY SOMETHING MUST BE DONE. BETTER, STRONGER, FASTER, GODDAMMIT!
*whimper*
But I’m putting my impulses toward overprotectiveness aside and letting her take the reigns on this one, and since she wanted to try for it she took the qualifying test on Saturday morning. Friday night I was away at Blissdom in Nashville and got a call from her, just before her typical bedtime. Her voice on the other end of the line immediately set me on edge – it was all jacked-up nerves and ragged anxiety because she’d tried a practice test the center provided and had apparently gotten a few of the answers wrong. A FEW. Yes, WOE, FOR PERFECTION WAS NOT ACHIEVED. Hearing her voice, I instantly wanted to call the whole thing off. Because she’s NINE YEARS OLD for crissakes, and a kid that age should not have this level of stress and worry in their life, as far as I’m concerned. But then she rallied and went ahead and took the actual-and-for-real test the next day, and reported afterward that it was easy, so who knows. Maybe she was just blowing her practice test failures all out of proportion. Not that there’s anyone around her modeling that kind of hysterical, overly dramatic and self-critical behavior so that she might’ve picked it up by osmosis or anything. COUGH.
It’s the biggest mom cliche in the world, but I just want her to be happy. Period, end of story. She doesn’t have to be a genius, or at the head of the class academically, or anything else for that matter. She just has to be happy. If she’s happy then I’ll know I did right by her, regardless of anything else. It’s just a little overwhelming sometimes, how many different ways there are to screw things up for your kids – by applying too much pressure or not enough, by offering too many challenges or too few – even when they’re doing okay. Even when they’re doing so much better than okay.
