Proud no matter what

Jacob just climbed on my back. That was fun. He's my little buddy.... now, where was I?

The last few weeks have been interesting. We tried to enroll Jacob in preschool. Poor little guy lasted only two-and-a-half days. He was just too overwhelmed. From all the fallout of the experiment, all the stress and all the tears (and there were many), I can say without question that I will always be proud of my boy.

I know that. I believe that will continue. The challenge? To make sure Jacob always knows that.

The experience did give reason for contemplation, though. It made me think back to my upbringing and how I somehow developed a capacity to categorize too many things as failure.

That got me thinking... why does such a thought even have to be suppressed? Shouldn't it never even creep into one's mind when applied to a child? Obviously, my toddler is not a failure for not being ready to start school at the age of 2. My concern is that at some point I may be tempted to apply that term too loosely... like dad seemed to.

A brief history: My dad's shoes will always have room in the toes. All of my abilities could never quite fill them. I've learned to accept that. I did well in school, he performed spectacularly (Boettcher scholar, member of AOA in medical school, and on and on).

Now, for the part that only three people in the world can really understand: Dad was very difficult to please when report cards were issued. So difficult to please (at least early on) that I was never quite sure it could be done.

I do not mention this to complain or play the victim. The point is, I woke up. So, his method was effective for me in that I took the challenge (sometimes in a vain effort to "show him") and traveled the path he advocated. It also taught me to steam over an A-minus when I was .002 away from my first college 4.0.

The question I am left to contemplate is complicated. Dad drove me to achieve, even if it was sometimes accompanied by some misery, hard feelings and stress. Mom made sure we were as loved as anyone could be. Does one work without the other? I say no.

Without mom's constant reminders that dad didn't mean to make us feel that inadequate (he often forgot to get to that part), I'm sure I would have probably lashed out.

After the lessons were taught, however, dad did a complete 180. To my shock, he didn't care one bit about my law school grades. You could have knocked me over with a deep breath when he told me not to sweat over a B-minus.

So, the point? I'm going to have to be careful. Left alone, I will bend toward being a hard-ass on grades. I will have to remember the time my academic tormentor shed his mask and told me to chill. Apparently, even hard-asses can be reformed.

Sometimes, even examples that produce results don't need to be followed by the letter.