In my job, I strive to recognize patterns. A student’s lack of eye contact, disorganized notebook, or excessive timidity can signal to me potential academic issues on the horizon. I have tried to become attuned to the signs, and I am usually on track.
The same is true in my personal life. I am the parent who is quick to point out what might go awry with our best-laid plans. From my perspective, I try to keep my tone in check and am not pessimistic – at least not usually [sigh]. I aim to use my eagle eye to navigate a path with as few pitfalls as possible, enabling the best opportunity for success.
My husband, on the other hand, is a perpetual optimist. His response to any approaching catastrophe, as my family can attest, is to forecast unequivocally that it will be fine. True to form, he is usually correct, but our parenting approach has, therefore, become, much to my chagrin, an unplanned strategy of “good cop/bad cop,” with me in the role of the killjoy.
My keen awareness of oncoming issues is of great value, but I have learned that when working with students (because my husband is not around), my anticipation works best when paired with optimism. Because I assume both roles, good cop and bad cop when coaching, I try to lead with optimism. Indeed, as we emerge from the pandemic, I am calling for more optimism in my life and in the lives of my students.
Optimism deeply affects our high school children. Their self-confidence and their dreams hinge on our belief in them. I work to build and to rebuild confidence in my students daily, yet often at home, as parents, we carelessly plant seeds of doubt in our children as we anticipate risks. We must resist the urge to warn our children that a single grade could decimate their chances in college admissions, that they won’t get into an undergraduate business program if they do not fill their resumés now with strong summer internships, or that they must take five AP classes during their junior year to improve their class rank. We all occasionally slip into killjoy territory with a hyperbolic response, but this fear messaging harms our children. We must tone down these overwrought threats in favor of positivity, particularly when navigating high school and the college application process.
I preach positive self-talk to my students. I do not tolerate the words, “I can’t,” “I hate,” or “I’m bad at.“ As parents, we must promote a positive self-image, too. Let’s not lie to our children, as we all have relative weaknesses, but let’s teach our children to lead with their strengths and to shore up their weaknesses.
Choosing optimism in an often-dark world can be a difficult choice, but when our own worries seep into our parental rhetoric, we run the risk of damaging our children’s hope and self-image. Our children are our biggest and most valuable investment. Let’s infuse them with a can-do and confident spirit.