Parenting Without A License

Down, Blackhawk

Posted by Kimberly on April 3rd, 2008 — Posted in Diva Girl, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat

I’ve noticed in the past year or so the term “Helicopter Parent” has become part of the parenting lexicon, a label used to describe those overly invested parents who micromanage their kids’ lives–and especially their schoolwork–to the point of pretty much doing everything for them.   Other than rolling my eyes at the idea, I’ve pretty much ignored the phenomenon because, well, clearly that’s not me:  I’m a very hands off parent, especially  when it comes to school; I’ve always believed in allowing Diva Girl to succeed or fail on her own merits rather than making it all about me.

It’s been a conscious choice, this hands off policy I have towards Sabrina’s academic achievement.  I recognized early on that one of the more complicated aspects of balancing my career with my children–beyond the daycare juggling, working mom guilt, and other every day concerns of every working mom–would be resisting the impulse to turn my daughter into my student.

Teachers are in a uniquely difficult position when it comes to the education of their children–we have an insider’s understanding of the system and what is required to succeed, which makes it that makes it that much more difficult to refrain from stepping in to ensure that our little preshus gets the best grade possible.  It’s a very tempting, very slippery slope, and one that I have no desire to slide down, so I’ve always made an effort to keep home and school separate when it comes to Diva Girl.

For the most part, it’s worked pretty well.  Sure, I’ve been tempted to get involved in an assignment  or two, confident that I could make it that much better, but the ability to recognize how fundamentally wrong that statement is has always been enough to stop the helicopter blades from rotating before they achieve lift off.  Of course, the fact that Diva Girl has always shown herself capable of getting her As and Bs all on her own has  made it easier for me to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground and focus more on encouraging her to do her best than what that best is deemed to be.

Until now.

For the first time, Sabrina has brought home a report card filled not with As and Bs, but with Cs and it is challenging everything I believed about myself as the parent of a school aged child.  I used to believe that I didn’t put a lot of stock in grades, that Diva Girl’s willingness to put forth her best effort in any given area far outweighed any achievement in my eyes.  How then to reconcile a report card that was–to my mind at least–not good enough with my oft-spouted philosophy that your best is always good enough, no matter what the numbers say?  Especially when I do believe that despite the lackluster results, she is trying.  However I also  believe that my daughter is not a C student–two facts that unfortunately seem to be in direct contradiction with each other, given the evidence marching down the report card page.

All of my self-delusions about my lack of unhealthy investment in Sabrina’s school progress came crashing down as I held that report card in my hands, speechless in the face of this unexpectedly lackluster achievement.  To be perfectly honest, each C felt like a personal affront–as though they were an indictment of my ability to parent rather than an assessment of Sabrina’s math and reading ability.  In other words, as I processed that report, my maternal rotors started turning.

And then my Diva Girl brought me crashing back to Earth with one simple question, “Are you disappointed in me?”

Normally by now I would have already told her how proud I was of her and commented on her various achievements as reported by her teachers.  Clearly th fact that I hadn’t done that this time spoke of my disappointment as loudly as if I’d shouted it at her.  And looking at all those Cs, I thought about shouting.  Looking into those big hazel eyes, however, I thought about how, in the grand scheme of things, a couple of Cs on a fourth grade report card isn’t really that big of a deal and about how my sense of self worth as the parent of a Good Student paled in comparison to my child’s sense of self worth as a Good Person, regardless of her achievements as a student.

I don’t want this not even failure to define my daughter’s sense of who she is and what she can accomplish when she puts her mind to it.  While I clearly do not want her to believe that she is a C student, I also don’t want her to think that a C isn’t good enough when she’s giving it all she’s got.

So that’s what we talked about this time–what she thinks she can accomplish and how  she can better meet those goals.  And of course, as always, we talked about how proud I am of her and how confident I am that she can conquer the world if only she puts her mind to it.  What we didn’t do was climb on board my mommycopter –not because I didn’t want to enact a rescue mission, but because even though it’s what I want, I’m still rational enough to know that it’s not what she needs.

Sure, I want to see Sabrina take to the skies and soar, but only if she’s the one at the controls.