Surprises

I received a couple of surprises today.

For one, my daughter and I had the traditional pre-Mother's Day trek to the store, where she would pick out something and allow me to pay for part of it-- her logic being, there wouldn't be a mother if she weren't here, and she wouldn't be here if it weren't for the both of us, so its only fair that we share in the cost. I'd love to say that she has pretty good taste for a kid, but -- well, its okay. She picks out things that she would like, so of course Mom will like it too. And her logic must be sound, because every year, Mom does like it. What a surprise!

For another, upon our return home, she handed me a sheet of paper which said in typically graceful bureaucratic prose that she had not passed the first of the two qualifying tests for algebra, and so would not offered the opportunity to be in that program. She will, apparently, be given the chance to be in a moderately accelerated program, taking pre-algebra courses a year early. I thought I was prepared for the idea that she would not make it -- after all, three out of four do not -- but apparently I was not prepared for the possibility that she would not make the very first hurdle. I was well and truly pissed, and it was at her, because I felt that she had let me down. I knew that wasn't rational, and so I didn't talk to her about it until I was calmer. I just sequestered myself in the bedroom, found a book, and immersed myself in it. Well, when I wasn't just lying there with it on my chest, staring up at the ceiling.

I eased into the subject over dinner. She didn't seem too unhappy about not making it, and that stoked my fires a bit, but then she said something that widened my eyes. She said that she wasn't allowed to be disappointed, because the principal had said that they all should be pleased that they were selected for the test. Being selected alone was an honor. They should not be disappointed, she said, if they did not make it. I leaned over and said Kiddo, I like your principal, she's a nice person and she tries hard, but I've got to tell you: she is clueless about this. I'm not saying you have to be devastated, but if you want to feel disappointed, go right ahead. The heck with what your principal says.

I did not say that she should go in there tomorrow and kick over the principals desk, set fire to her inbox and light a stogie from the ashes, but I did think it. Not allowed, indeed.

I really do believe that my child is superior in some ways. If I had to swag a number, I'd say that if the average kid is a 5, a dullard is a 1 and a super bright kid is a 9, she's probably about a 6 overall, and a 6.5 in one or two areas. Like any parent, I want to give her the best possible foundation. I don't expect that she's going to get a PhD in Biochemistry at 17, but I think she's got good intellectual genes (if there were such things), and I want her to feel the satisfaction of meeting challenges. Of stretching just a bit, in lots of places. Of feeling herself grow. (And not just physically: the other day she came into the room and struck a pose, asking me what I thought. Very nice, I replied, wondering what I was complimenting. New sports bra, she said happily, and ran out. Oh. )

I'll admit it: I want her to know she's bright.

We're going to pass these thoughts to the middle school folks (who we met last night, and who are generally pretty sharp, if occasionally unable to remember to use bigger words and less boosterish enthusiasm when they're talking to adults than they do when talking to kids), and we're going to give them this message: As you watch our daughter, keep in mind that we want her to do as well as she possibly can. If you find ways that we can help, outside of the usual (the usual being all of the cute phrases educators like to use, including, god help me, 'kids need a lot of sleep', which the guidance counselor for her class used last night), then tell us, and we'll pursue it. We'll even look into a tutor to enhance her strengths and address her weaknesses.

We think she's a bright, wonderful kid, and we want her to excel.

Gee -- another surprise.