“Mom, I can’t do it, I’m not good at this,” Truett said as he tore out yet another sheet of paper from his notebook. He was trying to draw an angry bird (from the game and not bad tempered fowl in general) but he wasn’t getting it quite right.
I peered over to see a roundish lump that bore about as much resemblance to an angry bird as it did to my grandmother. Which is to say, none. I guess it was a relatively decent effort as far as lumps go, with a nice roundish lumpiness to it. But truth be told, it wasn’t spectacular. It wasn’t even a frame-on-the-wall level of artwork.
“It’s a good try, son. Look, there’s the beak right? And the eyes…” I said.
He was scratching his head the way he usually does when he’s frustrated. “I think I won’t draw anymore. You do it for me.”
It’s a familiar scenario. The kids are at an age where they want to attempt new stuff. Stuff that they want to learn but aren’t very good at yet. You know, like drawing and dancing and skating and singing. And because they struggle to pick up a new skill, they know their attempt isn’t quite good enough so they get frustrated and feel like they’re lousy at it.
I figured there are a few ways to deal with it.
1. Be the realist parent. “Um, yeah, that’s not very good. But hey, you’re just a kid so you’re not expected to be good at it anyway. Maybe you’ll be good at something else.”
2. Be the pessimist Asian parent. “Like that also donch know? Hopeless lah, you. Last time mommy 5 years old already know how to *insert random skill*. When you go to prammy school sure die.”
3. Be the overly enthusiastic parent. “You’re great at this. No, really, you’re like the Van Gogh of angry bird drawing. In fact, I bet when Van Gogh was 5, he drew a lump just like yours and called it The Angry Bird, which eventually became one of his lesser known but no less amazing works.”
Guess which one we go for? That’s right, the third one.
Wait, hang on. Ok I’m aware of how annoying it is when parents think that their kids can poop rainbows and are basically the most magnificent specimens of awesomeness in the entire universe. Which is why I generally refrain from bragging (or humble-bragging) about them to other people.
But with them, it’s different. We tell them often that they’re brilliant and incredible and out of this world kind of awesome. Because it’s our job to see the potential they have and it’s our job to tell them that they can do amazing things even though they’re not doing them just yet.
During their first time on skates, they spent more time crawling around on all fours than actually on the wheels, but we were all “You can do this, guys! Come on, you just need to try again and pretty soon, you’ll be skating like Tony Hawk.” Am I certain that they’ll be that good at skating? No, not really. But there’s a chance they could. They could be the next Einstein or Picasso or Phelps.
So I picked up Truett’s crumpled ball of paper and told him that it was a great try and all he needed was some practice to get really good at it. In fact, I’d hold his hand and we could draw it together for now.
Behold, our angry birds masterpiece.
