It's not intentional, really. We want to believe it's true when we say that they can be and do anything they want when they grow up. We want to believe that there's some relationship between that idea, and the need for them to perform throughout their teen years as if their lives depended on it.
We want to believe that there is no conflict between our urging them to "Follow your dreams!" morphing suddenly and abruptly into "What are you going to major in?" and "How are you going to support yourself for the rest of your life doing that?"
We tell them to do all the "right" things because we don't know what else to tell them, and we can't bear to tell them nothing. Or to let them fail. Or to let them veer from the prototypical success model-who knows where that might lead?
Maybe, just maybe, it will lead them slowly, and with some requisite turbulence, to themselves.
So if we really want to help our teen and young adult children, I'm thinking we should stop telling them that who they are is a series of grades and tests scores and titles and victories that must be accrued in a deliberate time and sequence-or else-and we should start telling them the truth, which, when you step back, I believe, looks something like this:
Between the ages of 15 and 25-give or take-you're going to want to learn some things, for example:
 What you like to do, and what you're good at, and if those are the same things
 What kind of people make you happy and what kind of people seem happy to be around you
 What it feels like to love another person and the delirious grace that comes from being loved back
 Whether or not sex is going to become a defining factor in your life
 How to dig yourself out of a hole
 How to throw yourself into an idea that is bigger than yourself and seeing what happens
 How to cook a meal, do your laundry, clean your bathroom, and live with roommates
 How to look someone in the eye when you shake their hand
 What it feels like to earn a paycheck and then pay for something with money you earned
 Whether or not you can make enough money doing the things you like and are good at to live the way you want to live
 Or if money is more important to you than spending your time doing things you like or love and what that choice will cost you down the road (this usually has to be learned later)
 You'll want to know what you believe in about Big Questions like God, and compassion, and why there's evil in the world, and if you think you're contributing to it, and how you feel about that
 You'll want to know how to learn new things-some of your choosing, some not
 You'll have to decide if your word will be your bond
 And to recognize those whose word is not
 It's hard to build a good life on a wobbly foundation so you're going to want to develop some confidence-if you're lacking in that area-or some humility, if you're not
 Do you know what makes you feel confident yet?
 Do you know how to express your thoughts and feelings?
 Do you know what you were put on this Earth to be and do?
Our kids will learn these things, and others, in no particular order, and often multiple times. No one will give them a certificate or a grade or a degree or a prize for them. But when they feel they've got a handle on most of these, they'll be ready to have a really nice life. Let's remember to tell them that sometimes.
Written by Heather Choate Davis
Nobody said raising kids was easy, and if they did, they weren't too bright. Do you have any time- and experience-tested truths you can add to the above list?
You can let us know by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Growing up White in America
"This teenager was arrested for not giving up her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama ..." The emcee at the Dr. Martin Luther King workshop paused his cadence to let the audience think of an answer. I missed the teenager clue and mentally filled in the blank with Rosa Parks, when he continued into the microphone, "...nine months before Rosa Parks."
My smug smile washed away. In my mind, Rosa Parks was an anomaly, not part of a bigger movement. A young African-American man shouted behind me and interrupted my thoughts, "Claudette Colvin!"
The crowd congratulated the young man's answer, and the emcee continued with the next quiz question, but I didn't hear it. I was lost in my own internal dialogue, weighing the newly-exposed depth of my Whiteness. Growing up White in America meant I knew relatively few names from Black history. What's more, referring to it as "Black history" is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of the history I learned is implicitly another color:
Mine.
But growing up White in America was an education that extended far beyond the classroom.
Growing up White in America meant the way I spoke at the dinner table was the same dialect I used in the classroom. I never had to learn how to code-switch if I wanted to ascend through school or business. The pastor at my church and the news anchor on TV interpreted reality for me with the same tongue I used.
Growing up White in America meant I went on road trips in college without fearing how I would be treated at a small-town gas station. The language of a green book never echoed in my car.
Growing up White in America meant I was startled when a room wasn't a White majority. Conversations with the description, "we were the only White people there" was code for dangerous. Or poor. Or uneducated. And when I was a minority in one of those dangerous hospital waiting rooms, I knew it was only temporary. The story would resolve when I returned to the safe, prosperous place which happened to be dominated by my skin color.
Growing up White in America meant I could go through my day without thinking about my race. I could wake up, drive, shop, eat, study, watch TV, and sleep without ever being reminded that I was different than the world around me. Band-Aids were always my skin type; hotel shampoos were always my hair type; food aisles were always my food type.
Growing up White in America meant that I could walk in public with four of my fellow teenaged friends without judgment. Store clerks rarely watched us judiciously. Women never switched their purse to their other arm when we walked by. Fathers never shuffled their children to stand behind them when we were close.
Growing up White in America meant that I looked like those in positions of highest influence. Scientists were overwhelmingly White like me. So were programmers. And doctors and lawyers and CEOs. White-collar professionals (pun intended) were disproportionately White like me.
I was on Mount Rushmore, not their slave ships. I was on my currency, not their auction blocks. I was on the cover of comic books, not their mug shot tabloids. I conquered. I legislated. I enforced.
Learning about Claudette Colvin didn't erase my history, nor was it redeemed. But I did grow in awareness, which is a much better meaning of growing up White in America.
Written by Chris Paavola
You can let us know what you think of this blog by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
My smug smile washed away. In my mind, Rosa Parks was an anomaly, not part of a bigger movement. A young African-American man shouted behind me and interrupted my thoughts, "Claudette Colvin!"
The crowd congratulated the young man's answer, and the emcee continued with the next quiz question, but I didn't hear it. I was lost in my own internal dialogue, weighing the newly-exposed depth of my Whiteness. Growing up White in America meant I knew relatively few names from Black history. What's more, referring to it as "Black history" is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of the history I learned is implicitly another color:
Mine.
But growing up White in America was an education that extended far beyond the classroom.
Growing up White in America meant the way I spoke at the dinner table was the same dialect I used in the classroom. I never had to learn how to code-switch if I wanted to ascend through school or business. The pastor at my church and the news anchor on TV interpreted reality for me with the same tongue I used.
Growing up White in America meant I went on road trips in college without fearing how I would be treated at a small-town gas station. The language of a green book never echoed in my car.
Growing up White in America meant I was startled when a room wasn't a White majority. Conversations with the description, "we were the only White people there" was code for dangerous. Or poor. Or uneducated. And when I was a minority in one of those dangerous hospital waiting rooms, I knew it was only temporary. The story would resolve when I returned to the safe, prosperous place which happened to be dominated by my skin color.
Growing up White in America meant I could go through my day without thinking about my race. I could wake up, drive, shop, eat, study, watch TV, and sleep without ever being reminded that I was different than the world around me. Band-Aids were always my skin type; hotel shampoos were always my hair type; food aisles were always my food type.
Growing up White in America meant that I could walk in public with four of my fellow teenaged friends without judgment. Store clerks rarely watched us judiciously. Women never switched their purse to their other arm when we walked by. Fathers never shuffled their children to stand behind them when we were close.
Growing up White in America meant that I looked like those in positions of highest influence. Scientists were overwhelmingly White like me. So were programmers. And doctors and lawyers and CEOs. White-collar professionals (pun intended) were disproportionately White like me.
I was on Mount Rushmore, not their slave ships. I was on my currency, not their auction blocks. I was on the cover of comic books, not their mug shot tabloids. I conquered. I legislated. I enforced.
Learning about Claudette Colvin didn't erase my history, nor was it redeemed. But I did grow in awareness, which is a much better meaning of growing up White in America.
Written by Chris Paavola
You can let us know what you think of this blog by clicking here and leaving a comment.
You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.
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