Speaking only for myself, of course.
When our children are infants, we want them to be normal.
When they are toddlers, we want them to be competent.
When they are preschoolers, we want them to be geniuses.
When they are kindergarteners, we want them to have friends.
When they are first graders, we want them to be polite.
When they are third graders, we want them to be gifted.
When they are fifth graders, we want them to be talented.
When they are middle schoolers, we want them to be competitive.
When they are high schoolers, we want them to be ambitious.
When they are in college, we want them to be elite.
When they are adults, we want them to be normal.
If you’re near San Francisco, join me for “The Art of Non-Parenting,” a public presentation at Central Elementary School in Belmont on Thurs., May 31.
String enough good days together, like a macaroni necklace, and you’ve made a priceless treasure out of what you already have on hand.
On Wednesday evenings I’ve taken to watching TV with my daughter. It’s her one night off from gym practice and after she finishes homework, she likes to tune in to a controversial reality show called 
Dense fog covered the foothills this morning. It rolled over the ground in such billows I thought it might be fire. But it was love.
The role of a parent in the life of a child: Patience
When someone borrowed 
Here’s the thing about your 11-year-old. She has begun to see through the school she tries to like and the teachers she tries to love. See through the endless days and the culminating years. See through the grades and contests, the History Festival, Science Fair, Math Olympics and the Cultural Appreciation Day, all serving a half-hidden agenda. She has begun to see through the false privilege of measured gifts and talents, the flimsy prize of more work and extra credit. She has begun to see through the exaggerated stakes, the badges, and the salesmanship without end. She has begun to see through the unmasked elitism, the hysteria of parents in panic. She has begun to see through anyone and anything that would make a pet or pawn of her. And that empty stare, that wounded glare she brings to you – she’s wondering if you don’t see through it too.
It is time, and such a short time it is, to say yes.
The other week I turned down the invitation to speak to a preschool. Politely, I hope. I said something like “my recent encounters with preschool groups have had unreliable outcomes.” There’s more (and less) to it, but I’ve applied the rule of three: when things don’t go quite the way you expect three times in a row, it’s a good time to turn in another direction.
