CHAPTER 1

The Differences that Make a Difference

"We suppress our children andthen when they lack a naturalinterest in learning, they areoffered special coaching fortheir scholastic difficulties."

—Alice Miller

You need a certain amount of nerve to be a parent, an almost physical nerve. You need toknow when to hold on tightly, and when to hold yourself back and let go. You need toknow when to give encouragement, when to give information, and when to give room formistakes to be made. You need to know your child can fall and survive. Above all, youneed to know how to transfer your child's trust from your strength and center of balance tohis or her own.

Many years ago, I heard a poignant story from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, a powerful womanwho has worked extensively with the terminally ill. She told of two parents whose youngestson was dying of cancer. What he wanted more than anything else before he died was toride his two-wheeled bicycle alone around the block without training wheels. Shedescribed how the parents stood at the top of the driveway, holding their breath, armswrapped tightly around their chests. As their frail and vulnerable child kept falling down,climbing up on the bike, pedaling a few feet, and falling down again, they knew they had tohold themselves back.

While listening to Elizabeth tell the story, I dug my nails into my sides. Every cell in mybody was standing at the top of that driveway with those two parents I had never met.David, my own son, is strong and healthy. I write this book as he celebrates his twentyfifthbirthday. A few months ago, I stood at the top of our driveway watching him drive offon a journey across the country to make his own home. He left a vapor trail of memoriesbehind: I thought of the times I wasn't sure if either of us would make it, the times I had tohold myself back and let him fall, the times I had to stand up for him as his only advocate,the one who knew his strengths and limitations and was willing to fight for him. The times Iwasn't. Or couldn't.

For the most part, we all stumble through the challenges we have to face with our childrenunsupported and unprepared. There are so few guidelines to follow, because the worldchanges as fast as our children do, and the old ways just don't work anymore.Skateboards are very different from two-wheelers, and roller blades stranger still. How dowe support, guide, and encourage our children so they will be able to handle themselvesin the stiffest of winds? How do we shift their trust and belief in us to themselves, so theyhave an indwelling center of power and self-esteem that they can count on over thesteepest of hills?

These questions nag at you from the moment your children are born. Their pressureincreases as your children begin to attend school. Will they be challenged? Can they learnthe skills they will need in their lives? Will they be as good, as bright, as talented as otherchildren? Will the teacher be kind to them? Will they be safe? Should you intervene? Howmuch? Should you push them, coerce them, mold and cajole them into doing what isrequired of them? Will your children have to sacrifice their uniqueness in order to learn?Will they be labeled, disabled, unable to make it on their own? Will the school recognizehow your children are smart? Should you tell them?

What makes the task even more frustrating is that each child seems to need a differentkind of parenting for the very same task. In learning to ride a bike, my nephew Jimmywanted to be shown every detail—where to put his feet, how to push the pedals, how toturn the handlebars. Then he wanted to be left in the quiet to carefully make his way downthe road. His older brother Tommy, however, insisted that his father just let him figure itout. He didn't watch, wouldn't listen to any instructions. Rather he was immediately off onhis own bloody adventure, willing to fall until he got it right, expecting applause andencouragement when he returned.

Instinctively we notice these differences in how children learn, but as we send them off toschool, we fail to realize that these very differences make a difference in whether ourchildren succeed or not.

* * *

One day when I was working as a learning specialist, I sat in the principal's office sippingcoffee from a styrofoam cup. A freshman had been having difficulty in English and socialstudies. He'd been referred to the school psychologist for testing, which took three hours.Four weeks later, the results had been evaluated, and all of us who were responsible forhis education that year—classroom teachers, guidance counselor, assistant principal, andme—were being enlightened.

The psychologist's metal-rimmed glasses kept slipping down his thin nose as hesummarized his findings by describing the percentile ratings, medians, means, and normsof the boy's disabilities. His eyes never left the charts and papers as he gave a detailedprofile of the student's deficits, and by the end of an hour, we all knew everything thisyoung man could not do as well as the average or normal ninth grader. I could not keepfrom yawning, in spite of the caffeine and maple-glazed doughnuts.

Finally, I piped up. "Excuse me, Mr. Baron, but could you please tell us what this boy'sstrengths are, what he can do well?"

You didn't have to be a psychologist to know Mr. Baron was not pleased with my question.He cleared his throat, adjusted his gold cuff links, and explained that this student hadmany problems, as well as a home situation that was less than ideal.

"Yes," I replied, "But if you don't mind my saying so, if we knew some of his strengths, hisassets, we might be able to figure out how to use them to overcome those challenges."

Mr. Baron scowled over the tops of his glasses and said curtly that we would discuss thematter at our next staff meeting in a month. The discussion never occurred.

As a result of that incident and many others like it, at the end of that school year, I feltironed flat, gray as cardboard. I left public education.

When I returned five years later, it was only because I needed a temporary job. But what Idiscovered helped me begin to understand that mental capability is like a water tablebeneath the surface of the earth. No one owns it and anyone can be...