Lessons from My Son

DePauw University – 2019 Graduate

“Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Raising children offers adults a humbling opportunity to learn important life lessons, and my own journey as a mother frequently feels like a crash course in surprises. The best gifts, though, are the moments that have taken away my breath as I have watched my son step into adulthood. A simple blog post cannot honestly caputre the complexity and layers of the lessons I’ve learned from raising an independent, passionate, intelligent, empathetic, articulate man, but, collectively, a theme or pattern has emerged.

Finishing my third decade of teaching, my philosophy of teaching – of living, actually – has been deeply informed by watching my children experience life. The more immediate implication of sharing this journey with my son comes in understanding that adults cannot underestimate the power of children and young adults. And this unfolding epiphany influences the way I mentor and work with college students and has centered my professional work around progressive education. Lucas forever changed who I am as a mother, a woman, a colleague, an educator.

As a child, my second born exhibited the same strength and independence his older sister did, and yet, Lucas was and still is so incredibly different. His innate curiosity in how things work and his willingness to make mistakes enamored me and often caught me off guard. One summer afternoon, as I walked passed his bedroom, I found my five-year-old son with his door knob completely dismantled from the door and spread out on his floor. When I asked him what he was doing, he glanced up and said non-chalantly, “I wanted to see how it works.” How can a mother argue with that?

However, Lucas’ gregarious personality – desire for fun – his carefree spirit distracted me from thinking about the depth of his passions and interests. I marveled at how effortlessly he made earning good grades and performing well as an athlete at our small rural school, but I worried that he was not developing a solid work ethic. Honestly, I thought I was an expert at adolescents; after all, my entire teaching career has been working alongside young adults at the secondary or post-secondary levels. And I have never been more wrong.

Lucas chose to attend a university with a reputation for excellent academics, alumni involvement, active social life with the majority of students in Greek life, and quite a bit of swagger. In retrospect, I wonder why I questioned my son’s ability to do well in that environment. Perhaps Lucas’ own teachers’ opinions had swayed me from recognizing his drive – his desires – his goals. For thirteen yeasr, every teacher conference would include statements like “Your son has so much potential, but he likes to talk or he is distracted” or “He has natural talent, but he doesn’t like the rules.”

Each semester, as Lucas earned impressive grades, made the dean’s list, and made his way through his studies in computer science and economics, I realized that our schools had failed to meet Lucas’ needs. They had tried to fit my free-thinking, inquisitive, risk-taking child into their rows of desks and worksheets. He had played the game of school well enough to graduate at the top of his class, but his intellect and inquisitive nature had not been fed. He had not been allowed to investigate big questions that perhaps have no answer. He had not had the opportunity to explore how things work or why humans respond the way they do to others.

The greatest lesson I have learned in the school of parenthood has seriously altered the way I think about teaching and about preparing the next generation of teachers. Lucas taught me that the best thing we can do for children and young adults is foster their sense of curiosity. As adults, we have to listen to them – to empower them – to give them the opportunities to struggle, fail, and try again – to get out of their way.

Silence of Compliance

Quietly, ever so quietly, walk single file down the hall.  Don’t marvel at the colorful artwork on the walls.  Put your hands behind your back, and please, do not get excited by the electricity of the other 8-year-olds standing near you.  Do not give in to the desire to be silly – to smile brightly – to ask the question tickling your tongue.  Put a bubble in your mouth, and maintain level zero.  Absolute silence, demands the gentle teacher, the one you’ve been asked to trust – the one with the gentle voice – the one who taught you how to unlock the magic of letters and words.  And so, you bite your tongue and choke back the questions about the posters on the walls – or the poem hanging outside the library door, or the maintenance happening on the water fountain.  You lock your eyes on the back of the head just in front of you, and you do as you are asked.  You walk silently down the hallway.

Regardless of their backgrounds, children enter schools with decades-long, well-constructed parameters or rules for acceptable behavior.  Children, sometimes still sucking their thumbs and needing naps, quickly learn to abide by these deeply rules.  If they desire to please the adults with whom they spend six – seven hours with every day, they become fluent in the language of compliance.  From their first introduction to school, children learn the importance of rules – of not rocking the boat – of maintaining the status quo.  As long as they do their work, sit quietly in their seats, raise their hands and wait to be acknowledged, they find success; their “good” behavior is affirmed time and time again.  They learn not to question authority, for if they do – even for a good cause – they face consequences – they are branded with a label that follows them from grade-level to grade-level.

Is it any wonder, then, that so many people find themselves silent, even when the burgeoning sound of revolution pounds at their doors?  To speak out, even when they are sickened by the systemic shackles placed on their friends, elicits the shame they felt early in childhood  when they chose to follow their childlike instinct and  laughed out loud – swayed back and forth while standing in line – or whispered excitedly to a friend.  From the earliest moments in most American schools, children are indoctrinated into compliance.  As institutions, schools silences children and demand they not question authority; after all, the rules have always been in place, and after all, the rules are there to protect children.

This country is screaming – begging – urging- even shaming its people to find their voices – to rock the boat – to say loudly to those who create the systems “enough is enough.”  And they are.  Despite the childhood immersion into silent compliance, young Americans are finding the courage to use their voices.  Many are still caught in the grips of knowing their voice matter and the years of conditioning to comply.  Challenging their parents’ beliefs – or questioning their friend’s racist nuances – or asking institutions why they have antiquated policies – takes courage – takes a deep sense of self.

Is it any wonder, then, that it is time to nurture the inquisitive, excited, collaborative nature of children – to teach them the joys of discussion – the benefit of asking why?  If schools desire to fully educate critically thinking citizen who will shatter and reconstruct systems, then they must begin with a close inspection of their own practices – of their own immersion into compliance. Now is not the time for level zero.  Now is not the time for silence and straight lines.  Now is not the time to wait for the nod of the teacher’s head before uniformly stepping forward through the hall.  Now is the time for action.  Now is the time for hard questions.  Now is the time for voice.