Don't Teach Your Spouse to Drive

My orthodontist is a genius.  There's no other word for it.  He's also a decent and compassionate man.  He not only has a successful private practice, he teaches other orthodontists advanced techniques.  Some years ago, before we met Steve, I took my daughter to another orthodontist who basically recommended that we move all the teeth from the right side of her mouth to the left side then rip the top of her head off and replace her brain with a lawn mower engine.  (OK, I don't remember exactly what he said, but his recommendation involved hanging a weighted ball from one of her teeth and something about the Mexican Hat Dance.)  Without even hinting that we had received harmful advice from a graduate of the "Laurel and Hardy Drive Through School of Othodonture and Chimney Sweeping," Steve gently suggested that perhaps there was a more efficient, less expensive, and less intrusive solution.

To this day, every time my daughter flashes her perfect smile, I think of how indebted I am to this wonderful professional.

I saw Steve this morning.  We're old family friends now and I'm always pleased to catch up with him and his kids.  His youngest, Darla, started eighth grade this year.  Steve told me how much he enjoys spending time with her, but that when they study together there is a little friction.  Steve put a positive spin on it.  "She really sticks with an idea once it's in her head," he began.  "Even if she gets it a little bit wrong, she's not one to be easily swayed."

"That's great," I agreed.

"Of course, I don't agree with all the information she brings home."

"No?"

"No.  Somehow she got the idea that the maxillary is one bone.  Of course, it's two."

"Hmm," I said, feeling fairly confident that the maxillary bone is not a Disney character but lacking more incisive information.  Just the same, I nodded in agreement.

"But she doesn't believe me."

***

So there you have it:  No one is South Florida knows as much about facial bones as Steve does.  No one.  But his 13 year-old daughter doesn't believe him.

What do I think of this interaction as an educator?  I think it's OK.  Darla can have the wrong idea for a few minutes.

Don't misunderstand.  I'm not in favor of misinformation.  I believe strongly that information is power and that the more students know about pretty much everything, the better.  It's important to know that the Earth is four and a half billion years old (as of this coming Thursday); it's important to be well read; it's important to have fundamental skills in many areas and sophisticated knowledge in as many disciplines as possible. It's critical to be able to pose, research, solve and articulate the solutions to problems in a variety of fields.

But it's not imperative that we, as parents, be the ones to teach our kids.

***

We all want what's best for our kids.  We all want our kids to be smart, to be well liked, to be comfortable in their own bodies.  We want our kids to be successful, happy, and thoughtful.  (We also typically want our kids to be like us:  to share our beliefs, values, religions and outlooks, but that's another column.)   But we don't have to be the ones to teach them everything.

Remember Atticus Finch, arguably the greatest dad ever?  Remember when Jem is angry with his dad because Atticus won't play football for the Methodists?  Jem thinks his dad lacks ability and guts.  Until there's a rabid dog coming down the road and Atticus is the one to take the shot.  From Harper Lee's 1963 novel:

Atticus said, “He’s within range, Heck. You better get him before he goes down the side street—Lord knows who’s around the corner. Go inside, Cal.”

Calpurnia opened the screen door, latched it behind her, then unlatched it and held onto the hook. She tried to block Jem and me with her body, but we looked out from beneath her arms.

“Take him, Mr. Finch.” Mr. Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem and I nearly fainted.

“Don’t waste time, Heck,” said Atticus. “Go on.”

“Mr. Finch, this is a one-shot job.”

Atticus shook his head vehemently: “Don’t just stand there, Heck! He won’t wait all day for you—”

“For God’s sake, Mr. Finch, look where he is! Miss and you’ll go straight into the Radley house! I can’t shoot that well and you know it!”

“I haven’t shot a gun in thirty years—”

Mr. Tate almost threw the rifle at Atticus. “I’d feel mighty comfortable if you did now,” he said.

***

Of course, Atticus was such a great dad that he doesn't actually exist outside of a work of fiction. But even Atticus, best parent of the 20th century, knows the limits of what he can do for his children.  He models ethical behavior for them and seems at peace with the limits of his abilities.  He reads to Scout.  But Harper Lee makes no mention of Atticus helping Scout with her homework.

At the end of the book, the drunken, vengeful Bob Euwell attacks Jem.  Before Boo Radley kills Euwell, Jem falls on his arm and it breaks. Boo carries Jem home where they wait for the doctor.  Atticus doesn't try to set his son's limb.

There is no shame in not being all things to all people.  It's OK if you can't teach your kids math.  You are not the only person on the Planet Earth who knows the quadratic formula.  Even Steve, as brilliant as he is, is not the only person in our community who knows how many bones the maxillary is.

It's OK if Jem doesn't know what a great shot his father is.  It's OK if Darla doesn't know what a great orthodontist her father is.  It's OK if our children have teachers and mentors outside their own families.