It’s the second week of Maddie’s sophomore year at her new high school and we’re just now hopping on the homework train. It’s a bumpy ride and the destination is unclear, but there is no avoiding embarking on it. If only we could hop off! That certainly is what Maddie wants to do, and she’d willingly jump and roll if she could just have screen time afterwards.
The big challenge today was in science. It’s not the content, as usual, but the output that’s the problem. First she had to do some reading and answer questions. She completed that with ease. Then came the challenging part: taking notes from the text book. Maddie has never had to take notes before. Ever. Not from a lecture, not from a book. This is all new territory for her. Plus the text is much more sophisticated than the ones she’d used at her special private school.
Maddie found this particular task unappealing and pointless. I tried to help, her but I soon remembered that my note-taking approach was always overkill. I could write quickly, so I would write down not just the most salient points, but every single thing I could manage to get down on paper. Copious is the word that comes to mind. So I wasn’t the best coach for this particular skill set. But she really wanted my help, so I did my best.
At first she was upset because the assignment was challenging, and then she decided that taking notes was a waste of her energy because her memory is so sharp. She’s right about her memory. Her mind is a vault. She has never once studied for a test and aces them every time. When she was three, we’d play the memory game in which you try to find a pair of cards by turning two over and them remember which one was where. I never beat her. Not once. So It really is hard to argue that she needs to change her approach to learning.
However, note taking is required and it’s graded. That’s where I lost her. We went around and around about why she didn’t think it was necessary and why I was quite certain that it was. She didn’t want to do it because it was hard and then came up with what she thought sounded like a reasonable argument for her position. I said, “Well, the fact that it’s hard for you is precisely why you need to do it.” Kids love it when their parents stay that stuff! My favorite refrain from my parents was, “Life’s not fair.” Oh, that just made my blood boil. Then I grew up and found out that’s about the truest statement a person can make. Maybe Maddie will one day tell her child the same little nuggets of wisdom that she loathed coming out of my mouth today.
So eventually we came to this: She would show her teacher the notes she’d done so far, tell him she was struggling, and ask if she really had to take notes given that she’s always done well without them. “Well, if he says you don’t have to, that’s fine. But if he says you do (and I’m sure he will), what will you say?” “Okay?” “How about asking him to look at what you’ve done and give you some pointers so you can learn? After all that’s what school is for: learning.” She was surprisingly agreeable. We shall see if she follows through. I made her practice with me and she remembered (of course) everything and was able to communicate effectively. Fortunately she’s not afraid, so as long as she remembers, I have faith that she will have that conversation. That in itself is a great lesson in self-advocating piled on upon this year’s big lesson of “Do it anyway.”
Unfortunately, I told her, school is full of requirements that may not seem reasonable, but she has to do them anyway. She will be learning the material, but she will also be learning how to learn, I told her. Again with the “do it anyway” mantra. That’s the big lesson! It really is!
I can’t even imagine how many times I’ve used that phrase. I explained yesterday that probably half the students at school were too tired to get up in the morning, but they did it anyway. I told her most of what I do all day I don’t really want to do (laundry! dishes! scooping dog poop!), but I do it anyway. That’s how life is, I explained. You have to just do it anyway. “Have grit,” she said.
Oh how I’m loving that word right now. On the first day of school, instead of classes there were a couple speakers and a barbecue. Well, Maddie didn’t eat anything (she’s very picky), but she definitely absorbed something from one of the speakers. His name is Kevin Laue, and he was born missing half of an arm. He’s very tall — 6’11” — but with only one arm he is an unlikely basketball star. According to Maddie, when Kevin was in middle school, he tried out for the basketball team but was cut because, as the coach told him, “Basketball is a sport for people with two arms.” Now he is a scholarship player at Manhattan college. And the theme of his talk was “grit.” What a perfect example he is for the kids! He has a rather noticeable disadvantage, some would say an absolute deal-breaker, but his determination and work ethic are enough to make up for it. Who, after meeting him, can now say, “I can’t do it”? Well, it might be hard, but it’s not impossible. That’s what I always say to my kids when something is difficult. “But is it impossible?” The answer, most likely, is no.
And that’s a lesson I can take with along with me throughout this journey. Is it hard? Yes it most certainly is. But is it impossible? Probably not. Not if I have grit.
The Year of Living Hopefully 