Mommy’s Groove

You can see it in their eyes, the kids who have a sense of self and a sense of purpose. They are the ones who never fall between the cracks, they fit in where they shine and enjoy a comfortable social life. How do they get that way?

I was not one of those kids. From grade 1, I remember being set apart for my difficulty learning to read. My summer homework before grade 2 was to learn to read at the same level as the other kids, and so out came the Dick and Jane readers at the cottage. By grade 3 I was already terrified by Art class — utterly certain that I could not imagine anything — I would freeze when the fear-inducing subject began in the afternoon. Then in grade 5, my Mom gently asked me to stop taking her business messages off the answering machine because I consistently made errors in the phone numbers. When I hit 11 years in grade 6, I understood that I was a social bottom feeder — I knew that my teacher Mr. Manor was making special efforts to help me learn French and to fit in. But nothing seemed to help.

Now outside of school, you might not have recognized me as a kid who was unstamped, unless you looked closely. Starting when I was 10, I participated happily in various church and community choirs, and I loved the singing. I had friends who did too. Later on, I went to a community theatre for acting lessons where I thrived — memorizing lines and learning improv. When I was 11, I was in the local paper for my endurance swimming. That was the first time I remember being recognized for something that I was truly good at. I remember my mother breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, these passions did not translate easily to my classroom world and I was left to sort through things on my own.

I did sort through too. I learned early to listen to myself reading, and when I got a word wrong, I was usually able to quickly surmise what the correct word would be, making it sound like I had just slipped up. But I wasn’t really reading the words correctly — I was just smart enough to fix the problem so I could continue under the radar. No one caught it.

I could shrug off my unimaginative artwork saying that I wasn’t as good as so-and-so. No one noticed the disappointment in my eyes when it was not my work that was used as a good example to follow. I learned young to avoid any art projects because I was convinced that I would never be any good — painting, drawing, sculpting, costume or jewelery design, building or multi-media works — were all doomed for me. 

I sorted through my numbers by getting the aid of tutors as I got older, but no one identified that I wasn’t certain about the numbers themselves - I transposed them regularly making it difficult to nail down their value. When math got more complicated, it was hard to find my way through, so I mustered a passing grade and assumed that math wasn’t my thing either.  

I remember from grade school, one family friend calling me the Happy Calm — I loved that nickname because I was always happy to see Randall and bask in his loving attention. But now I hear the Clam, more than the Happy and wonder if Randall was seeing me for the sad, calmed-up little person I was. My single Mom was working hard to build a life of her own and to support her three children. That meant that lunches were generally spent at school, pining in the school yard for friends to return, and after-school activities were self-driven. My brothers seemed to me to fall more easily into their stride, but I needed more when there was less to go around. I remember those days drifting, waiting to be caught in the net of belonging where I would be able to shine.

Now I watch my brother, also a single father, sit with his two young kids at the table, pouring over drawings, colouring, play-dough sculptures or getting into monopoly. He gets in behind the eyes of his son complimenting him on his artistry or encouraging him to teach the younger cousins what he knows. Carter has someone sitting at his level watching him, holding up a proverbial mirror to him and offering him opportunities to find what makes his heart sing. He is finding himself.

I listen carefully to what my daughter tells me she wants to do and why. She’s tried gymnastics, ballet, arts and crafts, piano/music, sportball, swimming, drama, skiing and played with French. She is confident about her place in the world and her ability to try and achieve at any activity. I see my role as a guide for her learning about herself and the world. I want to be the mirror to her soul — naming her feelings, pointing out her strengths and soft spots, reflecting her thought processes, and revealing her spirit.

My sense is that I have the best shot at doing that until the magic age of 7 — before which she is open to parenting without filters, after which she is moving into the world with her sense of self established. I am on a mission to make sure she’s “stamped” with her self confidence and awareness of what she loves so that she will shine brightly. She will not be good at everything, but at least she will give everything she tries a fair shake and a second chance if warrented. Listening with my heart, processing with my reason and sharing my faith are my old stand-bys in this high stakes game.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 12th, 2007 at 10:56 am and is filed under Mothering. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.