First stop was the "all-school team," consisting of the music, phys ed, drama, and art teachers all meeting together with us to talk about Piper. Right out of the gate, music and drama were talkin about Piper's "natural gifts:" a singing voice and acting chops. I put my head in my hands. "Oh God, not another one," I moaned.
The other conference with Piper's 3rd-grade teacher echoed the same thing: a couple of things to work on (being on time, not so much talking ... the usual Bailey-like issues that anyone who knows us would expect), but for the most part she is excelling in everything at Baker Demonstration School.
So how come I'm not feeling more relieved, or happy, or whatever I'm supposed to feel?
Don't get me wrong — I'm crazy-proud of my daughters. But all this "natural skills" stuff scares me a little, because it reminds me a little too much of my own elementary education.
I too was one of those kids who was found to be naturally academically talented (well, okay, if you've been reading my 1978 diary, maybe math wasn't a strong suit), and — also like Piper — socially at ease with just about everyone I encountered. School was, by and large, a very enjoyable time for me. An easy time for me. Problem is, I rode that "easy" bus for a long, long time. I was never particularly challenged academically all the way through high school. And I was okay with that; it gave me more time to play and do fun stuff I wanted to do.
I remember the day that my college sent me a letter telling me that my exceptional English grades had allowed me an opportunity to enroll in an advanced literature class (Existentialism in Modern British and American Literature) for my freshman year, first quarter. I told Mom I didn't want to do it. It sounded hard. Thankfully she had the presence of mind to call me on my bullshit and simply tell me I was taking the class, whether I liked it or not. I think I protested along the lines of I was an adult and it was my decision, but she wasn't having any of that. She knew I needed to be in that class. And she was right: that first class I took turned out to be the best class I had for my whole college experience.
But the deeper issue, when I got to my college, was my lack of a toolbox. All of a sudden, the academic levels of the classes exceeded my natural abilities. No longer could I simply blow off work 'til the night before an assignment was due and then produce a rush-job that was still good enough to earn an A or a B. (And a B was totally acceptable for me; I think there might have even been a certain amount of pride in my ability to get such a good grade for so little work.) Now I had to truly work for the first time in my life. And I had to pace myself, over the course of the quarters, lest I find myself in the final two weeks with gobs of work I had thought would be easy to squeeze into a few nights of focused work.
So I had some years in there where learning discipline and sharpening focus would have made all the difference in the world, and I missed that chance. And I see that flaw reflected every single day of my life, to this day. More than just about any flaw I could imagine my children having, this is the one I want to make sure they avoid.
I was relieved when, as part of a book project PJ is working on in November (they don't do book reports at Baker, they do projects), a good amount of the early homework time was devoting to sitting down with a calendar and scheduling out all the steps of the project. What I wouldn't give to go back to my third-grade year and learn that skill then! But it makes me happy to know that Piper has (and, later, Zuzu will have) a chance to learn these skills now. And it's nice to have her at a school where I can talk to the teachers about my fears and see that they want to see her challenged as much as I do.
Sure, she complains about the homework, and would rather be doing a fun logic puzzle or playing on the computer; she's related to me. But I also see her beginning to recognize the boost of self-esteem that derives from a successful endeavor that took a little elbow grease.
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