Failing successfully!

Photo Credit: S.E.

Photo Credit: S.E.

I saw a family the other week, two boys stuffing bags in the trunk of a black car while the father–in suit, briefcase, two phones, and tie–bid them goodbye.

“Did you remember everything?” the mom called from the driver’s seat, “we can’t come back for it all the way from the rink.” The boys nodded in unison. “Then get in the car and let’s get moving,” the mother urged. “I don’t want to hit traffic!”

The dad patted the older boy on the shoulder and the fleece-hatted head of the younger one. “Remember boys …” he paused to look at his children–one about 12, the other a bit younger, maybe 10–“Don’t be failures!”

“We won’t dad!” the boys chanted back and clambered into the backseat.

It startled me, that last exchange. What kind of a thing to say is that? How can these kids be “Be Failures” anyway? Does having a bad practice, missing a puck, doing badly on a test, even being chosen last for a team–equate with being “A Thing That Fails?” How much failure does one have to accumulate to acquire the definition of “A Failure”? Can it even be attributed to a child, who is by definition still learning how to succeed and as part of that process, must sometimes–in fact, very often–fail? Do we not all of us fail, repeatedly, through life, as we try new things, reach too far too soon, make bad choices, fall into cracks in life’s pavement, trip over our own egos, forget to listen to our instincts, or even just need to hone a skill that’s rusty or nascent and needs more failure to become a Thing That Thrives?

That father seemed kind, even affectionate. I believe he meant to motivate his son. He was upbeat, casual, every-day’ish, and likely unaware that his choice of words made an event–the result of many factors where at least some may be outside of one’s control–into a definition of self-worth.

How can losing, even failing–become BEING the failure? Learning is impossible without experiencing failure. If we define failure as something that is an attribute of WHO we are, how can we expect to move ahead, to try again, to think anew, to hold a hope, to find a path, to dissect a result we did not wish for so we can find what we may do differently the second, third or hundredth’s time around?

Theodore Roosevelt said: ““It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.”

The operative word here, in my view, is “to have tried.” Success is not guaranteed. At least not what some may see as success, for is not small progress–a lesson learned, an understanding achieved–also success? Philosophy aside, while success may not be guaranteed, failure, of course is. We all fail. We have to. We don’t know what we don’t know. We are not good at what we did not practice yet. We cannot solve problems we have not found the cause or weak spot of. We cannot change course without an obstacle, a shift, a fault line, a blocked path. Experiencing failure is inevitable. It is a crucial part of growing up and it is an ongoing part of life throughout.

To “Be A Failure”, however,  is not inevitable. Not even with much failure. A Failure is something one is made to become. It is a belief, rather than a result. It is a cementing of a view of oneself as “The One Who Fails” and as such by definition not “The One Who Succeeds.”

That dad said: “Don’t be Failures.” Maybe he meant: “Win the game.” I would like to believe he meant: “Learn well. Practice hard. Be focused. Play well. Do your best, every time. Have fun.”

People fail. Often. Children fail. All the time. None of it makes them Failures. Words matter. Words have power. How we use them gives them power. Unlike success, which is ever possible, being a Failure is doomed to fail.

What defines success? A gold medal, surely. We all know that. But does a Silver count? Does it have to be the Olympics? What about coming in fifth after giving it your all or getting in last on a task you trained hard to even complete? How about finally learning to tie your shoelaces so they stay tied more times than not, or getting a 70 on a test in a subject where you previous only managed 62, or reading a book with less help or doing your homework with less mistakes or doing your homework, period, when it feels too hard?

Success does not mean being first, or strongest, richest, smartest, tallest, least-caught-in-bending-the-rules, or most-able-to-get-away-with-what-others-can’t. Success is every time we fail a little less. Every time we meet a challenge and hold determination that we can attempt it one more time and have it be different if only for the fact that it is the fiftieth attempt and not the forty-ninth and we’re still working at it. Success also means changing course, letting go, realizing that one’s passion may not be where one thought success was to be defined. Success means being honest about our abilities, being happy with others’ about theirs, enjoying or at least finding meaning in the process, managing our failures without guilt or shame. To succeed is to look at failure and learn from it. It is to try again, or differently, or figure out what and who we need to help us where we may require aid.

As Winston Churchill’s said: “Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.”

May there be–for you and for the children in your life, especially–no lack of enthusiasm as you stumble, joyfully, into cumulative success.

Your child hates books. Now what?

Photo Credit: S.L.

Photo Credit: S.L.

Many of the kids I see do not like reading. They find reading hard. They find it challenging. The words are too new or too many or too complicated. The letters transpose and the spelling’s tricky. They don’t like answering questions. Summaries give them stomach aches and rashes. They choose books not by topic but by least page number, thinnest spine, biggest font, and most page-gobbling illustrations. They become experts as word-counting and can pick the shortest paragraph in a glance. They often complain that they hate all books. That no genre speaks to them. For them, reading equals schoolwork, books are naught but tedious demand, and stories are equated with comprehension tests and loathsome reading responses.

Granted, the children who require Speech Therapy are often predisposed to some difficulty. They struggle with language/learning issues, they may have dyslexia, dysgraphia, learning disorders, language delay, word retrieval issues, auditory processing problems, hearing loss, attention deficit, difficulties with identifying, understanding and responding to social demands.

It would make sense that they would not like reading, concentrating as it often does all of those needed skills into a neatly typed package of condensed language. It would make sense that books would feel intimidating, crowded with small-font letters, complicated words and confusing expressions and metaphors.

All true. Yet truth remains that many children who are not language/learning disabled hate books. Maybe your child does, too. Maybe you have tried cajoling, bribing, promising, charting, stars, stickers, brownie points … and they still prefer cod liver oil to reading. Don’t despair–it does not have to be this way.

We can change that. You can change that. Here’s how:

All too often we confuse books and stories with reading. Teachers and parents clump together the child’s reading level with their interest level and language level, though those are not always compatible. Also, we stop reading TO the children and ask them to read aloud to us instead. It is good practice, we are told, we believe. It “counts” toward the 20-minutes-a-day requirement from school and catches two birds with one stone–story time and reading homework. Done. In addition, it makes us feel good to “keep tabs” on the child’s progress, and unwittingly, we make every page a test of skill, every story a piece of work. When the child resists, some parents are told to strike a compromise: “take turns reading,” they are told. It makes the book move faster, yes. It also pulls the child out of whatever listening and imagining the story they might otherwise manage, and thrusts them into the arduous task of deciphering and vocalizing. No wonder they become masters of paragraph word counting.

Children’s reading level may be far below that of the language they should and can enjoy listening to. This is true not only in First Grade, but through the elementary and middle school years. Focus on reading at the child’s reading level only, and the child is bored. Focus on reading age-appropriate books only, and the child is constantly failing to keep up as she struggles to decipher, loses track, loses interest, sees books as “too hard!”

Reading is a world onto itself. It is a skill, but also a place for wandering in a dream and conjuring up pictures from a story. It is where the association between book and pleasure can come in.

Have a child who is reading reluctant? First and foremost, divorce the reading task from the world of stories. Take upon yourself to read TO the child. Find a childhood book you loved or a story that is of interest for the child (and no, you don’t have to start with David Copperfield, the Iliad, or Huckleberry Finn…). Read it to them. This is for pleasure. Not for tallying pages for a log or counting down the minutes for homework. Not for testing, either. No demands from the child but to relax and listen. No turn taking. No asking questions to reassure yourself how much the child understood. No queries about vocabulary words you “think the child should know” unless the child stops you to ask. Let the child absorb whatever their heart lets in, even if they daydreamed half-way into the story–there is no test at the end of this one, no requirement to keep on track. You, too, relax into the book with them and read awhile. You are not wasting time but investing in the child’s internal imagery and listening. You are building book-love.

Stop before the child tires of listening. Even better, leave the reading at a cliff-hanger till the next evening. It works for TV episodes and a good mystery. It works for children, too. It gives a taste of ‘more’.

For the child’s own reading–offer books that are almost too easy but not quite. Don’t over-reach. Don’t urge them to “try something harder for a change”–one or two words that are difficult to read in every page are more than enough. Don’t push them to read “this book because I have read this and loved it when I was your age.” Don’t urge on them the book another child in class “already read a year ago.” Reading is not about just getting through the page. It is not about struggling so much to read each sentence that you must re-read it to know what it meant. Reading is about success and flow, words that string together into sentences with little effort and almost no breaks. More than the story itself, you want the child to have a sense of mastery over reading. A sense that they can read and are not exhausted by it. Make it fun. Be enthusiastic but not cloying (children have a super sensitive bull-detector for such stuff, as you know).

Keep at it. Especially keep at reading TO the child. Children who are read to through 8th Grade have bigger and more flexible vocabularies than children who are not being read to. Reading to children fosters richer imaginations and creativity. It helps with predicting and inferences, at understanding nuance, satire, metaphor, and humor. All that said–remember–the stories you read TO the child are not a platform for testing them for knowledge or comprehension. After all, when you pick up a bestseller or a favorite novel, you don’t have to write a narrative about it later … you are not made to answer formal questions about vocabulary, who did what to whom when why or where, or to find examples of simile and metaphor …

Keep at it. Soon enough you’d find yourself leaving the book (cliff hanger dangling) someplace within the child’s reach, and catch a little nose stuck in it when you aren’t looking. An insider’s hint: this works even better with a flashlight within reach and a off-handed story about how your aunt or uncle or second-cousin got into trouble reading under the covers after lights were officially to be out …

Have fun, and may the reading fairies smile.

No way Mammal!

A girl, learning about Mongolia, coming across a fact about the “Horse People” drinking horse milk.
Girl: “No way! Horses don’t have milk!”
Me: “Actually, they do. They are mammals, and all mammals have milk for their young.”
Girl (eyeing me suspiciously): “Na-ah, only cows and goats have milk.”
Me: “The milk that we drink and use indeed comes from cows and goats and sheep, but all mammals have milk for their babies. Including horses.”
The girl, incredulous and rather alarmed. “No way! You are just saying this to trick me”
Me: “Nope. Not tricking you.”
Girl:”Yes you are, only cows have milk. And goats and stuff. Not horses. What are you going to say next, that zebras have milk, too?”
Me (smiling): “Yep, they do. And lions, and hippos, and giraffes, and mice…”
Girl (adamant): “Stop it! Mice are way to small to be mammals…”

And so it went. On whales, and elephants, bats and rabbits, gorillas and dogs (“No way!”)
She demanded an internet search to prove I was not pulling her leg but then refused to believe that, either.

We went back to animal groupings. Bird, Reptiles, Mammals…

After a while of this, glee rose in her eyes. She was sure she finally found the loophole to absolutely prove me wrong.
“So,” she said, victorious, “if you say that mammals have hair or fur and have teeth and have live babies and all that, then I KNOW you are wrong because then you’d have to tell me that we’re mammals, too!”

(imagination point for my reply and her resulting exclamation…)
🙂

Photo credit to I.A.

Photo credit to I.A.

The Wonder of Wondering

A mom of a client tried to find a day to reschedule a session that they were going to miss next week. She could not find ‘an opening’ in her five-year-old’s schedule in the next SEVERAL weeks.
“We may have more time in March,” she murmured, peering at her iPhone screen. “No, actually, that’s when his sports club changes, so I don’t know if he’ll have time then.”

Aside from speech-therapy, which he needed because of a small deformity in his mouth which affected the clarity of his speech; this five-year-old had baseball, soccer, drama, piano, chess, guitar lessons, and tutoring (for kindergarten preparation–the latest hit in urban upper class–this mom is actually behind the curve because she ‘only’ started him at age three, and not earlier…). He also had two playdates scheduled–in the several weeks ahead, there was no time for more–one to take place at a museum and the other at a movie theater followed by a pizza place.
Al of those were activities to fit after his preschool was done at 2pm each day or on weekends. Sunday was especially busy, apparently, with double tutoring, so he “not fall behind on no school days.”

“When does he play?” I wondered aloud.

The mom looked mildly surprised at the question. “Oh, he plays a lot. He plays soccer, baseball, chess…”

I smiled. “I meant when does he have time for unstructured play, to just be in his room with his toys and use his imagination and daydream and make up stories for himself?”

The mom nodded dismissively, “Oh, yeah, I know that’s good for his development, but he’s just too busy right now. He does read, though. He’s up to level 2 now. Every night he has to read his words before he goes to sleep.”

UGH.

The wonderful power of wondering was completely lost on the mother, swept up as she was in the rush of demands an requirements, competition, check-marks, and achievement.

It made me wonder, too, about whether she herself knew how to just be, if she still remembered how to play.

Do you?

Do you set aside time for musing and refilling your tank of creativity and playfulness?

How much time does your child have for play? Does he lose himself in fantasy, imagination, and the wonder of wondering?

It is the job of childhood to be at play. To invent, experiment, inquire, speculate, dream with eyes wide open, animate toys, get slightly bored and think of nothing and everything, walk slowly outside and collect pieces of leaves, paper, dirt. It is the job of childhood to socialize, assign roles in joined mimicking of adult-roles and fantastic stories, negotiate with peers and make your own rules, unencumbered by adults who demand you follow the ‘rules-of-the-game’ instead.

Surely there is time a child should spend in listening, following directions, and learning. There is room for rules and consequences, routines and chores. However, losing the balance between adult-led and child-inspired, tilts childhood off its axis. How can a child who does not have the time to breathe and get a little bored, learn how to entertain himself, day-dream, imagine, be truly creative, be a child, play?

When is the last time you deeply reconnected with wonder? If you cannot say, then it is time to stop, watch a child getting lost in a bubble, let them be, and find your own path to some play.

Photo Credit to S.E.

Photo Credit to S.E.