It has taken years of raising my own children, serving as founding director and housemother of the Music House project (a home-away-from-home for highly gifted young musicians from all over the world), as well as pursuing graduate study and conducting research in the field of gifted education to recognize the significance of the light in a child’s eyes. As subjective as it may seem, bright eyes are perhaps the most important indicator of learning – one that we may be tempted initially to discount or ignore when looking at the broad topic of talent development.
To keep the light in their eyes, I suggest that it’s neither the specific things one does nor the things that one provides that are crucial. It’s the approach and attitude one takes. Parents are at their most effective when they mediate information and experiences with their child –– not when they manage or monitor.
In synthesizing results from research and personal lives, there are five important elements that consistently stand out:
This list doesn’t represent answers (although the items are based on empirical research and confirmed through experience). Instead, the list represents HOW each of us can support and encourage the development of a child’s abilities. The process is going to be different for each of us. Our individual circumstances are unique. What works in one family isn’t necessarily the answer for another. In fact, for that matter, what works with one child often isn’t successful with another. Developing talent is far more complex –– and interesting –– than a simple recipe.
It’s important to think of the list as a bundled package, not discrete items. They all work together. Here’s a quick overview:
The Olympian noted that her parents would bring home clippings from the paper, tags torn from flyers, or notes from bulletin boards about upcoming events. At the dinner table, conversation would invariably turn to plans for the days ahead. For example, the mother might have said, “I saw that Lisa See is speaking Thursday night about her book “Shanghai Girls.” I’m really interested in hearing her and learning more about the Angel Island Immigration Station. Does anyone want to go with me? [Note: The mother asked if anyone wanted to go. And she will go whether or not anyone joins her. And she will report back, with shining eyes, about the wonderful experience. In other words, she’s serving as a role model (re: learning new things, staying open and eager, keeping the light in her own eyes, etc.) AND she’s taking the position of “partner in learning,” as she’s openly inviting others to join her. This mother is not just offering an opportunity. She’s a participant in the opportunity.] Shared events are an excellent basis for meaningful conversations.
It’s through stories and examples (from research, real life experiences, even fables) that we sift, soft, and weigh ideas to see if they’re workable for us. We continually balance, adding something here…changing our approach there (Action Research). Here is a story–– not a recipe –– that hopefully will offer a fresh perspective on encouraging the light:
When my youngest daughter first soloed with an orchestra (the week of her 10th birthday), it happened there was a critic in the audience. Without our knowledge, he wrote about her to some well-known pianists and, about two months after the concert, we received a handwritten letter from Gunnar Johansen that began something like, “I have received word of your daughter from Mr. F, who heard her play. I understand that a letter addressing the ‘care and feeding’ of prodigies is in order.” Mr. Johansen continued on with pages of insight from his perspective as a pianist, teacher, performer, composer, and renaissance thinker.
Gunnar was a good friend of Victor Borge (in fact they were students together at the Hochschule für Musik in Vienna). Interestingly, my daughter had been drawn to Borge videos from the time she was a toddler. So, with this connection, when we saw an opportunity to hear Victor Borge live in a benefit concert, it seemed like a natural thing to do. Just before the concert, my daughter met Mr. Borge and gave him a couple of her compositions. I thought she was going to dissolve into a puddle of joy.
Less than a month later, Mr. B wrote her about the music she had written and, of course, she wrote back. This slow, but steady correspondence continued until one letter that began something like this…. “I’ve never heard you play. We talk and write to each other and I’ve read your music, but I would like to hear you at the piano. I will be playing with the San Francisco Symphony next month and wondered if you would like to be at the rehearsal. After I excuse the orchestra, you can play for me.” On the appointed day, off we drove –– Mother, father, and grandmother, together in a car for 6 hours of anticipation.
After the rehearsal, as the orchestra filed off the stage, Mr. B shielded his eyes from the light and looked out into the almost empty seats. “M?” “Are you there?”
She actually bounded onto the stage, sat right down, and Mr. B asked her what she would like to play. The next 45 minutes were like any other coaching, audition, lesson. She played. He talked, demonstrated, asked. She talked, asked. She played. She experimented. Then Mr. B asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up (she was now 11 years old). She looked down and didn’t say anything. Mr. B asked again. She was still quiet. Then Mr. B spoke these words that hit me right in the stomach: “I hope you don’t say you want to be the world’s best little concert pianist.”
With my “mother hat” firmly in place, I had instantly “translated” his words into meaning she wasn’t good enough and he didn’t want her to have false hopes or spend too much time and energy in a fruitless obsession. BUT…
Mr. B continued to talk. “No,” he said, “Look at this.” (He made a triangle with his hands – tips of finger touching as the apex and thumbs touching as the base.) “This is the mountain of the world’s good little pianists. How much room is there at the top?” (As he said this, he tipped ‘the mountain’ toward her so she could see where the fingertips touched together making the top.) “Hmmmm. Let’s see,” he continued, (now tipping his hands back so the fingertips pointed back toward his chest.) “I think there’s room on the tip for 4 or 5 best little concert pianists…..hmmm. He hesitated, appearing to contemplate where his fingers touched together.
“Well,…. for you, “M,” we probably could squeeze in 6…….…but that’s not what I want.” He stopped talking for a moment. “No,” he said (now more quietly), “Look at this mountain.” (he separated his hands, leaving the left hand still in “mountain” shape. With the right hand he began to slowly move his index finger horizontally back and forth and with each back/forth he tapped up the remaining “side” of the mountain.) “I want you to seek out ideas, pack in experiences, try lots of things…”(by now his finger was just over halfway up the side) “And do you know what you’ll be doing? You’ll be building your own mountain and, when you do, you’ll be the natural top.” (he paused again for emphasis). “Yes, that’s what I want for you.”
If you are familiar with Victor Borge’s work, you’ll know that he did exactly that. He wasn’t the world’s best pianist (yet he was superb), comedian (he was incredible. he passed away in Dec. 2000, but still holds the record for the longest run of a solo Broadway show), nor was he the best linguist, composer, transcriber, director, conductor, teacher, writer, activist, clown, etc. He wasn’t the BEST in any of those categories, but he created his own mountain and he was the natural top. (Today there are even Victor Borge impersonators).
I think back to that afternoon whenever I worry that what I’m doing isn’t good enough. Or I compare myself with the many awesome people who are doing outstanding work in the same area as I. It’s easy to fall prey to imposter syndrome, or perfectionism, or the lure of underachievement. After all, how can I possible write as well….or speak as well….or publish as much, knowing that I’m a latecomer to my chosen field of work . During graduate school I was sometimes so low and overwhelmed, I felt like I would slither out to my car after a long, challenging day. BUT then I would remember Mr. B and whisper to myself, “Why are you trying to climb on someone else’s mountain?” because that’s generally what had happened. I was spending lots of energy in comparison. My focus was on “what I’m not able to do as well as….” Or “what I need to do to be better than that other person,” rather than “what I am becoming” and/or “what is my unique contribution or perspective.”
Think about those people in your community with shining eyes. They have curiosities and interests and, as they pursue them, they continue to tie together disparate ideas and a wide variety of skills and information in unforeseen ways. They are building. They are excited.
If we are the first keepers of the light in our children’s eyes, we must be willing to be reflective parents. Every once in awhile, don’t you think we must shine the light on our own our own perceptions, beliefs, values, hopes, and dreams to see if we are pre-judging (and therefore precluding) how our children might manifest their abilities? (See Tips for Discovering Interests.)
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Cardoza, M. M. (2003). Child's play: Enriching your child's interests, from rocket science to rock climbing, stamp collecting to sculpture. New York: Citadel.
Ericsson, K. A. (1996). The acquisition of expert performance: An introduction to some of the issues. In K. A. Ericsson (ed.), The road to excellence: The acquisition of expert performance in the arts and sciences, sports and games. Mahwah, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Pink, D. H. (2009). Drive: The surprising truth about what motivates us. New York: Riverhead Books.
Renzulli, J. S. & Reis, S. M. (2009). Light up your child’s mind: Finding a unique pathway to happiness and success. New York: Little, Brown and Company.
Shenk, D. (2010). The genius in all of us: Why everything you’ve been told about genetics, talent, and IQ is wrong. New York: Doubleday.
This article is provided as a service of the Davidson Institute for Talent Development, a 501(c)3 nonprofit dedicated to supporting profoundly gifted young people 18 and under. To learn more about the Davidson Institute’s programs, please visit www.DavidsonGifted.org.
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