No, it’s not even one of my books. And no, I’m not getting money for saying this. (I can’t quite figure out those affiliate programs with Amazon or Chapters…)

 

I started to read the book yesterday. It was sort of an impulse purchase while I was perusing the local Chapters to find myself a present (for myself) for finishing my book. It practically screamed at me from the shelf, “Pick me! Pick me!”

Army Boy will be going into grade two in September. Like any other parent, I had these wonderful visions for his school years. Oh how he’d love to write stories with me, do homework at the kitchen table, enjoy the learning environment… oh, wait, that was me you say? And my son is not me? Gee. How did that happen?

Let’s just say that his first couple of years in school have not been very much fun. (School is not supposed to be fun, you say, I disagree.) He has experienced some… friction … in the classroom. Last year he had two teachers and I won’t go into too many specifics but there was one who was simply amazing and another who was new (and didn’t have children of her own, which the other one did). The new teacher was his main teacher and she said things like “Army Boy needs to learn to be more organized”, “Army Boy needs to work on his organizational skills”, “Army Boy is disruptive during quiet times”.

When it came to a head this spring I asked her, “Please, tell me his strengths. Tell me what he is good at.”

I recieved no answer. None at all. Not even an acknowledgment.

Instead of being angry (which was a very viable option, I am a redhead afterall), I was sad. Very sad. How can a child go through several months of school with a teacher and that teacher not have one thing to say about what he’s good at.

I know what he’s good at:

• He’s empathetic
• He has high verbal skills
• He is thoughtful
• He is creative
• He thinks ten steps ahead
• He works hard at making the right choices
• He runs fast and has great hand/eye coordination
• He expresses emotion

Then there are things he does not do well, but I don’t bother to list them because there is no point. Yes, you heard me, there is no point to listing deficiencies.

As a society we want to fix things. We want standardized regulations for everything so that we can evaluate, correct flaws and errors and make things right. This works well with building codes, laws, regulations, government and banking.

This does not work well with people.

 The author, Jenifer Fox, has some strong opinions on how our school system is structured: focusing on weakness rather than strength, standardized testing, diagnosing learning disabilities vs difficulties, medication and a host of other topics. Although she’s American and writes about the American school system, we in Canada should pay attention. We are not that much different. We are still teaching in the same way we were fifty years ago.

So she developed something called The Strengths Movement. She defines it this way: ”At its core, the Strengths Movement is a social movement intended to change how we view ourselves, our children and our world. We have all been conditioned to see weaknesses and mine for deficits. This movement seeks to change that perspective and then apply the positive strengths perspective to our families and our schools.”

As I’ve read the book I’ve been moved to tears several times. Sometimes it’s because I remember the things I went through in school — the frustration with math class, the rebellion in science class, the embarassment in gym. And sometimes it’s because I see what has happened in my son’s academic experience already, mainly the focus on his weakness.

But mostly I find myself so motivated by the book, so inspired and filled with hope that I want to jump up and shout from the rooftops to every parent: READ THIS BOOK. Hold yourself, society and the education system accountable for enriching the lives of your children, for awakening their passions and lighting the flame of learning in them. Don’t spend your time cataloging the deficiencies with your child when there is so much more inside of them.

There was one quote in the book that hit me like a ton of clay bricks:

Children are born as individuals. If we fail to see that, if we see them as clay to be molded in any shape we like, the tougher ones will fight back and end up spiteful and wild, while the less strong will lose that uniqueness they were born with. ~ Melvin Konner.

How many times have I looked on my kids as clay to be formed, as blank slates to be filled? In fact, their clay is already formed. Their slate is chock full. It’s up to us to help them scrape away the vernix and find their solid bits. We cannot view them as structures with weaknesses that need to be shored up, they are not bridges and buildings. They are not blobs of clay to be formed into useful things.

Reading this book has changed me as a parent. As a person, as a boss at work, as a wife. I’m going to recondition myself. I’m going to see strength where I’ve seen weakness. I’m going to value and celebrate that, even if it is against the norm. Even if it’s unpopular. Even if no one else is doing it.

PTA/School Council tonight (first meeting I’ve been to, but I digress…) and as I was leaving I spied some teens PEEING on the side of the school. Oh no Mr. Little Men, not on MY school.

So I went in and got my peeps (aka, the rest of the PTA ladies) and we laid the smackdown on the kids. Ok, really we just told them to get the heck outta dodge and we were calling the board of ed security… and maybe the cops. Since they were parked on school property.

There was much laughter amongst us as we contemplated giving them all spankings, keying their cars or letting the sharp-tongued principal tackle them in her high heels… but in the end there was much ado about nothing since we all just wanted to go home I think.

But it was nice to be in a group of mama bears.

My son goes to before and after school care at the local rec centre. It has a pool, gym, play areas. He likes it. Twenty minutes before school starts, they load him and his classmates up on the bus and send him to school. He particularly likes it because he likes to ride the bus.

I guess a few weeks ago, he missed the bus. I don’t know how this happens because he’s there, they get the kids on the bus. Either they forgot about him, he was in the bathroom or the missed him - and he missed the bus. He’s on the last bus, so when it comes, all the kids left need to get on the bus.

He says to me today, “The other day I missed the bus and I went to school in Sandi’s red car.”

I guess the lady in charge of B&A care drove him to school.

“Did you have a booster seat?” I asked. And I ask this because he’s not the biggest kid. In fact, he’s small. Wee even. Short, not yet 40 lbs and he still rides in a five-point harness in my truck.

“No.”

I’ll admit. I saw red. How dare she take my child in a vehicle when he’s not properly buckled in!? He said it was a shoulder belt and I immediately had visions of him in a front seat with an airbag poised to take his head off when it deploys.

I’m mad. I’m mad because she should have just called, or had the bus take him later.

I know the bus has no seatbelts… but I was a bus driver for two years and kids are safer in a bus with no seatbelts than they are unproperly restrained in a car.

My immediate reaction is to call her and yell. Ok, that’s not a great idea.

Other reactions are to pull him out of B&A care next year and go with the set-up they have at school because it’s easier and there are no buses. Or to call her boss and explain my concern and explain why what she did was dangerous. Can you imagine the lawsuit if a child was injured or killed while being driven to school improperly restrained by someone who wasn’t supposed to be driving him in the first place?

What would you do?

Just like almost every other mother I know, I had ideas about what kind of mother I’d be… someday. It was easy to imagine myself volunteering at the PTA or in my son’s classroom. I’d be the mom who went on field trips and helped run the book sale. But as I held this daydream in my mind, my son was just learning to crawl and the PTA meetings were simply Things I’d Get To In Time.

Now he’s in Grade One, so this is our second year of school. I haven’t stepped foot inside the PTA; I haven’t made it to a field trip yet; and most of my visits are when the principal wants to have a little chat with me.

For the first little while, I thought I was totally flunking out of Good Mom School. I had lots of excuses. My daughter was three weeks old when my son started Kindergarten, we’d just moved into a new house. I had a book to write. Then I went back to work after maternity leave. Then I got a promotion. There just hasn’t been time.

And there was something else.

There were other moms there. Other moms who willingly stepped up to the plate. Other moms who had known each other since their kids were in preschool together. Other moms who had a heck of a lot more time on their hands and fewer kids and fewer bosses. So I let them do their thing.

But I’ll tell you, it didn’t win me any points on the playground. More than one conversation has been stilted when someone makes an offhand comment about how much volunteer time she’s putting in and how other moms should step up. Then, oh, someone realizes that they haven’t seen me volunteering. Chirp, chirp go the crickets.

The first day of kindergarten I sussed out the other moms. Oh look, that looks like Rich Mom in the Escalade and the perfect hair and ironed capris. Over there is Mother of Herd of Boys. She’s dressed in a track suit and is cuffing children upside the head. I don’t even think they are her kids. And then there’s Mom of Twins who is crying like she’s never had her kids out of her sight before. Then I spot Weird Mom. She fell off the fashion truck in 1987 and has a fanny pack.

And she’s headed my way.

As it turned out, we had lots in common. I got past the fanny pack (for all I know she could be carrying around an epi-pen and medication, who am I to judge?) and got to know her. Strangely enough, our kids became pretty good friends. We would trade playdates and have coffee. But gradually I realized that she was just masqurading as Weird Mom, she was really Super Mom. She had the best, most educational toys. She and her son had reasoned discussions about bed time and never fought. She asked, he listened. My son started having meltdowns when it was time to leave their house.

Once, he said that he wanted to live there. So I offered to let him move, but first he had to go home and say goodbye to his sister and step dad and grandma and grandpa. He went home, kissed everyone, said good-bye and waited by the door. Crap.

There was a parenting seminar being held at the nearest library and I asked Weird Mom Super Mom if she wanted to attend. She said sure. We sat through a very interesting discussion on discipline and alternatives. (There’s an alternative?) When it was over I said “Wow, I think I learned a lot in there!”

She said, “Oh man, that was great. That was just what I needed. Now I know that I really am doing everything right.”

I knew that was going to be the end of our little friendship. Call me callous and mean and judgmental… but I couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t sit with Super Mom while she continued to outperform me. Perhaps I should have been striving to be more like her, but I was having enough trouble learning to be me.

It’s a year later, M is in grade one and we have our challenges. I don’t fight the parent battle any more. I realize that my spot is to be the parent of my child. I’m the one making the lunches at 11:30 pm and fighting my way out from under the plethora of field trip forms and school newsletters so I can figure out if tomorrow is Popcorn Day or the school musical. I’m the one cheering my son on as he learns to put a finger space between his words. The one keeping math fun and reading funner. It no longer matter so much what the other mothers think. It matters what my son thinks.

Did I ever care what other moms thought about my mom when I was going to school? Not at all. Didn’t care, didn’t matter. But it did matter that she helped teach me to read, that she cared about my performance, that she had lunch ready for me each day.

My spot isn’t at the PTA, it isn’t on field trips (though I still try find the time). It’s behind my son. Cheering him on.