Letting Your Kid Fly Their Freak Flag

4th Grade was a tough year for me. Seriously. Sadly, it started out as THE BEST YEAR EVER! I went to catholic school and for those of you who have attended a fine parochial institution you know that any year you get a “lay teacher” (meaning not a nun) you felt pretty darned lucky. My fourth grade teacher was not only a lay teacher but a pretty, young, non-nun teacher. And as a nine-year-old-girl that was pretty awesome. Her name was Miss O’Sullivan and I worshipped her. She was everything I wanted to be when I grew up: smart, pretty, and kind. So when she betrayed me it pretty much was like daggers to my tender little heart.

I always a bit of a smarty pants. I liked being smart, knowing the answer, and wasn’t afraid to show off. Needless to say my grades were always exceptional. Until my first semester of fourth grade report card rolled in and I was totally bewildered and crushed when I was given straight C’s. My parents were distraught for me and had a meeting with Miss O’Sullivan. They discovered that Miss O’Sullivan didn’t think it was appropriate for me to be such a know-it-all. She felt that I raised my hand too much, called out the answer one too many times, and intimidated the other children. The C’s were her attempt to humble me.

The saddest thing is that not only was my nine-year-old self crushed to learn that in order to be liked by the people I liked I needed to dumb myself down, but I didn’t abandon that faulty logic until much later in my adult life. I can tell you that I never cared about grades again. I graduated from college with honors and never even knew it until I saw my transcript when applying to law school years later. I actually had to call the administration office of my former university to ask if my transcript was correct and if I had truly graduated with honors. After a long pause on the other line the woman confirmed I indeed had. I’m certain she was thinking, “Surprisingly, even a dumbass like you could graduate with honors.” I know that even today as a grown forty-year-old woman I consciously and unconsciously soften my aggressive know-it-all character.

So when my son (whom, I affectionately call the Evil Genius) came home with a beginning of the school year getting-to-know-you questionnaire from his fourth-grade-teacher with the answer to the “Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?” question being “I’m a genius at math.” I cringed. I laughed but mostly I cringed. Then I fought back my urge to tell him to be more humble – to tell him that no one likes a know-it-all.

Then two days later he surprised my when I picked him up from soccer by telling me that he had run for class president and won with (and I am quoting here folks) “a strategy I stole from a girl in my class last year. She brought everyone chocolate chip cookies and they made her president so I made dad buy cookies for me yesterday. That’s called strategy, mom.” And while I was proud of my Evil Genius, this little voice in my head immediately sent up warning flags that he’s being too assertive, too pushy and kids aren’t going to like him.

Then I thought screw it. So what if he has no friends? Isn’t it more important that he like himself? As a mom my most important job is to recognize what my children’s natural strengths are and encourage them to embrace them. Your son might like to wear dresses and accessorize, your daughter might want to play tackle football, my son has a future in world domination so what? Let’s let them be who they are – the best version of themselves, according to themselves!

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