The first ever parent conference I had was for my daughter when she was in kindergarten. The teacher started off the conference by asking me something about what my hopes and dreams were for her. It took me a minute to answer - not because I didn't know my own simple answer but rather because I was laughing in my head about all of the answers that I could say and that this teacher must have heard. Something like "I'd like for her to be able to ride a bike, win a full golf tourney, become a doctor and a lawyer and marry the bestest person ever...". I still wonder if anyone says stuff like that. I'm assuming that most people answer simply like I did "I want her to be happy".
It sounds sappy and lame, doesn't it? But it was absolutely true in that moment and mostly remains true. Happiness is a great and lofty goal and mostly is really aspiration for my kids. Without specificity though it's also sort of a meaningless hope for a kid - maybe best suited for people like me who are hopeless idealists; people who are annoyingly glass full types. No one is filled with joy and inspiration at every moment unless they are a Bhodisatva of some kind. And so hoping for happiness is a hope that will often fall short. Unless you plan to maintain some kind of warehouse of colorful marshmallow ropes to take out when your child shows signs of feeling a little blue, a constant state of elation is probably not even healthy. Like one of those viagra ads - being happy too much just isn't right. Life is about ups and downs and learning how to manage those to keep yourself on the positive side of the happiness meter.
But dang that's hard to tell a kid. I recently made the mistake of telling my son that his happiness was all that mattered to me and that I would do anything to secure that happiness. Seriously I said that. And then I took him from a school where he was unhappy and paid for him to get happy. At least I think that's probably the way that he sees it. Since that date I have actually been wondering when he would come home from school and profess some small measure of dissatisfaction and expect me to address it immediately via candy or money. Of course I won't have candy or money at the ready nor would I use it if I had it.... Obviously.
In lieu of buying marshmallow rope stock to constantly keep up the cheeriness, I would like to go back and amend my answer to the question. My hopes and dreams for my kids are consistent, simple and singular but are no longer as sugary or unrealistic as pure happiness. My revised hope and dream is this - that the loudest voice in my children's heads will always be their own.
Yes, it's more complicated than happiness but I think it is probably slightly more realistic. And I can measure it too. How many times have you looked at a child, yours or someone elses, and could see in the transparent eyes of that child a confusion, a terror of some kind. My limited experience tells me that as kids get older and more confident, the harder their eyes are to see through. You can stare at a teenager and wonder for hours what they are thinking (maybe nothing clear at all?) But a kindergartener is pretty transparent unless they have suffered a major trauma and then scratch this whole thing anyway.
When I looked into the eyes of my 8 year old boy when he was having trouble in school, I couldn't see him there. It looked like there was a war of the worlds being waged someplace in there - the voices of teachers, kids, administrators, even parents were all louder than his own voice and he looked truly confused. And he looked scared. And he had no , it all just looked like misery to him.
And this is, for you critics, why I rescued him. Very simply because I could have tried stocking up on classic candies but I jut didn't want to face the future dental bills.
I think that, at this stage in my life, the loudest voice in my head is my own. At least usually. And i am working to train my kids in the same. You can be happy on drugs and having underage sex. But the thing is that if you are listening, truly listening to your own voice, my greatest revised hope is that you will hear the right thing.
Too deep?
