Follow Your Bliss

Kenton and I had a heated discussion this morning following my mere suggestion that he post his music on You Tube. I'm sure you could imagine the conversation that followed, suffice to say his passion about his art came through loud and clear. And once again I tried to say that we are entitled to our own thoughts and ideas and opinions. Thoughts and ideas are so personal and often stubbornly unchangeable, but opinions, not so much if you have any intelligence at all. And because he was so adamant about why he wouldn't "you tube", my opinion about that part of it changed. I mentioned the 11 year old who posted his music for family and friends and now has a recording contract. Your brother's head almost exploded. (Good thing I didn't mention The Black Eyed Peas. Remember how you went off on me for liking those "sell-outs"?) And I had the very clear thought that this was one of those times he should have been able to call you and commiserate about your crazy mama and my heart ached for both of you that that is gone.
But I am glad he has such convictions about his gift and that we can shout about it. You were as passionate about your writing. From the time you could write in school, you would not let us help you with any assignment (in any curriculum area for that matter), and you were adamant about that! When you turned in a report on a California mission, your fourth grade teacher called us and said that the writing was too sophisticated for a student in her class. Perhaps she forgot that the Rapid Learner class had a basis to it's founding, like "gifted". Regardless, your dad took the call and said he hadn't seen the report as you wouldn't let us ever proofread your work because you didn't want us to correct it and make it ours. Smart girl! The teacher said she would send it back so you could redo it in a fourth grader style of writing and then she would rescore it. When we read it with you, we could see how crushed you were, but the real Kenna showed through in your deep indignation. Your dad did something that I, as a fellow teacher, might not have done, but I still applaud him to this day for having done so. He calmly told you to take a bath, get ready for bed and he would take care of it.
Then he proceeded to redo your report that you had saved on the computer. His goal was to redo your report in the style of a typical fourth grader. His only experience with this age was obviously you and Kameron, so his "typical" was quite skewed. I smiled as he struggled to rewrite your words and "dummy down" without using his hundred dollar words. Believe me, that was a challenge for him! He stayed up all night, writing, rewriting but trying to keep your voice. At one point, he asked if he should really do this and what lesson could he be teaching you.
The next morning he told you he had just fixed a few things and we would see what happened. You didn't question it but you were still hurt by the teacher's disbelief that you could have written such a good piece without plagiarising (which you did not do, ever).
The next day, you brought home the report, head down, and silently handed it to me. The comments in red on the cover said "GREAT JOB! This is more like it. I knew you could do it, Kenna!"
And then I questioned what lesson that teacher had taught you.
I couldn't live with it so we met with your principal. We gave him fresh copies of both reports and asked him to read them and tell us which one you had written. He knew full well your gift in writing and said that both were good (your dad was oddly relieved), but he could easily identify yours. Then we explained what happened.
Our goal was not to embarrass the teacher nor teach you that cheating was a good response, but we did not want you to ever compromise your ideals. We had allowed that once with Kameron and his teacher and never forgave ourselves. Remember his beautiful blond, curly hair? He got a haircut one day and the young woman talked him into leaving a short 1 inch "tail", the style at the time. It was just a small curl at the nap of the neck, hardly noticeable, but he was pleased.
He came home from school the next day and asked us to cut it off. When we asked if his friends liked it, he said they all did. It finally came out that his teacher asked whose idea was it, his mother's or his father's. That was all she said but the way she said it delivered her message loud and clear to this 8 year old and he did not want to have her disapprove of him in any way. He actually felt shame while we felt fury! We tried to talk him out of cutting it and staying true to his beliefs, but there was no convincing him. And in the end, we all compromised to allow him to let go of the feeling of any further ridicule to come and cut off the tail. It still makes me cry now, 25 years later. Kameron, of course, in his pragmatic way, would tell me it's not worth feeling sad about. Can't you just hear him?
These two instances actually made me a better teacher and person on several levels. I look for the gifts in all children and get to know them as well as possible, as quickly as possible. And no matter what I think of someone's hair or clothing, I always frame comments in the positive. (Ignoring it can hurt as much as disapproval). Who are we to pass on negative personal opinions to children who just need us to like them?
What I learned early on is that my own children are entitled to be passionate and I am so grateful that I am allowed to be a part of that journey. I know you all gagged when I gave you each a little sign in your Christmas stockings that said "Follow your Bliss" but I have the right to be as passionate about that as you all are about your ideals. And isn't the word bliss a good one to have in your heart?
And did you not follow your bliss in your poems and stories and Saturday Night Live skits? Someday I might share your writings but I'll wait for a sign from you. If it's what you want, I know you'll smack me upside the head with it when the time is right. Sadly, I have nothing but time now. I miss your tenacity and your spirit and your uncompromising view of the world. It kept me grounded at times when I wanted to float away in Bambiland. Where's my anchor now? I guess it's in the white butterflies and the silence at night when I listen for you under your stars...and in our boys.