Across the Page

The other night at book club, discussing The Giver, one person pointed out that we may want a society where everyone is alike more than we realize. We value individuality, but where we or our children are involved, we have sometimes an equally strong aversion to standing out.

I notice this with my daughters, especially my oldest. Somehow I don’t worry about Younger Daughter as much, because she’s such a natural with people, such a sociable little creature that she’s already miles ahead of me in some ways at negotiating her way in the world of others. Older Daughter is more of an idea person. She likes people, but human contact isn’t what drives her the way it does Younger Daughter. She can amuse herself in solitude for hours, and has always done so.

Anyway, both girls are very verbal and enthusiastic people. Sometimes it draws attention. Last year, for instance, when she gave a hobby presentation on her horse collection at Brownies, Older Daughter did a fantastic job. She asked questions; she held horses out for the younger members of the audience to touch; she cracked jokes; she amazed even me with her knowledge of the different breeds. The woman next to me turned to me at one point and exclaimed, “She’s a trip!” I’m pretty sure she meant it positively, but I wished she’d had a more unambiguously positive way of expressing it — especially with her own daughter, a fellow Brownie, sitting beside her listening. “A trip” is someone you could either admire — or ridicule.

There are other examples I could give. My daughter is unfazed, unselfconscious. But responses like this make me cringe. Why? Frankly, I love this quality — whatever you call it — in my daughters. Someone encouraged me last week by reminding me that boldness is a good thing. At its best, it will ripen into moral and spiritual courage. I totally agree. It’s one of our motivations for homeschooling — to keep those active minds alive, to encourage their uniqueness in a loving context. I want the girls to have an awareness of what’s appropriate too, of course. But helping them to stay spiritually alive amidst all the dulling influences of growing up in 21st-century America would be a great gift to them.

Even though this is what I want, I struggle with the reflex to squelch them whenever I see them drawing attention to themselves. Oh, how I don’t want to be the Voice of Discouragement to them. But oh, how I struggle with the unthinking impulse to be exactly that. Is it for their sakes — or mine?

I’ve been realizing that a lot of it is the latter. It’s not embarrassment or shame. It’s that I’m similar to Older Daughter (verbal and idea-driven), and I’ve never really made my peace with it. Any time I’m in a group, I come home lashing myself for talking too much, or being awkward. Sometimes it’s valid. But the only time I feel no stress is if I say nothing at all. Hiding, in general, is a strong reflex in me. It’s a self-protective thing, and I don’t know all the reasons it’s there. But I certainly don’t want to transfer this consciousness to my children.

Despite some similarities, my children are not “little me.” Younger Daughter is more socially gifted than I will ever be. Older Daughter responds more mercifully, and less self-protectively, than I ever did. When they do become aware of someone else viewing them negatively — and they rarely do — they leave it the other person’s problem, without thinking, “It’s my fault — I’m defective.”

God help me to parent them without squelching them. Help me to be the mother in me, and not the child. Help me to be the Voice of Encouragement, and not the Voice of Retreat. Help me to remember that a greater parent than I am has his hand on our lives.