Don't be like me

Keep your eye on the ball, boy, March 2011

I stopped trying to get good grades by the time I reached grade six. I was a smart kid and was even spending time in the gifted room. I had it all. But then, it became more important to goof around and get people to laugh. I needed my peers to approve of me and stopped caring about marks. I didn't start trying again until I was 30 and needed 90th percentile marks to get into the speech-language pathology program. I was finally motivated.

My oldest boy is in grade three. His second report card came home today. Crumpled and wet from spilled juice in the bottom of his backpack.

"Oh yeah," he said, "I got my report card. What do I get for my treat?"

I took a look. The real subjects had number scores. The soft ones (art, music, gym) only had participation scores. Why are these classes given out for free? I used to be proud of those classes. Well, not gym, I sucked at gym. But art, that was my best class. I actually got a scholarship for art. It's not exactly like I went to Oxford or anything (not even close to exactly), but that recognition did oodles for my self-esteem.

Yeah, my boy is just like me. Let's goof around and have some laughs. Who cares about math. I'm never going to use it (turned out to be true). How am I going to teach him that doing well in the "boring" subjects will open up more choices for what he can do with his life. I didn't learn that lesson until I was 30 and I kicked ass in those classes that I had turned my back on before. I know what the cranial nerves do for God's sake! How cool is that?!

I put the report card down, washed the sticky off my hands, and sat down with my boy.

"You know, this isn't actually that good. These marks are all 3's. This one even went down."

"What does that mean?"

"It means average."

"What does that mean?"

Phew, this is a real transition here. School used to be about following rules and having friends. Now it's about -- gulp -- achievement. Smart kids have the ultimate last laugh. They're the ones who get the top-of-the-food-chain jobs. They're the people who earn the good money (except those who study for a year and go to work in the oil industry, but they mostly blow it on trucks, quads, and partying).

"Five is excellent, four is almost, three is getting by, two is missing most of it, one needs an special assistant," I instructed.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

He knew he wasn't getting a treat. The tears pooled and spilled over the top of his Michelangelo-inspired cheek bones. Maybe he was crying because he thought I didn't approve of him. I rushed to explain how I loved him, but not his marks. How I believed he was capable of more and that I would help him learn how to learn. We are going to see what he can do between now and the end of the year and then talk rewards. I hate the idea of using a bribe because I want him to want to do well because he wants to do well and not because my approval is contingent on his marks. I want him to be ambitious. I want him to believe in his ability to achieve whatever he wants and then get busy and do it.

But then I have to catch myself. I also want him to be above all this striving and status-grasping. I want him to love himself as he is and be happy with life as it is.

I guess I want that for myself too.

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