Just How Smart Do They Have To Be?

I cannot put it off any longer. A decision must be reached on where L will be attending kindergarten. Arrgggh! Why is this so hard? It’s not like I’m trying to decide which college she will attend! But somehow this decision seems just as monumental.

As parents, we want to present our children with the very best opportunities. We want to place them in a school where they will grow and excel. We want to choose an environment that will nurture their minds, as well as their souls. We want to promote self-reliance, cultural- awareness, community-activism, team-work and tolerance of all people and lifestyles. We want them to be challenged to reach their highest potential and to strive to do their best, live their best, be their best!

There. Did I say all the right politically-correct, no-child-left behind, up-with-people, we-are-the-world things?

Okay, here’s how I really feel…

Today’s society expects our kids to know way too much, way too soon.

“Your Baby Can Read?” Seriously? That’s necessary? Why? It’s not like they can read the streets signs they pass on the road because they’re still sitting backward in their flippin’ car seat! And if you teach your baby to read, you’ve missed out on a good four-to-five years of being able to have adult conversations in their presence by spelling out the things you don’t want them to understand. They aren't taking any tests, they aren't applying for any jobs. The only reason you would teach a baby to read is so you could point to your offspring and say, "See that? I made that. And it can read."

Parents believe their children’s progress translates into a reflection of their own intelligence and success. If your baby can read, then you must be one, smart parent, right? So, if my baby is drooling and chewing on the sofa cushions and still -- gasp! -- pooping in a diaper, does that mean I am an idiot? Or does it simply mean that I am the parent of, oh, I don’t know -- A BABY?!

Sigh. Perhaps my view of this is a bit skewed. I suppose I should confess that no one in my past (and dare I say no one in my present) would ever accuse me of being an over-achiever. I know, I know, big shocker. But, what you might not know is that I was once a straight-A student and in the gifted program. That’s right, you heard me -- I was “gifted.”

This was all up until the 7th grade, however. It was at that point that I decided it was way too tiresome to continue on such a path. I declared to my parents that I was no longer going to be a straight-A student nor was I going to be labeled “gifted.”

And, I say with misplaced pride, I excelled at that.

But then God gave me L -- a beautiful, Type “A”, over-achieving, ultra-motivated, driven-by-the-obsessive-need-to-succeed daughter. Most of the time, I look at her as if I have no idea who she is. And, truth be told, I don’t. Her determination, while it is something I know I should admire, actually just makes me kind of tired.

Examples:

When she wanted to learn to whistle like her Daddy, she walked around the house for days blowing through her lips trying to make a sound. She would get frustrated, but then get right back to it, day and night. The afternoon that she was able to make that first whistle emit from her lips you would have thought she just discovered how to fly. Now, she can whistle any tune even better than JAO. I’ve tried a few times to perfect my whistle, but I really only have one note. I can flutter my tongue and make that one note sound like a bird, though! So, I’m really okay with just the one note.

Then there was the day L was determined to learn to jump-rope. She had my parents’ dog’s leash and she must have swung that dang thing over her head 250 times in a matter of an hour-and-a-half until she successfully cleared the swinging leash with her feet.

Just yesterday, we were working on shoe tying. I showed her how to do it one time, then we walked through it together, and then she insisted that I stop helping her -- “I know how to do it now, Mom, you don’t have to keep telling me.” Of course, she forgot a step, the loop didn’t pull through correctly and she threw the shoe across the room and announced, “I can’t do it. I’ll never be able to tie my own shoes!”

But then she regained her composure, marched across the room, picked the shoe up again and proceeded to tie it eight or nine times in a row until she was satisfied that she had mastered the art.

People, I am 35-years-old and I only own one pair of shoes with laces. Slip-ons are so much easier.

So, I’ve started to cringe every time she says, “I’d like to learn to…” because I know it only means I have to put up with the dogged determination and almost adult-like level of frustration and the hours and hours of doing whatever it is over and over again until success is reached.

Sure, it’s lazy of me, but I’m like, “Come on, lady -- give it up! Isn’t there something on TV we could be watching?”

I just want her to be a kid. To have fun! She has a lifetime of responsibilities and expectations ahead of her. What is wrong with just wanting her be my little girl?

I know, I know...I have to be careful not to let my slightly less-than-stellar academic reputation taint my daughter’s scholastic future. If she is showing signs of wanting to -- shudder -- excel, then I don’t want to stand in the way of that. And now I am brought back around to the whole kindergarten dilemma.

Well, at least God gave me Z. My precious baby boy, who is 2-and-a-half and has yet to pee or poop in the potty. He is definitely showing signs of being much more like his mommy. Good boy, Z. Way to under-achieve!

(You know, I feel I should qualify the above statement that I was gifted by saying that once you are considered “gifted” you never really lose that title. Just because I don’t always chose to use my “gifts” to their fullest potential, doesn’t mean they aren’t still there. I could access them at any moment. And I will -- just as soon as Z and I are finished watching this episode of “America’s Next Top Model.”)