So who is that fat old man slogging along the blacktop
pathway at 6:00 in the morning? He’s over-weight, in poor form, carrying his
head down and is probably in a world of hurt. He’s so slow that turtles are
passed him on their way to breakfast. Why isn’t he at the coffee shop with the
other retirees; those old farts who spend a good part of their days bitching
about the government and life in general? Why is he out most mornings, making a
fool of himself except he doesn’t care? What is he trying to prove? And to whom?
Who is that lithe young girl running like a gazelle so
easily and eloquently in the morning dew? She passes the old man and they smile
at one another, if only for one brief moment, then they’re back to their own
space; encapsulated in their own thoughts and reflections.
Who is the middle-aged woman at a Community Ed painting
class sitting beside that macho guy, both focused on their hard scribbles few
other people would call a painting? Yet they don’t seem to care or even notice.
They keep dabbling, experimenting, making smears across the canvas that only
they can understand and appreciate.
What are these folks trying to prove? Why engage in these
mundane endeavors? Obviously, it’s not for anyone else because nobody else
gives a hoot what they’re up to.
I would suggest they’re following their passion, their
ambition. That internal engine that drives them to push their bodies, push
their desire, push their need to do…
But what is ambition? What drives ambition? And more to my point
of interest, how do you instill ambition in your kids or grandkids? I have no
pat answers. It’s always easier to ask questions than to pull answers out of that
cauldron called life.
For example, what happens when you’ve worked hard all your
life for those things you feel you deserve and you want your kids to have?
There’s nothing wrong with that but how do you keep your kids hungry when
you’ve fed them so well?
How do you balance giving your kids material things and
still hope they have a desire to go beyond those sundry distractions for more
substance in their lives? How do you
feed ambition in your kids when they’re living a privileged life (relatively
speaking). Privileg-ed because you
wanted it that way.
How do you help them
understand the power of money and the responsibility that goes with it. Yet you
don’t want to deprive them of any of the experiences you had or didn’t have
growing up yourself.
I don’t think
there’s a set answer out there. Or a guidebook that details how to build desire
and want in a young person’s mind. Some have it and others don’t. I was
lucky. I was born poor and didn’t have far to go to move in another direction.
Absence does fuel a strong desire in some people to…
With our own kids, we simply had expectations. Most were unspoken,
unwritten, seldom talked about but always understood. And we gave them
opportunities. Lots and lots of opportunities. That seemed to work for us.
Now with the
grandchildren, we’ve taken on a supporting role in raising and educating
them; always in
deference to our own kids and their spouses. Their parenting decisions
always pull the
most weight. But that doesn’t mean we can’t suggest, offer, volunteer or
otherwise support
ideas of our own. Seems to be working for us.
My theory is to let kids explore whatever they want to. And
encourage them to do so.
So if Brennan wants to play with a ‘little people’ house,
let him. Maybe he’ll become an architect or real estate developer someday. I
wonder how Frank Gerry or Frank Lloyd Wright got started.
If Charlotte wants to play with trucks, let her. Caterpillar
could probably use some good female engineers.
If Maya loves performing on stage with a microphone. Well,
her aunt is a good attorney which every performer can use.
If Samantha can stare down her brother in a fight over toys,
she might become a good hypnotist or psychologist.
And if Spencer can hang by his toes on a jungle gym, K-12
may be calling.
So we intend to give the grandkids lots and lots of
experiences and opportunities. And have plenty of expectations for all of them
at the same time. I want them to be like that old man and young girl jogging in
the morning. And the middle-aged woman and guy exploring their respective
talents for painting. I want my grandkids to do, to try, to experiment, to fail
more than once and to try again. And again. And again.
And that fat old man who is out jogging each morning. He
still needs a pill to get it up. He’ll probably never run a real race, even a
5k. But he keeps chugging along. Day
after day. And yet when he’s done and he’s hurting and rank and exhausted, he
is still in his own world of Valhalla. Because he’s done what so many of us
only wish we could do.
The irony, of course, is that we all could too.
If only…
If only…
If only…
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