But What About Me?

Now that LJ is a teenager, I never know what to expect when it comes to conversation.

Many days, our only interactions consist of him rolling his eyes at me and taking deep, exaggerated, annoyed sighs.

Okay, maybe we both do that.

LJ tells me that I nag him too much (hence the eye rolling and deep breathing), so I have begun to tread lightly when it comes to poking and prodding him about the details of his mundane day-to-day activities.

As we navigate "the drama years" of teenage-hood, LJ and I seem to have come to an understanding: if he's awake by noon, wears deodorant, and does most of his homework, I should not ask questions and just stay the heck out of the way.

This arrangement seems to be working quite well for us.

But today, as I picked LJ up from his Javascript programming camp, I was feeling curious. I was feeling brazen.  I was feeling ... well, maybe I was feeling the three cups of coffee I had during my staff meeting.

Whatever the reason for my feelings, I decided to throw caution to the wind and ask LJ the always combative and often controversial question ...

"How was your day?"

I braced for impact. And eye rolls. And deep, exaggerated, annoyed sighs.

Instead, I got a flurry of excited, non-stop words. Actual words that didn't include, "Go away" or "close the door behind you."

Instead, LJ preceded to gush about how awesome his camp counselors were, and how they were going to personalize the next day's lesson just for him.

When I asked LJ to explain what he meant, he said that much of the camp's curriculum was centered on self-directed web-based learning. LJ knows that passively watching something on a computer screen is not how he learns best -- he learns by doing and prefers to have a "guide on the side" to lead him down the correct path.

LJ told his counselors about his learning preferences and, lo-and-behold, they responded by saying they would tweak their program to make sure he was getting what he needed.

*******

The parent in me was thrilled to hear that LJ is enjoying camp and that his counselors are making sure he has a positive experience.

But the school administrator in me began to consider the greater meaning to LJ's interactions with his counselors.

LJ has been fortunate to attend two schools (Ravenscroft and Academy at the Lakes), that encourage students to advocate for themselves and recognize that each student has a unique learning style.

But what if all schools (and all classrooms) looked like this? What if all students were empowered to say, "That's not how I learn best."

And what if all teachers, classrooms, and schools were equipped to answer, "Then let's do it your way."

What if? 

What could learning look like? Especially for the students -- like LJ -- who know themselves well enough to articulate that they don't learn by staring at a screen or a whiteboard?

What if all students like LJ could do, touch, and feel their way through their educational journeys?

What if?

*******

I realize that this is a meta-existential-uber-level hypothetical question with no real answer.

But as a parent and as a someone with a passion for education, it sure is fun to consider and dream what it could look like for our students.

Just imagine if more students weren't moved to roll their eyes, or take deep, exaggerated, annoyed breaths when we asked them to learn in a way that fits like a square peg in a round hole.

Just imagine if all students never had to ask the question, "But what about me?" 

Popping "The Bubble List"

Image from chicagonow.com

Last month, Huffington Post published an article by blogger Emily Mendell called: The Bubble List: 31 Things My Sons Should Be Able To Do Before They Move Out.

If you haven't read it yet, I suggest you do. It's a well-written, poignant, and endearing piece that both moms and dads can identify with, no matter the age of your children.

The first 30 items on the list are basically actions or life-skills your child will, in theory, have to tackle at some point in his or her life. 

If I'm being honest, though, there are many items on this list that fall into one or both of two categories:

1) Never done it or had to do it (and I'm rapidly approaching 40)

2) Will be made obsolete or altered to a point of such ease that they are afterthoughts (thanks to technology and smartphones)

I couldn't care less if my son knows how to check the oil (#10) or if my daughter ever learns how to make hospital corners (#25). 

And it hasn't held me back in life that I have no clue how to sew a button (#26) or replace a fuse (#28).

There is one item on the list, however, that deeply resonates with me. And it's the final thing that Emily lists:

31. Say "no" with confidence

Now this is a skill worth learning -- and teaching.

Will my daughter confidently tell a friend, "No, I'm not getting in the car with you because you've had too much to drink." (And even more importantly, will she take the keys?)

Will my son confidently tell a teammate, "No, I'm not cool with you picking on that kid because he looks different/acts different/seems different." (And even more importantly, will he make the "different" kid feel welcome?)

Will my daughter confidently tell herself, "No, I don't need to lose five more pounds so I can look just like the model in Abercrombie?" (And even more importantly, does she realize how beautiful she really is, inside and out?)

Will my son confidently tell himself, "No, I don't need treat girls like sexual objects just because I see other guys doing it?" (And even more importantly, will he respect a girl when she says "no" with confidence?)

#31 -- Yes, this is the one thing on The Bubble List that keeps me up at night. Not just for my own kids, but for their friends, their acquaintances, and for those I've never met. 

Growing up wasn't easy for any of us, and it's exponentially harder for our own children's generation. 

Our children are constantly connected, frequently distracted, and always seeking instant gratification. Language skills are eroding because of text messaging, 140 characters, and diminished face-to-face conversations.

Saying "yes" these days is just way too easy.

So is the real issue that my kids should learn how to shave with a razor (#11) or catch the subway (#7)?

Of course not. 

It all boils down to #31.

If there's one skill we give our children -- one gift we bestow upon them before they leave "the bubble" -- we must teach them to say no with confidence. 

It's a monumental task, but it all begins with modeling. 

It's on us as parents, as educators, and as human beings, to teach our children not only to say "no" with confidence both face-to-face and in cyberspace, but also to stick to their word and stand strong when those around them cave into pressure.

Thank you, Emily, for a thought-provoking piece. 

And I especially thank you for saving the best for last.