By: Jamie Robinson
My daughter taps the microphone, eager for my attention. “Are you ready?” she asks.
“I’m ready,” I reply, settling onto the couch beside our Goldendoodle, both of us bracing for another rendition of Idina Menzel’s “Let It Go”—this would be the third time today.
As my middle schooler shifts in her seat, a grin spreads across her face, the thrill of anticipation palpable. For a fleeting moment, I buy into her excitement. Perhaps this time, with enough dedication and practice, she might just fulfill her dream of becoming a celebrated singer one day.
She starts singing. I brace myself for the sound. The dog shifts uncomfortably at my feet, and as the chorus hits its peak, he decides he’s had enough and exits the room. My daughter, the wonderful, bright, and kind soul I adore, gives it her all, hitting some flat notes along the way.
“Was I good?” she asks, flushed and panting.
It would be simple to offer her a comforting lie. I’ve done it before.
“Mom, do you like this painting?”
“Like it? I love it!”
“Mom, aren’t those leaves cool?”
“Wow, those are the coolest leaves I’ve ever seen!”
Lying can boost a child’s self-esteem. It might even seem like a necessary aspect of parenting. However, it can also mislead them. Just take a look at any season of American Idol, where you’ll see countless hopefuls whose delusions might have been tempered with a dose of honesty.
This moment feels like one of those instances. My daughter isn’t just goofing around; she’s earnest, training for a Broadway audition. As her sounding board, I choose my words with caution: “It was pretty good.”
She narrows her eyes. “Good enough to audition for The Voice?”
“I think you have to be at least 13 for that, right?” I deflect, even if I’m unsure of the actual age requirement.
“You know what I mean. Can I be a celebrity?”
And here it comes.
“Well,” I say, keeping my tone light, “everyone has their unique talents. While your singing is nice, it might not be your strongest one. But you can still enjoy it.”
“So, you’re saying it was terrible.”
“Not at all! I’m saying everyone excels in different areas. To succeed as a singer, you need to be truly exceptional.”
“Do you think if I take lessons, I can be exceptional?”
“Maybe,” I respond, wanting to reignite that glimmer of hope. I recall Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers and the idea of putting in 10,000 hours to achieve mastery.
Years ago, during Mommy and Me music classes, a teacher told me that no child is inherently gifted or lacking in vocal ability; it’s all about the exposure to music. She would likely back Gladwell’s assertion that what we label as talent often stems from dedication and hard work.
But even if it’s true that we can become whatever we strive for with enough effort—like Mozart, who supposedly logged his 10,000 hours by his teenage years—don’t we need some foundational talent to begin with? If I encourage mediocrity in hopes of inspiring greatness, might I be diverting my child from discovering her innate gifts?
I remember my own journey with writing during my teens and twenties. I was far from great, and the process was often grueling. Yet I persevered for years, accumulating my own 10,000 hours, even without external encouragement. Now, I’m competent at it, but I’m also glad I explored other creative passions that funded my writing endeavors.
This karaoke session brings clarity. I think it’s best to nurture her singing as a hobby, allowing it to develop naturally over time. If she’s genuinely interested, she’ll pursue it, just as I did. She can continue to sing along to her favorite songs, hosting living room performances while I offer playful yet honest feedback. However, if I push for immediate lessons, I risk overlooking her strengths in other areas.
Then there’s the pressing question: why does she want to be a celebrity?
“Why do you want to be famous?” I ask, plucking some lint from the couch.
“Because everyone knows you,” she responds.
“And for what? Singing? Wouldn’t it be better to be known for something meaningful, like curing illnesses or helping others?”
“I can do that when I’m a celebrity.”
Touché.
“Okay, give it another shot, and I promise to be honest…” I lean back to listen. To my surprise, her pitch is much better this time.
This journey of nurturing her dreams while being real about her abilities is a delicate balance. For more insights into topics like home insemination, check out our other blog posts like Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo. And for valuable information on fertility, be sure to visit Mount Sinai’s excellent resource on infertility. You might also want to read Dr. Sarah Thompson’s insights on endometriosis.
In summary, while it’s tempting to reassure our children that they can achieve anything, it’s crucial to provide them with a realistic perspective on their talents. Encouraging them to explore their interests without neglecting their true strengths can lead to a more fulfilling journey.