Have I made it uniformly clear that I have an obsessive child?
This is what has been going on in my house for...I don't know, two weeks now? Ever since I remembered that we have a Mozart-themed date at the symphony coming up and I thought I saw The Magic Flute mentioned in the concert description and picked up some background material. To say that she knows this show is an understatement. She has watched two separate complete performances of it on DVD at least three times each. She has listened to two recordings (so different!) of the full opera over and over (and over, and over) again, as well as the charming Mozart's Magic Fantasy from Classical Kids, a kind of radio play that follows an older child as she magically enters into the story of The Magic Flute and features highlights from the opera sung in English (we also listened to Mozart's Magnificent Voyage; the series is a fantastic way to introduce children to classical music and I'm looking forward to hearing all the rest).
We've had a number of these musical, theatrical and literary obsessions: Peter and the Wolf, all things Romeo and Juliet, Tchaikovsky in general, the How to Train Your Dragon books (which, as far as I know, have not been set to music yet). They go on for ages, too. Months and months of this absolute...immersion. I have obsessive tendencies myself, so I kind of get it, but at the same time I have a very Tommy Chong reaction to the whole thing. Whoa, man. That is intense.
Because I am her mother and spend most of my waking hours in her presence, I get tugged into the whole thing myself. It just occured to me today that I need to set up my iPod with her music on it so she can do her thing and listen to Diana Damrau and Leonard Bernstein and whatever else that's engulfed her at the moment, and I can, you know...not.
She told me today that she wants to sing in an opera when she grows up. It was very sweet, despite the sort of annoyingness of her constant attempts to sing Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen (3:08 is the acrobatic coloratura run she's emulating; I kind of hurt myself giving it a go). I nodded lovingly at her, and then had a thought I didn't expect to have: If genetics has been kind, she may have a strong musical aptitude and the potential of someday having a stellar singing voice. Maybe I should teach her music.
Particularly in the wake of the parenting manifesto controversy that shall not be named, it brought forth the specter of one of my greatest fears: I will become a stage mother.
I'm a bit self-conscious about how personally interested I am in this funky little niche passion my kid has. A bit worried that I am that guy that thinks his kid is a geeeeeeeenius (I don't. Every child is a brilliant little freakazoid double rainbow expression of the universe's terrible majesty, and mine is no exception.) I have kind of been that guy, and I don't want to be that guy.
So I felt a little squirmish when I thought that it might be an idea to get ahold of a digital piano and try it out with the kid. She has asked numerous times to learn an instrument (most often cello), and I figured that with the interests she seems to have, it wouldn't be a surprise if she liked playing music or even wanted to go into performance at some point. If she does, piano skills would be a real asset. That shouldn't make me feel weird. It's an activity to try that is directly in line with her interests. She's been in soccer, and hated it, and is now in ballet, and loves it, and this would be an instrument. So what's the big freaking deal?
Basically, I am afraid of pushing too hard for my own selfish reasons.
Amy Chua is, most assuredly, a mother who pushed. But who decides what is too hard? Or not about the kid anymore? When does it reach that point?
So many of us get our kids involved in something: ballet, soccer, American football, violin, chess, baseball, whatever. Most kids, even if they don't join an organized sport or take lessons, does something, loves something. But at some point, pursuing a passion for sheer enjoyments' sake intersects with something a bit stickier: the amount of dedicated practice that it takes to truly master a skill. I have nothing to add to the discussion on Amy Chua's book (in no small part because I haven't read it) but from what I've gleaned she does have at least one very good point: learning is not always fun. Mastery requires something more than passion, it requires dedication. It requires practice. And it seems that some kind of push from outside is neccessary at some point.
Going into anything new, whether it's piano or the (inevitable, I think) drama classes, requires us to ask the big question: When can my child quit?
For Chua, the answer is a resounding "never".
But why? Why never?
It seems that Chua values mastery above most anything else, and she is right: the only way to achieve it is to not quit.
After a little soul searching I have come to an understanding I feel very comfortable with. Mastery is wonderful. It is worth pursuing. And yes, mastery seems to almost certainly require some outside pressures. But I don't get to decide what my children want to achieve in their lives. They do.
That being said, I do get some input while they are under my roof.
For my girls, there will be no "quitting" in basic education. No "that's enough" of reading, writing, math and science. But everywhere else? How do I help them deepen their experiences and push themselves through the hard spots without making it all about me?
I think by taking the middle road.
I intend to follow my girls' leads, which for my older daughter, in the here and now, is barreling at speed towards Fancy Song and Dance.
I intend to continue to introduce them to new material and experiences, like music they haven't heard and books they haven't read and activities they haven't tried.
I intend to require daily, meaningful practice in exchange for our paying for music lessons.
I intend to require them to "finish out the season"; if one of them tells me she doesn't want to do something anymore, she needs to finish out the term, whether that's the ballet quarter or the summer drama workshop or reaching the next recital.
That seems reasonable.
I think that will go some distance towards making sure there is never a movie made about me.