“I was born to be an artist,” Youngest Daughter said this morning. She is currently at work on a “picshure” book, a combination of text and artwork on a sheaf of lined paper stapled together. She reminds me of myself at her age, pounding out stories on the Royale typewriter, brushing away mistakes with the white tip eraser.
Last night friends were visiting, and she was telling them of her ardor for art. “You’re a good artist,” my friend told Youngest Daughter, “but I bet you’re also good at math.”
“Not really,” she answered. “Sometimes I put my head on my desk and go to sleep.” Sadly, this description sounded a lot like my 10th grade geometry class.
My friend, equally talented in the humanities and math, wonders how her life would be different had she chosen to pursue math instead of writing. I too have thought about that physics class I didn’t take my senior year in high school and the requisite pre-calculus course I avoided. As was noted in graduation articles in this very publication, seniors are being told by their heroes and their valedictory peers to pursue their dreams, to reach for the highest branch on life’s tree.
Meanwhile, the message from the rest of the world is clear: Choose something practical. Don’t risk too much. Find a job that pays the bills, build a secure future, and enjoy your weekend leisure time.
It’s hard to know what to believe. Should you encourage your children to pursue their dreams even if doing so won’t shore up their financial assets?
Surely, in their youth, we sign them up for classes, camps, and teams for which they show interest and talent. In addition to being a good artist, Youngest Daughter also sings beautifully, and a mom friend of mine just signed her daughter up for voice lessons, so I’m wondering if we should spring for them too.
If I don’t sign my kid up now, will she be able to compete later? If she is going to “go for her dreams,” and her dreams, like mine, take her down the artistic and/or performing arts path, shouldn’t I gird her with any and all possible preparation I can so she has a shot at earning the one spot out of 150 for the troupe to which she auditions?
Or are we too quick to give our kids what we wished we’d had when they, quite possibly, need something else?
A different friend of mine has a daughter who spent her elementary school years exploring a wide range of interests without finding one activity or sport she really liked until she reached sixth grade and discovered gymnastics. Now, she spends hours in classes at one of the most competitive gyms in Northern Virginia without any real hope of making a team since all of the girls on those teams have been tumbling and walking the balance beam since they were five years old.
Oldest Son was one of those gymnasts from age 5 until 11. He won several State titles, and we were advised that if he had more focus and increased his practice hours, he might qualify for Nationals one day. It wasn’t a long stretch to begin dreaming of the Olympics. Starry eyed, we spent hundreds of dollars each month and several tanks of gas each week taking him to a training center. Well-meaning parents advised us to switch to a more competitive gym: someone we know actually moved halfway across the country to work with a nationally-renowned coach.
We’ve all seen the smiling parents sitting at the Olympics, heard the stories of similar sacrifices. We know this is what it takes to be a champion. Luckily, I remembered to ask Oldest Son what he wanted. “Do you want to go to this other gym? We hear it’s more competitive.”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“We’re willing to support you if you want to do it.”
His ambivalence spoke volumes. I realized that having an Olympic gymnast was my parental dream: not his childhood one.
Do you know what he wants to do instead?
Play football. The one sport I vowed I’d never let him play again.
We’re signing him up this fall.
When I realized that no matter how hard I push myself in certain directions, that the thing I love most, the one thing I’ve got to do is write … I remembered how my family encouraged me until I was in middle school when my love for making books and writing poetry was no longer “cute.”
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” My family asked me. When I told them without hesitation that I wanted to be a writer, the response was, “But how will you make money?”
Before I made the decision to let him play football again, I asked him the same question I was asked as a child. “I want to play for the NFL,” he said without hesitation.
Several responses echoed in my head, including, “You’re too small!” and “I don’t want you to play. It’s too dangerous!” not to mention, “That’s a pipe dream, hon. Lots of people want to do that, but there’s too much competition.”
I caught myself, remembering the moment all those years ago when – because of my family’s discouragement – I lost hope that the thing I was born to do was never going to support me. That I was going to have to find something else to spend my days doing since it was unlikely I’d be able to support myself writing stories.
Odds are that Oldest Son will probably not become a professional football player, although it’s certainly possible with his athleticism and conviction.
The one thing I became very clear about these past several seasons that he sat out, however, was that if I didn’t encourage him in pursuing his dream that I’d be guilty of clipping his wings before he ever tested them out. I also knew he’d resent me his entire life.
I’ve realized that if you try to stop your child from doing what he believes he was born to do, you undermine the bond between the two of you. I may be afraid of concussions because of the horror stories that center around football-related injuries, but I’m fooling myself if I think he’s less likely to suffer a concussion playing soccer, baseball, or wrestling.
If I let MY fear govern choices that impact HIS life, I am not protecting him: I am hurting him. Who knows what he can do with his passion, with his talent? Do I really want to be the one who told him he couldn’t, who held onto his wings so he couldn’t fly?
All these years later, in spite of my family’s discouraging response to my stated dreams, I am a writer.
Although I don’t earn my living doing what I love most, I do enjoy the time I do get to spend on it and I’m grateful that I’ve been able to inspire my students. I’m also very proud of the ones who have the courage to stand up and say what Youngest Daughter said: I was born to be an artist.
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