I Am Special, You Are Special...

...Look at me, look at me. I am very special, very very special. You will see, you will see.

This little ditty is sung to the tune of 'Frere Jacques'. I learned it today thanks to a re-broadcast of Ideas on CBC Radio. This one was devoted to anxiety in children. Apparently what is a normal level of anxiety for most kids today was once "normal" for children in pediatric psychiatric wards in the 1950s.

The thesis of the program argued that today's child is simultaneously pressured to excel while being emotionally coddled, as today's parents are most concerned with their children being happy. This seems like a no-brainer, of course, but one of the viewpoints expressed in the program was that parents used to focus on raising a resilient and independent child. One, it was hoped, that would in time become a useful and productive member of society. By contrast to this desire to contribute to the collective, modern children are pushed to become stellar, self-actualized individuals while lacking emotional maturity or empathy.

I don't know if I agree with this good old days versus these days comparison. Then again, I was raised in a parenting style that is likely increasingly rare. A combination of benign neglect and daily small adult responsibilities was probably not uncommon in the 70s and 80s, as single mums struggled to be both mother and father to their kids while being human themselves.

Luckily, my mother was and still is a practising physician, so we never really wanted financially. However, my older sister and I were expected to run the household from as long as I can remember, and get good grades in school (which meant mostly As, some Bs but not below). These were our duties, and they still left ample time to amuse ourselves. As money for small treats or new underwear was provided when we asked, it seemed to be a pretty fair deal.

We were not told we were precious, or cute, or especially gifted in most ways (though I still treasure a Grade 5 shot-put ribbon, never having been otherwise considered athletic). In fact, I was often told I was getting fat, or my sister told she was annoying, and that we both should shut up so as not to wake mum up (the thought of which still fills me with mortal dread).

It was recognized that we were both smart girls, and we were expected to use our smarts though not in identical ways. My sister was gregarious and mischevious and dramatic; I was bookish and did not have friends outside school hours nor seem to care. We were mostly left alone to excel in what interested us, it being trusted that our interests and skills would develop naturally over time. Eventually, they did. In my case, it took a lot of time for the talents to emerge, but all part of life's rich pageant, right?

Well, today's parenting is apparently about preparing your child to S*H*I*N*E in an increasingly competitive world. Toddlers are enrolled in prep school for kindergarten, students of all ages mercilessly inscripted in after-school activities and tutoring and lessons to help them on their journey towards Excellence. The assumption is that this Excellence will be recognized in the real world and duly rewarded; for more modest parrents, they hope their children will reap mere prosperity and stability, while those who are more ambitious keep their fingers crossed for nothing short of worldwide fame and disgusting riches for their offspring.

This radio program was likely meant to elicit a collective eye-roll from middle-aged listeners (I mean, you can't get a more white, university educated and self-described thoughtful group of people than CBC Radio 1 listener--like yours truly). We are meant to scoff, or to virtuously proclaim that we schedule in at least an hour of unstructured playtime per weekday, etc.

I can't scoff. Everyone has a different experience in childhood, with the only similarity being that none is idyllic. The vast majority of parents do the best they can, and get little thanks for the job they do. Kids are generally decent, the parents well-meaning. Both are insufferable at times, but then again so is everyone. It is hard to judge too harshly, and in my case, impossible.

I have no children of my own. If I were to offer advice, it would rightly be dismissed as pertinent only to human nature observed in general, or outright nonsense.

I wonder if I did have kids would my MO be similar to how I treat my dogs. They are well-fed, adequately patted and occasionally played with. I run with them almost every day. They only have a handful of strict rules but most of the time are left to roam. Either they cavort outside in semi-feral play, or sleep or sneak around the house doing amusing and occasionally disgusting things, like pulling used kleenex from the wastebasket and hoovering scraps from the kitchen floor. However, they recognize me as alpha and do not cross me (or the cat) as I can also become an fearsomely stern tyrant given due cause.

It would be interesting to see how this would translate into child-rearing. Perhaps terrifying, so I'd need a good mate (always the thing which has stopped me before). The idea no longer fills me with revulsion, so that's a start. It occurs to me that most women have this figured out well before their 38th year, but oh well. Blame it on my unspecial childhood.

Regularly yours,
Gretchie