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Please Stop Trying to Make Your Child Live Your Dreams
Dear Parents,
You don’t know me. I’m just an officious bystander, but I see you. I’ve been you. Worse yet, I’ve been your kid.
I know you want the best for little Bobby or Jenny. I get that. And I know you think they’re gifted in some way. Maybe they are. Bobby might be the best little gymnast the world has seen. Jenny might be the brilliant scientific mind that you’re sure will cure Cancer, AIDS and everything else. I hope they are, but have you ever taken a moment to look at what they want?
If not, please do allow me to tell you how the story’s going to go when they tell it to a shrink 20 years from now. I was Bobby. I was Jenny.
I was a very bright child, scoring well within Mensa range and did very well in school. I also somehow, was a gifted athlete. I did track and gymnastics and my body suited both perfectly. I ran like the wind and tumbled like … well, whatever tumbles really well.
My parents grabbed onto this like life itself. I was their ticket. To what? To acceptability, to that thing they could lord over the neighbours. My father, a former boxer who, in all honestly, got cheated out of his chance at fame and fortune, made it his mission in life to ensure his daughter was SOMEBODY.
