Reading

When I talk to parents who, like us, have large gaps in the ages of their children, they will often say that they are much better parents later in life. They have learned to let “little things” slide and they focus more on enjoying their kids than correcting them.

I can honestly say that I don’t feel that I have changed that much. I am just as bad at parenting as I have always been. I still get grumpy over lost items and spilled drinks, and I still get mad when I have to repeat simple instructions 20 times. We don’t indulge the kids’ every request or sign them up for everything they want to do; we ask them to make choices. When they pair green sweatpants with a red shirt or commit some other fashion faux pas, I will send my kids upstairs to change, although I have always been fairly relaxed about hair, allowing them to choose their own styles and colors (and trying really, really hard not making snide comments). But I still insist the kids eat their veggies, do their chores, and go to bed at a decent time.

I do notice, however, that I don’t worry quite as much about the younger kids’ academics. I help when I can, nag when I must, but I don’t feel the need to push them to be the top of their class. One thing I have learned is that motivation must come from within, and pushing too hard only leads to frustration for me and passive aggressive behavior in them.

I used to try so hard to get the older kids work up to their potential. All of them, smart and talented but not particularly driven, were happy to get by with the least amount of work, so from time to time we would work on an incentive program. When Beanie Babies were popular, I promised my oldest son, Phillip, a new stuffed animal with each perfect score on a spelling test, and for months his tests were flawless. When I told him that I thought he should get two perfect tests in order to get a toy, he decided that was too much work, and he never studied for a spelling test again.

I do believe in education, and I do want my kids to give things their best effort. I want them to understand math and be scientifically literate. I want them to LOVE reading and to be able to put together clear sentences in written form.  But with spellcheck available everywhere, it hardly seems important to be a perfect speller. By all means, I want the kids to learn the difference between there, their, and they’re, but most of the other stuff—eh, not so important.

More than brilliance in the classroom, my wish for my kids is that they learn to be kindhearted and empathetic without being used and abused, that they can understand the give-and-take required of any good relationship. I want them to learn to be good friends, and this is far more difficult to teach this than any academic subject.

Over the years each of my kids has had good friends and not-so-good friends. I know that my kids didn’t, and still don’t, tell me about every time they were bullied or bruised. I also know that, although they are basically lovely people, my kids have been guilty of acts of unkindness—some of it stunningly cruel. It’s what kids do: speak without thinking, act without considering someone else’s feelings. Sometimes it has cost them big, but other times they have been able to make amends. At the very least they have learned from the experience.

Back in the days when I was pressuring Phillip about I before E and all other things academic, he hung out with a kid named Greg. They were friends through high school, but they didn’t see each other much after that, even though they made some attempts to keep in touch. It wasn’t a falling out, just a falling away, as happens when paths diverge.

Enough of their friendship remained that Phillip went to the visitation hours when, at age 21, Greg took his own life. Even looking back at their time together, Phillip did not suspect that Greg would suicide. I don’t know if Greg changed after high school or if Phillip just didn’t see it. I certainly don’t blame Phillip for missing it. Greg had a loving family and several close friends; I don’t know if any of them saw it, either. But I wish someone had, and had found a way to stop it.

I want my kids to read great literature, to understand math, and to know important events from history, but more than that I want them to be able to read people, to understand relationships, and to know themselves. Not that the two are mutually exclusive; it’s certainly possible to be self-aware and a good friend and also to be intellectually well-rounded. But if I have to choose, I want to raise kids who are good friends, who have healthy relationships, and who make a positive difference in the lives of others.

I’ll go to parent/teacher conferences this week, and if history is any indication, I expect that the teachers will tell me that my kids are doing okay academically: strengths and weaknesses, but mostly middle of the pack. And then they’ll tell me that my kids are helpful and kind, sweet and funny, growing up to be good people. After the conferences I’ll attempt—as I always do—to offer more help (and nag a little more) with schoolwork. But in my heart I’ll know that the important foundation is already secure.