Parenting lessons from a psych major

Calvin had an interview today with a psychology student at the university. We’re on their list of people who will obligingly come in and participate in developmental psych research projects for which Calvin is the perfect age. We’ve been called a handful of times and happily participated. Each session starts the same way, with a little play time together in the reception area, followed by Calvin and the researcher chatting in a comfortable interview room while I sit behind a one-way mirror in an observation room, surrounded by recording and sound equipment.

I have always found the process—the questions, and Calvin’s answers—fascinating. They’ve had a way of teaching me at least a little something about my son, myself, and our relationship to each other and the world.

Today's project had to do with children’s perceptions of choice. Calvin was shown images of a set of computer generated boys and given a description of a specific trait for each one. Sean, for instance, was “a very good reader”, while Max was “not very nice”, and so on. As the researcher passed through the set of about ten boys, each with his own unique trait, she asked Calvin why he thought the kid had that trait. I found myself alternately giggling and cringing throughout the conversation.

“Sam is very nice. Why is Sam very nice?”

“Because he wants to make friends.”

“Max is not very nice. Why is Max not very nice?”

“Because he doesn’t like the people around him.”

Most of Calvin’s answers about why Sam, Max, Charlie, or any of the others might have these traits had to do with their own actions. According to Calvin, for instance, Sean was a good reader because there were so many great books around that he really wanted to read. I loved that answer, and all the others he gave of his own accord.

On a second pass through all these characters, though, the researcher asked Calvin how choices may have impacted their traits. That second pass was a little iffier.

“Carl is very good at sports. Do you think Carl’s choices have anything to do with why Carl is very good at sports?”

“Yes.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Carl’s choices effect Carl being good at sports?”

“Ten, because he chooses to practice or not.”

In fact, Calvin thought choice greatly impacted all the children’s traits.

“Charlie is very tall. Do you think Charlie’s choices have anything to do with why Charlie is so tall?”

“Yes.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Charlie’s choices affect Charlie’s height?”

“Ten, because he eats healthy foods.”

Clearly we haven’t done enough work in the science department lately, I thought. A third pass through the characters was about how environment affects their characters, and a fourth pass was about genetics. That fourth pass was the spottiest of all.

“Charlie is very tall. Do you think Charlie’s genes have anything to do with why Charlie is so tall?”

“No. Zero. Not at all.”

In fact, as far as Calvin was concerned, genes had little to do with any of the boys’ traits. Time to touch on genetics in biology, eh?

Or maybe not. I asked the researcher about it after they were done, and she told me that almost all the kids had answered the height question similarly. Height, in most children’s mind, was directly linked not to genetic legacy, but to choice. Why? Because from birth we have reminded them to eat well so that they can grow up big and strong. It’s so ingrained in our parental culture almost all parents say it to their children at one time or another. On top of that, in our house we have been very purposeful about teaching choice and consequences, so why wouldn’t Calvin link the two—eat well, grow big and strong, it’s all a matter of good choices, right?

It's a fascinating consequence of accidental parenting, one without repercussions. Simply an "Aha!" moment. I hope they call us for another study soon because I can always learn from little lessons like these. I really like "Aha!" moments.

Mid-week

So far this week we've...

constructed with everything we had at hand,

done math with the help of a robin,

started a love affair with the roll playing game genre,

practiced yoga (?) and spelling together,

and gone in search of fall.

Jon and I woke up as usual every morning this week, dragging ourselves out of bed and into the day as quietly as possible, since we hadn't heard from the munchkin down the hall yet. But do you know where we found him each and every morning? Sitting at his desk in his office, creating. He wrote and illustrated a play one day, he drew pictures of myths another day, and he brought us declarations of a child's love another morning. I love this, that he is driven by his own intentions and his own desires and creating in his own individual way. It is a gift of homeschooling that we are able to approach everything so as to meet those desires. Our son is a character, as all children can be, and I love that his individuality has not been hampered by peer pressure or the like (or by the early arrival of the school bus, for that matter).

I'm sure all homeschoolers have their moments of doubt, and I would be lying if I claimed to be any different. Following an unconventional course can be hard. Rarely is it met with outright approval, more likely it is met with skepticism, argument, and judgement. But researching, contemplating, deciding, and then taking the path that you believe is right? It's priceless. It's worth more than all the approval in the world. And I am reminded at least once every day of why our path is the right one for us, be it by the robin at the table during math, the yoga moves during spelling, the games during lunch, the meandering hikes after, the lazy Lego play in the afternoons, and that's all the reward I need for taking the road less travelled.

It's a beautiful life.

The Disney vacation

We're back, we're settled in. The laundry is mostly done, we've actually prepared and eaten two home-cooked meals, and Calvin has already finished two sections in math and thoroughly explored the Mayas. Obviously the last thing to return to normal is my journaling here. More on our exploration of the Mayas later.

First, a bit of trip closure. It was fabulous. We had sun every day (except the morning we drove to Vero, but who needs sun for driving?), and the unseasonably warm weather was pure joy. We stayed in a Disney resort and let the Disney crew take care of our every need: we were picked up from the airport, our luggage delivered directly to our rooms, and our meals were covered by a dining plan that we were able to cash in for some surprisingly nice meals in a lot of different places (they force you to eat the desserts). The resort had cafeteria style eating, and a bar by the pool, and the great Disney bus system got us to and from the parks every day. The place is like a city unto itself, with friendly staff (they refer to all workers as cast members), good food, clean grounds, and bright, open spaces (plus they know how to move the crowds through smoothly). When we left the parks we transferred (by rental car) to the Disney resort at Vero Beach, and things there were very much the same. There is no service quite like Disney service, and I can see why so many of my friends have mentioned taking frequent, even yearly, trips.

Plus Disney really does try to create that magic they promise in every ad. Calvin's favorite part was meeting the characters, riding the rides, and especially riding the Figment ride and Spaceship Earth. Jon's favorite part was the firework show at Magic Kingdom. Mom loved the Animal Kingdom African safari ride and the fireworks, and dad loved "the margarita ride" (i.e., drinks at Epcot's Mexico pavilion, plus beer in Germany, sparkling wine in Italy, and wine in France). My favorite part? Maybe everything, but I really loved that the cast members in the World Showcase were actually from those countries. Listening to them talk to each other in their native languages was really fun.

And the characters. There's just something about that mouse. You see? They've even got me doing it, because something else Disney does really well is create a sense of belonging and nostalgia in visitors. It makes people buy things, after all, like ears, or pins, stuffies, and shirts. We got away pretty easy on those counts (we've practiced immunity for years), but while Calvin had no attachment to any Disney character before we left (no real knowledge of any Disney character actually—even Pooh he knew most through Milne), while we were there he developed an admiration for several of the characters (the ones worn by humans), especially Figment and Mickey. Mostly Mickey. And how could he not? There really is something about that mouse.

Yes, it's obvious how infectious the Disney machine can be, and yes that's something I've always avoided, but I don't feel like our values were encroached upon in any way. Being at the park didn't force us to change the way we approach things, and our avoidance approach to pop-culture didn't at all get in the way of our enjoyment. And that character attachment? He fell in love with a live character he met on a magical trip, much like falling in love with a panda at the zoo (or a penguin), and I hope Calvin will always have this happy love for the two characters he met there—two happy memories, souvenirs from a really magical trip.

I'm a little in love with them myself. What a great, great trip.

Notes to self (or anyone else who might appreciate them):

1. Staying in the park in the Disney resort (and using their bus system) saved a lot of time.

2. The Disney photo cards are great. I assumed the photographers set up around every corner were offering to sell photos, but actually they give you a free photo card that you use everywhere in the parks, then you access your shots online (for free) and decide then if you want to buy anything. Great idea. PLUS, they were all more than happy to take a shot with my camera, too. Awesome!

3. The fast pass really did come in handy a couple of times (probably would even more so at a busier time), but for it to work really well you have to plan ahead.

4. Kidcot...I wish we'd known about it the first day we were there—it's a great way to get kids more involved in the World Showcase tour. At each of the eleven countries in the Showcase there is a table where kids can collect country stamps on a (free) bear picture that they color. Or, for $10 we bought Calvin a passport from a gift shop that cast members at each country stamped and wrote messages for him in their native languages. Then he spent much of dinner carefully placing the stickers (six for each country) on the appropriate pages. He's very attached to it.

5. The Kimpossible missions in Epcot were way more fun than I had anticipated.

On to the Neanderthal stage

Jon and I were just talking the other day about stages. Ever since Calvin was born I've found myself longing to hold onto stages of life—not so much "the baby stage" or "the toddler stage", but the "diapers are easier and I don't want to have to potty train" stage, or the "I feel safer with him in a crib and can't imagine him in a real bed" stage, or even the "I'm not ready to let go of the baby monitor" stage (and that was just last spring).

What we were talking about a couple days ago was how Calvin has defined each stage for us, as long as we were listening, and how letting him do so avoided any stresses for all of us. Just about the time I was worried about potty training he came downstairs in the morning and said he was done with diapers. Not much later he asked us for a "big boy bed", and just last spring he came into our room when he needed us at night without my needing to hear him on the monitor.

It hasn't just been with standard milestone stages, either. About a year ago he decided to learn to read and promptly did so, and this spring he decided to "study math" so he could play Monopoly. He goes through all kinds of stages—physical, mental, emotional (right now I'm enjoying a new "cuddle mommy" stage), some being obvious, others a little more subtle, but if we listen carefully he's giving us directions every step of the way.

We've been making our way through prehistory, and as in love as we were with the creatures of the Carboniferous, then with the dinosaurs of the Mesozoic, and now with the prehistoric mammals of the Cenozoic, with each step I've dragged my feet, reluctant to leave the beloved behind. This morning I came downstairs, still groggy with sleep because I'm the slow one in the morning, and was presented with a "cave drawing" by a little boy who was letting me know that it was time to move on to our study of early humans and their path into recent history from there.

He asked me for a family of Neanderthals, their cave, and a fire, all out of felt.

And so on we go.

Tomorrow, since today we spent mostly running errands or playing in the sunshine.

The philosophy of ability

Today being Friday we spent the afternoon with our new homeschooling group. It was the first meeting of the year that was held indoors in a rented space with a youth room and gym, and the kids mixed over air hockey, foosball, blocks, and playing tag. At one time I looked out the second story window and saw kids in the trees.

My son spent most of the time exploring the game tables and watching the other kids play. He is happy being a watcher and playing in a game world made up in his own mind. He is imaginative and self-sufficient and happy, but I sat at tables with the other mothers and fretted. Should I go over and play with him? Should I help him find something to do or some way to fit in? Is this something I need to worry about???

In the car ride on the way home I asked him if he'd had a good time and he answered in the affirmative. I asked him if he had just wanted to play alone or had he not found anything to do with the other kids? He hemmed and hawed a bit about that one but I think the answer was that he'd tried to play and hadn't been welcomed, but that he wasn't unhappy playing by himself. And this is what it had looked like to me at the time, too, so I had reassured myself that the point of the meetings was for him to mix with other children and to explore and discover new things, which he certainly couldn't do with me hanging over him.

My inner jury is still out, but I think mine was the wrong answer today and if I had it to do over again (which presumably I may at subsequent Friday gatherings), I would join him in exploring the games or playing in the imaginary world of his choice. What, after all, is the downside? That he'll never learn to get along? That he'll never learn to play by himself? Clearly he's already very capable of both of those things. He has learned them the same way that he has learned reading, writing, spelling, math, piano, science, everything else worth knowing—simply by living, by trying, by watching our examples. When he is picked on he moves on, when he is left out he watches in interest and learns, when he is included he participates with consideration and enthusiasm.

Kids are confident, curious, and resilient all on their own, each in their own way. Because Calvin is confident in his own abilities he doesn't question them when others do, nor does he question his value even when others don't seem to see it. Oh what I couldn't have done with that kind of self-assurance back in school. So if he is by himself again next week I think I see myself trying out foosball and maybe I'll learn some of that self-assurance from his example.