Mr G on himself; Me on not breaking our kids

Mr G had a class exercise that says a lot about who he is. Not shockingly, the exercise was called, 'I am'. But you know, when I was 11, I don't think I had anything like this kind of clue who I was.

Okay, so I knew what I wanted to be, at that age. I wanted to grow up to be a tall Asian woman with long straight black hair. That was pretty much it for dreams, vision of who I would become, what shape I wanted my life to take. I (strangely enough) didn't grow up to be Asian. I did grow up to be tall, and to study Asia, though. So in a strange way, that was my path - my only (very small) (rather odd) dream of who I would be is not all that far off from who I am, if one looks at it from a rather broad angle.

Not sure if that makes up for the lack of straight black hair, though. I so wanted that black-black hair. My hair is just really dark brown. I can blow-dry it totally straight if I want to, but ... eh, I like the slight curl. And I married a guy with black hair. Does that count?

Now, the poem Mr G wrote ... well, it is without doubt an 11-year-old boy speaking. He is full of his grand dreams and visions, churning with hormones, noticing himself and others, making assessments about his place, his identity, his goals, what drives him, and folding those all into the ideal vision of the distant future of adulthood, with one foot (sometimes both) firmly planted in in the magical boundaries of childhood.

He has agreed to let me share it. Because I think it is pretty cool, and also because it says so much about who he is. He wanted me to give him two reasons I wanted to share it, and those two (cool + very HIM) were good enough for him. The students were given the first one or two words of each line, and had to write the rest.

**************************************************

I am

I am the warrior and the wolf
I wonder how birds fly
I hear the whistle of wings
I see an empty battleground below me
I want to have magic

I am the warrior and the wolf
I pretend to have wings and armor
I feel like I am locked in a deadly battle
I touch the fire of imagination
I worry that I may not proceed
I cry when I am hurt

I am the warrior and the wolf
I understand that I am too young for my wants
I say that I will do as I will
I dream that I am a smith
I try to be ready
I hope that I can be what I want

I am the warrior and the wolf

******************************************

You know what I love about this?

I understand that I am too young for my wants
I say that I will do as I will
I try to be ready
I hope that I can be what I want

In the midst of fantasy, reality check.
In the midst of others saying what will be, choosing to choose his own way.
Expending effort to prepare.
Understanding that nothing is preordained - hope, yes, but a sense that time will tell things he can't forsee.

I'd love to say that I formed this, taught that, modeled the certainty, set up the blend of imagination and reality, taught him to strive, created the desire to hope and entrained a flexibility of an open future.

But really? He was born that way. Seriously, he has been like this forever.

All we did was not break that.

Not breaking that has been a great deal of work. But that's the core of how epeepunk and I parent. We don't make them who they are, we only allow them the space, opportunities, and resources to grow into what they already were. We prune a bit, but only within the nature of the growth, and even the skills building is more like watering the tree during drought and understanding when it needs to be fed than it is forcing it to a form. More on supportive measures for times of stress, understanding the nature of the tree (and learning it as it takes shape), less on deciding what shape it should take.

It also means we don't get to take credit for the who-they-are-ness of any of them, only for staying back and accepting who that is, and then making the space fit and the resources feed their who-they-are-ness, so they can become the full and leafy best of themselves. Quirky, sometimes, of course. That's the nature of humans when you don't force them into a form - they have a lot of interesting quirks (Montessori is great at producing kids unafraid of their own quirks).

They came to us this way. Walked into our lives (so to speak) with their DNA already in place. Yes, how they grow depends on environment, but it is the interplay between DNA and environment that makes it work out, not the overlay of environment smack on top of DNA. There is no clarity to any outcome as far as cause or source - skills, modeling, important conversations, they're just part of the tending, but not part of what makes the plant unique.

And I like it that way. 'Cause that's just the way I am.

Comments

[andrea]

Very cool indeed. The effort you put into parenting makes the world a better place and will continue after you are gone and your children are grown and their imprint on the world shows the full and leafy best selfness you've helped to grow within them. Really. And thanks for sharing his poem.

[Madeleine]

Marvelous. That was my favorite part of the poem, too.

[&BabyMakes75]

wonderful, just wonderful.

I do not remotely wish to make more work for you, but if it is possible to share the assignment for me to use with my sixth graders, I would be really grateful. (I am wondering if I could use it at the start of next year and then again as a check-in/self-progress one or two times during the year.) I can basically figure out the assignment but curious if any other special instructions aside from the first two or more words in each line. Thank you very much.

[hedra]

I'll ask for more detail, but it was part of a language-visual expressive link in ELA class. They also decorated a mask to illustrate the concepts. (I haven't seen that part yet.)

Almost all the lines were 'I *verb* ______' except a couple where they were just 'I ____'

Anyway, I'll ask about what the instructions were in more detail as soon as I get a chance.

[Sarah]

What a terrific poem. I love the concept of not breaking him. Something to think about, especially on a day when none of my children are driving me crazy.