Control and joy

There's a wry sense of self-acceptance when you see your own foibles in your children, isn't there? I have noted previously how both girls' fear of failure mirror my own (I know, I know, K is not mine per se, but she's certainly gotten heavy doses of my nurture to offset the dose of nature she received in her brief life). This common tendency, this avoidance of a controllable stress, rears its protective head often between J and K.

J's steel-like resistance to reading aloud is akin to my childhood habit of avoiding family games at which I would undoubtedly lose. J will see a word she doesn't immediately recognize, and will throw up her proverbial hands, declaring, "I can't do this." Her closed expression reminds me so much of myself I have to laugh out loud. I'm 7 all over again, storming away from the kitchen table and a round of pinochle. And who can ignore that I selected running as my healthy activity of choice over, say, any team sport, even avoiding being on the cross country team at school?

K, however, takes stress avoidance to new levels at times. And who can blame her? Her earliest childhood was marked by a pattern of switching homes and parents multiple times a week, and being in day care often during weekdays. A small and loving daycare, which in my opinion means one more group of people to miss when you're elsewhere. What could she really control? What goes into her mouth, for one. To this day, she is extremely particular in her likes and dislikes. Cheese? Only on pizza, shredded on tacos or hoagies, mixed in a quiche (but only if it's Gruyere with bacon and sauteed onions), on bagels or on top of burgers. Otherwise it induces a gag reflex. Seriously. Turkey? Sure. As long as it's not on bread, or (shudder) with cheese. Pasta? Yes, but not with red sauce. Chocolate? Yes, as long as it's M&Ms or milk chocolate Easter eggs, but not in cookies or on cakes or ice cream. In fact, no ice cream at all, thank you very much. Syrup? On french toast, but don't even think about it with waffles or pancakes. Ick.

I joke, but she has really gotten much better about food, and hasn't cried or complained about it in years. Her other minor phobias (clothes not fitting properly, for example), have also waned in recent memory. Thank goodness. We're now left with the more commonplace Fear of New Things that You're Not Immediately Good At (take her P.E. attempts - did she enjoy basketball? Nope. Soccer? Absolutely not. T-ball? No. Running? Negative. Kickball? Ee-gads, no. Water polo? Too hard. Lacrosse? Boring. Ok, so anyway...), and Avoidance of Things That Initially Seem Stupid and Pointless. Like memorizing math facts.

Every summer since the first grade has involved some form of remedial study of basic math facts, and even when I created elaborate games or incentives to encourage her, the completion of each and every session was like pulling teeth. Finally, this past summer, I threw in the towel and told JBL that he should be the one to administer the daily quizes (5 minutes, tops). I became weary of my role as Bad Cop, especially since I get to play that role enough at meal time (see above re: food preferences). It should have been easy, since K's 5th grade teacher required a level of proficiency to be met by the start of the school year, so we could just throw him under the bus. However, for reasons not worth detailing, the practice didn't happen nearly as often as it should have. Certainly she was not alone among her class in this foot-dragging exercise, but I was frustrated, knowing K has more than sufficient ability. She was holding herself back because she could not be convinced there was a point to the effort. Also, I am more than certain she hated the failures required to get to the success.

K was fairly behind at the beginning of the school year, but refused to relent in her protests when it was demanded she meet the requirements like everyone else. Finally, by December she caught up, but by then we were all just happy to have her back in line with her peers, so her parents and I didn't see the need to probe further into her feelings about math. That is, until last month. I picked her up from the bus stop, and asked the usual, "How was your day?" sort of questions, and K revealed that she was beyond bored with math. She gave numerous examples of how she'd mastered a given concept, and then had to wait for the rest of the class period for everyone else to catch up. She then reminded me how she has aced all her tests. This is not something she would bring up casually, I was sure.

I was dumbfounded. I love nothing more than making sure the girls are challenged to their highest capacity (I'll tell you some other time about the book report work I made K do last summer), so when I learned that she had gone months being bored out of her mind in what I consider to be one of the most important subject matters in all of schooling, well, I was honestly kind of angry. I had let her reaction to fear - why should I go through the pain of not being able to answer 75 math fact questions in under 5 minutes when I can just refuse to try - keep her from getting in the right math group for A WHOLE SCHOOL YEAR. Looking back at how my mother used to troll through all my school work, occasionally (to my chagrin) storming into my principal's office, demanding I be taught at more challenging levels in math or science or history, I realized that I had failed K.

Because of my mom's intervention, I was placed in the more advanced student groups, and eventually enjoyed school a heck of a lot more. And I truly believe that I asked more of myself, independently throughout my life - in school, at work, and when running - because my mom believed in me back in second grade. Doesn't K deserve that kind of support?

After consulting with both her parents, I prodded JBL to speak with her math teacher, to get his take on her current placement and future abilities. I was gratified to hear that the teacher completely supports my position - that K should absolutely be in the advanced group next year, and with some effort, could even be considered as a student who could skip to the next grade if she was interested. Now, I feel it's important to note I have no end game in mind. I am not determined that she become an electrical engineer or rocket scientist. I truly just want her to find joy in her own abilities, under her own control.

So now comes the hard part. Though I have spoken to K about the possibility of getting her into the 'faster' group, and she agreed that she would do more fact-like practice to get there, I have to stand up and keep my resolve. It will be worth any time and effort to see her happy in the long run. That's my job, after all...