The Blue Bear

     It’s never too early to teach your child to be true to herself despite what others may think.

When I was five years old and in a traditional kindergarten class, I remember being given a bear to color.  Back then, we didn’t all have our 128 color boxes of crayons to take to school, so I was also given a crayon to use – a blue crayon.  Usually an agreeable little girl, always willing to please, this crossed some line in my mind.  Color a bear blue?!  Where has this teacher been that she has seen blue bears?  I already knew that there were white bears, brown bears, black bears, and even bears that were sort of yellow, but not blue.  I sat demurely at my table the entire time everyone else was coloring.  Because I never made a sound or disrupted anyone (a typical gifted girl), I guess I flew under the teacher’s radar.  When she came around to collect the colored pictures, though, she looked at my blank page with my name neatly written on the top in blue crayon and said, “Nancy, you didn’t color your bear like the other children.”  I shook my head in agreement.  After all, I had not been asked a question that required an answer.  She had just stated the obvious.  Unwittingly, though, I had done something wrong because the next thing I knew a note was being pinned to my blouse for my mother.  

When I arrived at home that afternoon (having taken the bus all by myself from school to the end of the road, and then walked the quarter mile up the road to my house – all without the aid of a parent or guardian or police officer since those were simpler times), my mother saw the note pinned to my blouse and asked what it was.  I honestly told her that I did not know.  She looked skeptical, but took the note off and read it.  She then did her best to suppress a smile, but I could see it teasing her eyes.  The conversation went something like this:

Mommy:  Were you supposed to color a bear at school?

Nancy:    Yes.

Mommy:  Did you color the bear?

Nancy:     No.

Mommy:  Why didn’t you color the bear?

Nancy:     Miss Ross gave me a blue crayon.

Mommy:  So why didn’t you color the bear with the blue crayon?

Nancy:     Bears aren’t blue.

Mommy (outwardly smiling now):  Did Miss Ross ask you why you didn’t      
              color the bear?  

Nancy:     No.  She just told me that I didn’t do it and I already knew that.

Mommy:   Well, don’t worry about it.  You’re right.  Bears aren’t blue.  Run 
                     along and play.

Of course, this being the early 1960s, the next day I found myself sitting in my classroom next to my mother and across from Miss Ross after school.  They were treating this “incident” as though I had tried to burn down the school.  Serious faces looked at each other as Miss Ross said that she hoped we could nip this defiance in the bud.  She had never known me to refuse to comply with an assignment and didn’t want a trend to develop.  My mother, an equally serious expression on her face except for the quick wink in my direction, asked my teacher if she had asked me why I had not colored the bear.  The teacher said, “Of course I did.  What kind of teacher do you think I am?” to which my mother calmly replied, “We think you’re a wonderful teacher, Miss Ross,” referring to both her and my father’s opinion of the teacher.  My father was not at the conference, though, because he was at work.  This raising children thing was a mother’s job in the 1960s.  My mother continued, “What was Nancy’s reason for not coloring the bear?”  Miss Ross thought for a minute and became a little flustered, saying that she was embarrassed but could not remember my answer.  My mother turned my way and said, “Nancy, tell Miss Ross why you chose not to color the bear.”  I timidly said, “Because, Miss Ross, bears aren’t blue.”

Thus, with those six words, my potential reputation as a deviant was erased, and a new one was put firmly in place.  I was now known as the brainy one, the wise guy child.  Watch out for this one.  She’s tricky.  

Don't Trust The Baby Books

          You know how every pregnant woman has to read What to Expect When You’re Expecting?  And then once the baby is born, we all fall prey to the books that tell us exactly – to the minute – when our child will roll over, sit up, crawl, climb, walk, talk, learn the alphabet, speak Spanish fluently. . .  We’re ready.  We now know EXACTLY what to expect.  I even knew a mother who wrote on her calendar that she could expect her daughter to accomplish certain milestones on that day.  Her husband would call from work and ask her if the little girl had spoken her first word yet or crawled yet.  They really expected that because she was a certain age, it would happen – that day.  And, what is worse, they were crestfallen that she did not.  Then they began to worry.  Something must be wrong with their child!

Real life throws us curve balls.  The baby doesn’t sleep – ever!  The baby is hungry – always!  The baby doesn’t crawl on cue, but he reels in his toys by pulling on the blanket Mommy has placed him on so that he doesn’t get dirty (heaven forbid a child should get dirty!).  The toy is five feet away from baby lying on his tummy.  He looks at the rattle and says to himself, “Self, I may not know how to get to that toy yet, but I can make it come to me!” and he proceeds to pull on the blanket until the toy is within his reach.  Hmmm, thinks the mother, as she frantically searches the books on the shelf looking for the chapter on rodeo babies lassoing and reeling in toys.  What do you know?  It isn’t in there.

  Or how about the little roller?  A friend told me how she laughed as her son rolled all over the house.  One day, her husband was about to stop him as he approached the stairs, but they were carpeted, the baby was pretty well padded with a diaper, and there were only two little stairs, so she persuaded him to stand back and see what happened.  Sure enough!  Down went the barrel racer (No, wait, barrel racers race around barrels.  They’re not the barrels, are they?)  Kaboom, kerplunk, smile!  Boy, was he proud of himself.  He had navigated another floor of the house all by himself at only 6 months.  Hearing his parents’ gasps quickly followed by laughter just gave him courage and off he went across the living room floor – rolling, rolling, rolling.   Just for the record, that’s not in the baby books, either.

Then there was the little bundle of joy who, at about 6 months of age began making the most adorable face.  Everyone thought it was just the cutest thing the way he scrunched up his little nose and rubbed his eyes.  They lovingly referred to it as his “piggy face” because he really did flatten his little nose.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t until years later that his parents realized the poor little guy had allergies and was trying to relieve the annoying itching.  Again, no “If baby makes piggy face, he has allergies” entry in the books.

When you have a child who doesn’t follow the rules that the books set forth, for the average child,  you find yourself in a sort of no man’s land.  You no longer know what to expect.  You might turn your back and find your little one at the top of a flight of stairs that you knew you had to gate, but not for a couple of months yet.  Or, you might hear a crash in the night and realize, to your sleepy horror, that junior has “climbed” out of his crib and is lying in a pile on the carpeted floor looking somewhat confused before the tears set in.  You will find that your child does not follow the rules now and probably never will.  He makes new ones for himself.  And this is only the beginning.

So what do you do when you have a baby who doesn’t follow the rules?  You throw away the What to Expect books and listen to your instincts.  You follow your child’s lead.  And you enjoy the ride!

Oh What Fun It Is To Raise A Gifted Child Today

(sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)

       In this era when a parent gauges his or her success as a parent by how early the baby walks and talks, whether or not the toddler can recite his alphabet and numbers to 100, and how high the child’s IQ is, we have forgotten to laugh at just how ridiculous this all is.  When did parents start taking themselves so seriously?  When did their own accomplishments take a backseat to those of their offspring?  When did their children serve more of a purpose as bragging rights than as bundles of joy?  Joy.  That’s what we’re forgetting.  Parenting a gifted child (Boy, do I hate that term!) is joyful.  Why?  Because the bright child “gets it.”  Let’s face it.  If these terrors didn’t “get it” they wouldn’t be able to push all of our buttons.  But I digress.

  Raising a (please can’t I think of a better term than gifted?) bright, curious, Eveready Bunny of a child can be exhausting; but it is also a wonderful, chaotic, fun, adventure.  I’m reminded of Grandma’s tale in the movie Parenthood:

Grandma: You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster. 

Gil: Oh? 

Grandma: Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride! 

Gil: What a great story. 

Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.

      This is exactly what raising a gifted child is – a roller coaster – and you never know where the next dip, turn, or loop will be.  Join me on this adventure as we begin tomorrow with “Don’t Trust the Baby Books”.