Memo

To: Wretched, Slacker Disney Child

From: Stealth Bomber Mom

Re: Advice to parents

Date: Fall 2013

I first encountered the feeling of failure as a mother when my oldest son hit kindergarten. Alex was a bright and independent little boy. When we were living in faculty housing at Princeton, a 2-year-old Alex went to the communal Halloween party wearing the sweater Nani had knitted him out of Icelandic wool. In the midst of ghosts, goblins and pumpkins, Alex stood out. One mother asked with puzzlement about my son's costume.

“He's dressed as an Icelandic eccentric,” I replied, recognizing even then that this young man was going—always—to be his own person. The trait held and Alex remains bright, lovable and totally his own man, partly unmindful of the extent to which he deviates from norms and expectations, partly exalting in his difference, and enjoying the slight flaunting of authority. It is a trait he inherited from his maternal grandfather in spades, and one encouraged by both his doting parents. (On his college essay Alex took the opportunity to inform the admissions office at the University of Chicago that he found their questions “stupid and boring” and that he would write the question they should have asked and answer that one instead. Thank you very much!)

For the most part, I was quite comfortable with this behavior. I had a far different reaction one day when I picked up Alex from kindergarten, however, and realized all the children had drawn caterpillars and placed them around the room. Each caterpillar's face was extensively decorated and featured the child's name in big, bold, colorful letters. A segment was added to the child's caterpillar for every book the child read. The school was one for gifted children—though once it moved through its scruffy start-up stage it became more a school for children with financially-gifted parents—and many of the children were quite busily reading at home, usually under the supervision of adoring mothers. The links on some of the caterpillars were impressive. As was Alex's caterpillar. Impressive for its one teeny segment: one book and only one book.