Recommendation

At a recent conference, I asked the concierge for a restaurant recommendation. “This place is great” they replied instantly. “You’ll love it! I eat here all the time! Reasonable prices, wide selection, attentive staff! Here is a coupon that entitles you to a five percent discount on an appetizer if you spend over $100.”

I politely thanked the concierge. And went off to eat somewhere else.

Because I was certain I was being scammed. I might have accepted the eatery endorsement except there were more red flags than a communist party parade. The concierge didn’t know anything about what I required—my price range, dietary requirements, preferences. It was clear that the concierge was being compensated for the suggestion, that they received a kickback for every referral, that they were looking out for themselves, were not concerned with my interests.

What is to be said about the advice that we incessantly thrust upon our beloved children?

Even a stray dog knows if they have been tripped over or kicked. Why are we telling our kids what to do, what to think, how to behave, every instant of every day? I ignored the concierge because the recommendation was tainted. The reason we tell your kids to--learn math for example—is fundamental. Our kids can only hear us if they know we have their welfare at heart.

Put on a sweater seems like reasonable guidance. As does, you may wish to consider moving that screwdriver away from the electrical outlet. But what about what goes into our children’s brains and how it gets there? The “why” might be more cogent than the “how.”

As long-suffering readers will corroborate, I unabashedly thrive on the dopamine blast of connecting “I don’t get it” with “oh, that’s totally cool.” Math gives me connection, makes my neurons light up. I am told other folks might get a similar feeling from solving a crossword, watching a sunset, listening to a symphony, or falling in love.

But much of math education can be “I know this and you don’t,” teachers communicating “there is something wrong with you if you don’t understand.” Which is quite a distance from, “let’s walk this beautiful path together and pick up lots of neurotransmitter hits.” Or, “I love this topic and you will too.”

Sure, some math is necessary. I don’t know that there is anything intrinsically picturesque about an amortization schedule. And some math is disappointing. The casino will eventually take all your money whether you understand the Expected Value Theorem.

But forcing our non-mathy kids to take courses they neither enjoy nor understand is a step on the road to nowhere. “The beatings will continue until morale improves.”

Your relationship with your kids will be stronger if they know you want them to learn stuff because it will benefit them rather than make you look good.

Just as “they have a great personality” is a euphemism for “they have a face for radio,” telling your friends at a cocktail party that your child has an A in math is a synonym for “I love my kid for what they do rather than for who they are.” Which is not a good look. And only a couple doors down from “my child got a C in differential equations, so I threw them out of the house.” Really? Not cool. “I will pretend to struggle in this incredibly advanced course just to annoy my parents” said no one ever.

Love the kid you get and you’ll get the kid you love. Your kids know why you are recommending the restaurant, the sweater, the math course. Unconditional and infinite love and support remain the way forward. In the meantime, I recommend sharing your passions of all kinds—academic, moral, everything you’ve got. It could even be argued that the point of having kids is to have someone with whom to share that which is meaningful. There is nothing more magical than watching your kids’ face light up when they too get that dopamine hit of understanding.

Write to our community and tell us what you have shared with your kids that has made them light up with understanding and joy.