NPR’s recent story, “Struggle for Smarts: How Eastern and Western Cultures Tackle Learning” really got me thinking.  I’ve spent 22 years teaching junior high, and 16 years parenting, so the question of how do I teach kids to tackle struggle resonates in my everyday life.  The NPR story focuses on struggle and intellect – how that looks in the classroom and at home.  It made me think about the bigger idea of struggle, determination, and perseverance – traits that as a mom, I find creeping up in my life every day.

As a parent, I’ve tried to show my kids the easiest path – I’ll be honest.  Does anyone like to see their kid make painful mistakes, or take the twisting road rather than the straight? Watching our children collapse in defeat or cry in frustrations makes us feel helpless and wish we could change the outcome to spare them the agony of defeat, frustration, and yes, struggle.

No one mentions struggle in the parent handbook.

With babies, we think we will do it right.  We’ve read the books, watched, the videos, and for me, I had seen enough rotten parenting in my first six years of teaching to know I would do it differently.

None of that prepared me for those moments of struggle.  The moment when my daughter cried in exhaustion after her first weeks in kindergarten.  The moment when she had to understand her math problem – in Spanish.  The moment when she fell off the balance beam at a gym meet, or had to deal with ‘mean girls’ for the first time.  The moment when my son struck out in a baseball game, crashed in a ski race, or tested for his black belt.

I felt utterly helpless.

But in those moments, something came to me.  I suppose it was that same tingling feeling that comes to a boxer when they’re down, or a scientist on the brink of a cure.  It felt that profound, that important.  It was that split-second moment when struggle could tip the scales.

Parents know that moment.  It feels like your heart will tear out of your chest, wanting to protect, run away, shield them.  It plows through your head like a tsumani, spilling your thoughts and emotions all over and eventually, hopefully, turning you upright, to the air pocket, and in the right direction.

Don’t give up.  Persevere.  Fight.  Push yourself.  Never quit.  You can do it.  Come on, peanut.  Stick it.  Ski fast, buddy.  You’ve got this.  Run fast.  Indomitable spirit.  Study.  Don’t be afraid.

Mama loves you.

In the end, struggles happen.  Our world thrives on them.  We look to Eastern cultures and marvel at their test scores, their focus, and their determination.  We look to Western cultures and are inspired at their individuality, their creativity and problem solving.  We wonder if we’re doing the right thing.

We look to our children and know that struggle will not escape them, no matter how much we wish them safe travels down the yellow brick road of life.

So parents, what are we going to teach them?

If you’d like to read more of my analysis of the NPR story from a teacher’s perspective, please click over to my Yahoo article, “Are American Students Getting Through School Too Easily?”

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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I’d been getting the emails for several weeks.  Each time I opened and read the plea for volunteers to come to Nevada, to work on the campaign, I felt a twinge of guilt.  It was so easy to ignore them, delete and they were gone.  It didn’t take much.  But they kept coming.  And I kept considering, and deleting.

Until I got a phone call from a friend that changed everything.  I couldn’t resist-she had it all set up, I was free, and it wouldn’t take much for me to step up and walk the talk.  I considered, and instead of deleting, I accepted.

I’ve never worked much on a political campaign. I’ve made some phone calls, sported bumper stickers on our cars, made our monetary donations, worked phone banks and made sure I was educated on the issues.  Politics is commonplace in our family conversations, but actually participating face-to-face with other like-minded people is new territory.  I felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness as I packed the car and drove through the dark to Reno.

I woke up the next morning twittering with excitement.  Breakfast couldn’t go fast enough; the family couldn’t get ready as quickly as I wanted.  I couldn’t wait to see what it was all about, especially with my children by my side.   As the rally began, chants of “Si Se Puede” rang out above the thunderous clapping of the Unite HERE group of volunteers.  The energy built to a crescendo, then the details of why we were there and what we needed to accomplish began.  There was a palpable sense of purpose in the air; a definite sense of duty to take action and teach my children firsthand what a presidential election is all about.

Armed with our ‘universe’ of names and addresses and a few hundred door hangers, we headed out to the streets of Reno to knock on doors and urge people to get out to vote.  Our nervousness edged away, replaced by a sense of duty and service.  As my son and I walked together we talked about his opinions on the election, and who he would vote for, and why.  With each step, each contact, and each door hanger left, we came closer to our goal of taking action and walking the talk.

Our lunch break provided another opportunity to open up our world.  Eating side by side with union workers from all over California allowed us a peek into a community we know little about.  To learn these workers had spent the last two months away from their families in order to work on the campaign humbled me.  To hear my son conversing in Spanish with Rosa, a Disneyland banquet server, made me swell with pride.

Our day was long, yet satisfying.  Overall, we made nearly 125 contacts as we methodically walked our territory.  Together, we moved through gated communities, apartment complexes, and converted motels to spread our message of democracy.  We met people of all political persuasions.  We  felt the importance of each and every vote, and heard the power of the people when united for a common cause.

But most importantly, I sensed the lessons my children were absorbing through the sights, sounds, and people they met along the way.  I felt no more guilt.  I could no longer ignore it – I needed to take action.  To walk my talk.  To show my children what true citizenship really is.  It didn’t take much.  Consider it.  Get out and vote.  Show your children what you believe.

What have you been wanting to do? What would you need in order to take action?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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I’ve got about 35 days before my life changes dramatically. No, I’m not going to get a new job, a new house, or a new child. I’m not planning a great adventure, a big risk, or starting a new exercise program.

What I am is a ski mom, and despite only having a dusting of snow in the Sierras, my kids are aching to be back to the snow.

From November through April, I spend an extraordinary amount of time slugging around the mountains as my children test their fearlessness, hitting top speeds of 60+ mph. We drive in the dawn and dusk, spending all daytime hours on snow. Well, they are on snow. I’m mostly IN snow, lugging multiple pairs of skis, poles, gear, and bags and bags of food.

And this year, I just found out, I’ll be spending the first New Year’s Eve alone in almost 30 years – all because of skiing. Their skiing – I’m not included in this one. I’ll be home, alone, in the snow.

My family is crazy.

They come by it honestly. The ski fanaticism, that is.  Their paternal great-grandparents skied before there were proper ski lifts, ‘racing’ down on wooden skis and leather boots. I fondly remember weekends spent with my dad on the slopes, and my husband raced through college.  Putting our kids on skis at age three seemed a no-brainer.  It turned out to be the perfect sport for them when they were young, and a great family activity. Then enter racing, ski camps, dry-land practices and coaching jobs. My family is obsessed with skiing.

Many people think I’m the one that’s crazy – why don’t I just send them on their way, and enjoy quiet times at home, or holed up in a cabin with a blanket or a good book, or at the very least, in a ski lodge with a good bar. I guess my answer is the same one that you might hear from a soccer mom, a baseball mama, or any other parent who travels around in the shadow of their athletic children.

I secretly enjoy it.

I love knowing that my kids are busy all day, every day, every weekend. They go to bed early and wake up early, keeping them out of ‘trouble’. They eat well, exercise, and get plenty of fresh air. We play card games, watch movies, and cook together every night.  They have great ski friends, push themselves to do their best, and simply just have a lot of fun.

Isn’t that really what parenting is all about? These years are fleeting, and I feel the clock ticking down. Someday I just know I’ll wake up at 4 a.m. and wish I had one more drive up the hill, one more snowstorm to slosh through with them in the back seat, one more race finish to cheer them on.

So come next December 31, maybe I’ll find a great book, pop a bottle of bubbly, and toast how wonderful it is to be a mom. Honestly, I can’t think of anything better.

What crazy things do you do for your kids? What keeps you going in those moments of insanity?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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My son is one of those kids who goes fast and furious.  He always has.  He rarely backs down from situations that many kids wouldn’t dream of trying, and usually comes out unscathed.  Maybe we can simply attribute his landing on his feet to good balance, or a dash of common sense – I’m not sure.  This kid has no fear on zip lines over a jungle, flies down a ski racecourse at 60+ mph, and dives off piers into icy cold water.  You’d think nothing would rattle my nerves anymore.

I have to say that I’ve gotten used to his sense of reckless abandon, but never quite used to the fluttering in my gut every time he does something that makes me wrack my brain to figure out where he gets his courage.  It couldn’t possibly be from me.

I was pleased that he spent several hours outside today with a buddy- no daring feats of athletic prowess, just good, old fashioned fun in the dirt.  I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing, but they seemed busy and happy, and since no loud noises were alarming me through the window, I thought it was harmless.

Then he came rushing in to ask if he could use a tarp he found under the deck.

It should have sent my radar up when he so quickly agreed to put everything back the way he found it.  Wood, bricks, branches gathered from all around the house transformed into a two-boy shelter.  Three hours later they came up for air, bursting through the door covered in dust and sweat, grins as wide as could be.

I remembered those days of ‘Mom, look at me’ as I climbed down the deck stairs and into the backyard. Architecturally sound, they had created the ultimate above ground ‘boy-cave’, complete with a booby trap pit that I immediately tumbled into, spawning giggles all around.  Pride shone on their faces as they described the elaborate construction and their plans for sleeping outside.

That’s when my fear broke through.  Creating the fort was one thing.  Sleeping outside–not so sure.  We’re in bear and coyote country, it is cold, dark, and full of
mosquitoes…the reasons why this was a really bad flitted around my head. My protective instincts immediately said ‘no’, but out of my mouth came, “Let’s ask your dad.” What a wimp I am.

I guess I hoped that a little bit of time would wear the novelty off of their plan, but I was wrong. After dinner, nearly dark, he started in again.  Without much objection from his dad, we relented and they whooped with joy.  Although they were ready to fearlessly dive in without preparation, we bargained with them to at least put down some towels, grab a sleeping bag, and douse their faces with bug repellent.  We insisted on pie tins and wooden spoons for bear protection, and with great ceremony, and a little trickle of teardrops on my part, tucked them in for the night.

I haven’t had many nights spent waiting up for my kids to come home yet; I naively thought it would involve broken curfews and riding in cars with boys.  Tonight, though, I got a taste of it.  Too nervous to sleep, I waited in the silence, sure they would come to their senses and creep back inside.

They didn’t.  No noise whatsoever emanated from their little lean-to, no bears appeared and not a coyote howl broke the quiet.  Everything was silent.

Until about 1:45.  I heard steps on the deck, some shuffling, and shot out of bed to the window.

There they were, barefoot and filthy, looking exhausted, but with all body parts intact.  “We were uncomfortable – and hot,” he mumbled.  I hustled them into the house, and
they clomped upstairs to bed.

I didn’t need to ask questions, didn’t need to say, “I told you so”, because in reality, they told me.  As I settled back into bed, a strange feeling came over me – peacefulness, for sure, that they were safe and sound in the next room.  But also a disappointment in myself for not trusting that everything would be ok.  A frustration that I couldn’t just let them revel in their bravery.  A gratitude that through them, I learned a lesson about trust, and courage, and fear.

Maybe I do have a little of his courage after all.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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