Navigating Authority

It started off as a kind of life strategy speech.

Our son Finn is an alternative thinker, a free spirit.

We used to call him Free Range Finny. He is brilliant at seeing details no one else notices, getting the triple downbeat in a drum sequence, creating upside-down side-stories for Gregg Heffley in Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

He lives in his imagination.

But school?

Bores him to tears… doesn’t make a lot of sense… AND is incredibly frustrating, restrictive and conservative. I know how he feels! BUT it is a long road. He is in third grade, so there is at least another (gasp) nine years.

He has requested home schooling, which I would seriously consider, except I’m not smart enough to get him through pretty much any subject but English and gym. Maybe music.

I really do wish there was another alternative though, because I don’t think the new core curriculum taps into ANY of his core gifts. This is a source of tremendous personal aggravation and guilt.

I feel we are failing him and not sure where the path opens up ahead.

This being said, as his parent, it’s my job to give him strategies to navigate this road with as minimal drama as possible. Earlier this year, he got a number of ‘reflection sheets’ for things like sling-shotting peas across the cafeteria with his spoon.

The teacher asked him if he thought it was funny. “What did you say?” I asked him. He looked at me for a minute, and then shrugging his shoulders, said, “Kind of.”

I laughed out loud. “Well, it kind of is,” I said, “BUT you can’t actually say that.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you are going to make your teacher even more angry,” I said.

We talked about his teacher and all her responsibilities and the fact unless he was going to pick up the peas, his friend, the school janitor Manny, would have to clean up his mess, which isn’t very respectful.

He agreed. “And what if everyone did that?” I asked. “Hilarious,” he said smiling, and then responding to my evil eye, “but not for Manny.”

“And you could have hurt someone,” I explained.

His brother Leo looked up from his homework, “With a pea,” he asked.

I laughed out loud again.

“Okay, maybe not. But, here’s the deal guys. Everyone put your pencils down. This is important. You have to know how to navigate authority when you need to.”

I had to explain ‘authority’ and ‘navigating’ but then I got down to the finer points of how NOT to sacrifice your creative vision simply because other people don’t get it. The trick is convincing the authority figure that you totally understand their point.

Obviously we talked about the importance of genuinely considering the authority’s perspective because they very well could be right.

And we covered the importance of following directions especially when it comes to safety or a teacher trying to maintain order for the whole class.

But some people are less inclined to embrace change or any new idea.

So we have to navigate around them and find fertile places where our ideas can grow.

Finn nodded emphatically. Leo stared at me and said he thought it sounded a lot like lying and wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.

A couple of days later I was talking with my sister, Kristin, telling her proudly about my brilliant speech. There was a long pause. And then she said, “You do realize that YOU are authority and you just explained to them how to navigate YOU!”

I was horrified.

Me– authority? Most certainly not! Except there it was.

I like to think of myself more as a cruise director, adventure guide, pilgrim leader, emotional trailblazer, experiential frontrunner.

But NOT authority, unless of course, it’s on creativity or freakiness.

I’m still trying to absorb the potential reality that they may see me this way in the future. I will work against it. But, interestingly, this past week my understanding of what navigating authority means, has been fundamentally challenged.

WHO are the authorities these days?

Bloggers? Critics? Celebrities? Google?

I was speaking with a colleague a few days ago about how splintered all of our psyches have become as a result of needing to become pseudo-experts at everything.

“It used to be that there were authorities you could count on for different things,” he said, “You know, doctors, lawyers, accountants. Now, you have to be educated about what they’re doing to know if they’re doing it right.”

Authorities are dubious.

And everyone knows enough to be dangerous.

Digital opportunity and social media have left us paralyzed with the good fortune of infinite access to endless information. The proliferation of options has left us twittery.

And the increased awareness of tragedies that can befall our uninformed decisions is nothing short of terrifying.

So whom exactly will our children need to navigate around?

Options.

At least that’s where I stumble. It isn’t people anymore. It’s options. You have to get radical about what you allow in and not. What roads you are willing to go down for due diligence and what you have to say no to.

Raging irresponsibility?

We must learn to embrace it!

What if we neglect to move our three-year-old out of the rear-facing car seat at the manufacturer’s recommended weight and height safety recommendations?

Seriously?

What if we forget to check for GMO-free food labels? Or fail to volunteer for the school bake sale? Or overlook that the math quiz is this Friday. Or forget to write that last thank you note? Or buy store-bought cupcakes for a class b-day party?

Seriously.

What if we blatantly disregard researching a radical mastectomy if we have children and a strong family history of breast cancer but no lumps?

Seriously!

Enough.

We have to release some of the options back into the wild. Set them free back into the habitat from which they came and remain blissfully unencumbered by certain options.

The New York Times had an entire article dedicated this past week-end to devices that help you monitor and discipline sticking with self-chosen digital parameters.

Yes, it’s gotten that bad.

We have trouble not just hitting that send and receive button just this one last time, just in case.

What about living in our imagination?

That isn’t a habitat that can go extinct, is it?