What do I really want for those kids o’mine?
When I was in junior high we had this gym teacher Florence Tuzzi. She was small, angular and walked faster than most people ran. Once she came back from holiday with her hair all braided in cornrows, like Bo Derek. It suited her, although we all made fun of Tough Tuzzi and her braids. She coached us through soccer, volleyball, softball and whatever else made up the sporting curriculum of a NYC public school. We also did gymnastics.
I was less crap at gymnastics than some other sports. At least here being small, meek and well balanced counted for something. I might not be able to walk on my hands but I was also hard to knock off the balance beam. Then there was the vaulting horse. To someone my size this thing was big. Hee-yuge. And it was lined up, waiting for my turn to dive roll over this horse that I learned the importance of visualizing what you wanted to happen.
If I chatted, or simply quaked, as it came up to my turn, I would land on the horse, or fall over it. Trip. Get stuck. But if I spent the walk-up seeing myself flying over it — I would. I used the same process in ballet class. I would see myself going through the combination and then let my body take over and it was like magic. And I tested it too. I’d deliberately think about dinner or knee socks and I’d flop like a giant herring onto the horse or screw up the series of steps.
I hadn’t, despite convincing myself of the usefulness of this technique, thought about using it with the children. Perhaps that is Wayne Dyer’s point — to take what we know and not just hoard it or ration it out in child-sized spoonfuls, but open our hands, filled with our experience and knowledge and see what the child wants to take.
Even so, the things I KNOW most, the things that are most in the bone, are things I found out myself. So I am somewhat suspicious of teaching my children everything. I think more of keeping them safe, making sure they have a strong rock to stand on, while they find things out for themselves.
You are so right about that. What you wrote kind of reminds me of a passage in a book by Ariel Gore (Hip Mama’s Survival Guide to Staying Sane in the Chaos of Motherhood) She compares our role as parents to being the violin in a major orchestra. You are not the conductor or anything, you are merely the violin. And if you fuck up a few notes, it won’t wreck the whole orchestra. Also, if you play beautifully but other instruments are screwing up- the sympony will still sound — agh. It was way better in the book but you get the idea. Anyway, I’m not some parenting book junkie- The book I mention is more about being a mom and how to stay sane than it is about parenting- but i liked that one part.
I think for me, I keep drilling it into myself that I have to be a better role model because I am a really shitty one often. But, you are right about that rock. Good role model or not, I am merely the violin. And even if all the other instruments stopped playing, I can carry the tune and be the rock.
True, true, true. You learn best what you learn all on your own.
You’re so right about this. I’m the sort of person who’s always anticipating problems and trying to prevent/solve them in advance – its hard to watch your children make mistakes, but so important to let them.
I agree with you too. Everytime I have just let me body do what it knows it works beautifully but if I force it, it is a mess. I agree that as a parent we need to be the rock and hard as it is kids need to make mistakes so that they know how to correct them. I would rather be near by them and help them than have them be adults with no clue.
I was thinking about those gymnastic classes not too long ago too. I can’t believe we used to do those flying rolls over the horse! All I can think of is how if I were to try that now I would probably stutter step right before I got to the springboard, and crash the way you described. But back then, it was at least possible to forget how crazy-dangerous a thing it was to be doing and just sail right over.
Why I respect and admire my father:
He never lectured me when I was stuck on a problem. (Oh,he lectured me plenty, don’t get me wrong). However, when I would be querying an issue with a friend, or a subject for a paper, or an existential crisis, my father…
…the quietest, most introverted man to walk Northeast Georgia…
…would tell me a story about his life.
He wouldn’t say, “This is what I do when faced with your problem.” He wouldn’t say, “This is what you SHOULD do.”
He would just…tell me an anecdote about his life, and walk away. And I came to conclusions.
“Dad, I really want to travel, someday. But it’s pricy. I wish I knew how I could get enough money to travel to Europe.”
(pause, light cigar, puff,puff, he speaks:)
“When I was a Merchant Marine, one summer, I saved four hundred dollars and one hundred cartons of cigarettes. I booked passage on a cargo ship to Germany, slept in hold with forty other guys, made it to Germany, and lived off those cigarettes for a month. It was one of the best trips I ever made.”
Now, if that isn’t sharing a tool, I’m not quite sure what is.
Gosh.
I think I’ll tell my dad how much that meant to me.
Thanks, Stuntmother. You bring out the best.
(word ver is too good not to share: lmvid, adj.: I was lmvid when my arm fell asleep under the cat while I read about tax evading corporate ninnies!
what you have said
completely makes sense.
experience
is what really drives
the lesson
home.
and also, on an amusing note,
i was short and small in
school and gym class was my
nemesis…
except when we got to
gymnastics…
then i ruled
(and by that, i mean,
i was more or less competent)
heehee
isnt teaching them what you know, kind of like giving them that strong rock to stand on, or balance beam in this case.