Tag Archives: parenting

Matthew Piercy

When Work Lost Its Meaning

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When did “work” get a bad name?

As summer in the northern hemisphere approaches, I’ve found myself in a number of conversations with parents of teenagers, particularly those who are recent high school graduates or home from college. A few phrases surface again and again: “He doesn’t listen to me anymore,” and “I wish she would get a job.”

They seem to point toward a shift in parenting that is different from the one I grew up with, and one I’ve recently heard described as “permissive parenting.” In this approach, parents often avoid conflict, set fewer boundaries, and sometimes give in to a child’s demands in an effort to maintain peace. Some even suggest that parents feel intimidated by their own children.

This sits in contrast to how things felt more traditional, where what parents said carried real weight. You didn’t really question it. You just accepted it. That was the world I grew up in: babysitting, mowing lawns, shoveling snow, and working forklift jobs in the summer.

What Work Taught Me

Looking back, what stands out most from that early work is not the tasks themselves, but what they required of me.

Above all, I learned how to show up.

There were days that were physically demanding. Heat that scorched, and also frozen days. Early mornings and nights that stretched longer than expected. But within that rhythm, I began to understand initiative. I learned something about discipline, and I began to connect effort with value. In that sense, work was not only about earning money. It was also about learning what it means to contribute. It makes me wonder whether handing a child a credit card, while struggling to say “no,” serves them well for what lies ahead.

The Saturday Morning That Didn’t Match the Story

And yet, things are not always as they first appear.

I was reminded of this recently when a grade 12 student surprised me at 7am on Saturday morning. Wanting to be sure I understood what I was seeing, I later checked her attendance record. On paper, she is what might be described as a “part-time” student, skipping on average a class each day. “Skipping” may not even be the right word,” given that many of these absences are excused by a parent (a topic I’ve written about before in “Breaking the Habit of Excuse”).

And yet, on this particular Saturday morning there she was!  Greeting me, taking my coffee order, and working the cash register. Meanwhile, it felt reasonable to assume many of her classmates were still asleep. Curious about this contrast, I learned that her family does not struggle to make ends meet, yet both parents themselves are hard-working. It brought to mind the familiar saying about the apple and the tree. I guess I should not have been surprised. 

Learning Through Everyday Responsibility

Another recent moment that is staying with me came during a dinner out. A family, two young parents and their toddler and baby dined at the table next to ours. The toddler did not have the phone of mom or dad in front of him, to hold his attention. He simply watched the room. His younger brother doing nearly the same, except for at one point crumpling a paper placemat in quiet exploration.

When the food arrived, it was not from a children’s menu. The parents cut portions and placed them in front of both children, and then simply allowed them to eat. Meanwhile they carried on their conversation. This “ritual” was not performative, rather seemingly instinctual. There was no coaxing or coddling. If the children were hungry, they would eat. It was beautiful. Unmanaged and natural. 

The Lawn, the Robot, and the Missing Lessons

On another day,  it seemed my neighbor and I were synched as we moved about mowing and trimming our lawns. At one point we paused in unison and exchanged niceties. I said something in regards to how he soon was likely to be unemployed from lawn duty and how his son would soon take over. He responded how he imagines a robot doing the work. Oddly enough, one of my favorite weekly bloggers, Nathan Krai, recently wrote about a robotic lawn mower. How “it maps the yard. Cuts the grass. Charges itself. Goes back out. No effort. No time required.” The post is titled, “The Trade We’re Not Talking About.” Krai compels us to consider optimization and at what costs. Talking with my neighbor, I couldn’t help but think how getting such a robot would not only be cutting grass. It would be cutting his son out of the opportunity to learn so many things. Responsibility and how regular tasks need to be completed even when they may feel repetitive. Work ethic and a connection between effort and visible results. Delayed gratification or simply the feeling of contributing to the family. And care, maintaining a lawn teaches stewardship and respect for the home. And yet, as Krai alludes to, it may not even be about the “work” but more about optimization and the need for conscious decisions as we move into the possibility of more automated tasks in the futures. 

Finding Balance in Parenting and Teaching

Children grow through work, responsibility, and expectations, yet it is also true that an overly permissive approach can limit the kinds of experiences that shape them. At the same time, there is a need for balance. Knowing when to step forward, and when to step back. As a teacher of Capstone, I often feel this as a kind of quiet tension. Part Science, part Art. And yet, not always equal parts. 

This year, I experienced that tension with a student I will call Kyle. From the outset, it was clear that a conventional approach would not serve him well. His previous year had been marked by disengagement and avoidance, and his attendance reflected that reality. Instead of insisting on constant structure, I stepped back more than I normally would. Over time, something shifted. Kyle began to build his own project, ultimately learning to vibecode an app that was later published to the Apple Store. It was not a straightforward process. There were misunderstandings along the way, including concerns from some that he was “cheating” by using AI. But what I observed was something different. Kyle’s engagement was sustained and he showcased the value of iteration. His persistence was evident in consistent trial and error. When he presented his work to the community, there was a clear sense of accomplishment. More importantly, there was ownership.

Three Things Worth Holding Onto

As the academic term comes to a close, I find myself returning to three simple reflections:

  • Teens benefit from summer jobs.
  • Robots should not be cutting our grass.
  • And in both parenting and teaching, we are often called to move between stepping forward and stepping back.

And as far as “work” getting a bad name, it seems some cultures, and perhaps classes, have mistaken comfort for success. Avoiding the very effort and discomfort that build capable people.

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Stephen Dexter

IB Dad

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John Locke, one of the characters in one of the first bingeable television series (Lost) in the 1990s, said famously, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

Unfortunately, that’s exactly how I’ve felt as an IB/DP parent.

When as a parent you think back on all of the educational experiences of your child, encouraging them to explore the world from pressing leaves in wax paper to acting in a play for the first time, to writing an essay or figuring out the volume of a pyramid, you probably don’t imagine them crying uncontrollably because their future is going to be ruined if they can’t solve a chemistry problem on solubility or entropy in a subject they will certainly never study again. How did it come to this?

I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone, let alone my daughter, what she could not do.

As a school administrator, one of my least favorite rituals over the past 16 years has been the annual release of I.B. D.P. exam scores in early July. It’s several weeks after the joyful exultations of graduation, the summer vibe starting to kick in, the stress high stakes exams finally dissipating.

Then WHAM. July 5. The ice bucket challenge.

We review the numbers and they are ruthless. You either meet your conditional number or you don’t. (For those not familiar with the I.B. students are predicted in advance to achieve a certain score on their exams and must attain this score to get admitted to university).

The achievers achieve, the middle of the roaders middle road and the strugglers struggle. I have yet to see one of these scores tell me something I didn’t know already, something that seems truly contrary to what was already expected and demonstrated that the child could overcome odds. Yes, there is clearing and backup schools and so on, but we all know that young people set their hearts on something that they are praying by some alignment of stars in the universe they achieve so their lives can be complete.

As long as I’ve been doing this, I’ve cared deeply about the achievers and moreso the strugglers. But for this year it was personal. I was not just the Principal. I was a parent. And it made me really angry that this test was repeatedly telling her what she could not do.

We all know the I.B. Learner Profiles. The profile aims to develop learners who are:

Inquirers
Knowledgeable
Thinkers
Communicators
Principled
Open-minded
Caring
Risk-takers
Balanced
Reflective.

I cannot remember at any point where any of these were enforced or practiced over two years. Thinker, maybe? Knowledgeable?

Here’s my list of the I.B. Parent Profile. The profile is derived from parents that exhibit:

Angst, regret, guilt, helplessness, anger, sorrow, remorse, fear, panic, madness, vertigo

I know that it’s my job to be a much better parent than what the above describes, but when you listen to months (not days or weeks) but months of a young person sobbing that they cannot figure out complex problems no matter how much help they get or how much they study, you start to lose the plot and become very concerned about socio-emotional wellness. After all, the number is always looming.

We raised an empathetic, emotionally intelligent, creative, communicative, mature, thoughtful person. We weren’t perfect but we did our best. Then we enrolled her in a program (that she agreed to because it’s just what you do) that exposed everything she was bad at and as a bonus made it a requirement for her to access her future.

I completely get that the world is a tough, competitive place. I am not expecting that students get to the next stage of their life without disappointment or struggle. I think people should be uncomfortable at times to learn and push themselves to explore new things. I do agree with the principles of the book The Comfort Crisis and am not asking for an easy world that snowplow parents create for our children.

What I am arguing is that it doesn’t have to be through a gauntlet that forces people to do extremely hard (not rigorous, hard) things they are really bad at and probably won’t ever use again. Most kids aren’t going pre-med. Life is, after all, short. A month of grueling, high stakes sit down exams that determine your fate should no longer be the future of demonstrating what it means to be educated for every learner.

It doesn’t have to be like this. The I.B. proved during the pandemic that it didn’t need a month of sit down high stakes exams to make a faithful assessment of student achievement and worth. Using internal assessments and a range of other more creative tools, there were ample means by which students could be crunched into the sorting algorhythm to determine who was eligible for the gold star and who was not. There are thoughtful ways to get the most out of young people, enabling them to shine and make a difference in the world, being capable of some things they are bad at but not having the biologists, chemists, writers and singers all mixed in the same clunky pot of standardized “achievement.”

My experience as an I.B. parent was the worst I’ve ever had over the course of my daughter’s young life. Barbeques, family travel and relaxation were all eclipsed by the big day, the fateful day, the only day that mattered in 13 years of education.

I don’t know if the I.B. gives students the skills to make the world a better place. I know that most of them think it’s good preparation for the grueling demands of university which I guess is a win. In this business we say lots of things about the excitement and thrill of discovery and learning new things and making connections, but that is contrary to the experience at the end of a program designed to sort young people into categories ranging from the can to the cannot.

In the end, she achieved her number. Several of her friends did not. She worked really hard for it. We all cried at the airport in between flights when it came through, people glancing over at us like we just got the results back on Dad’s CAT scan.

I’m not against asking students to climb Everest whether or not they are prepared so that they can say they did it. I am asking that we do a much better job at designing something that doesn’t repeatedly tell people what they cannot do.

Emily Meadows

We’re Moving, and Leaving Our Baby in Hong Kong

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Here’s something I wasn’t prepared for.

I grew up as a child in international schools, so I’ve done it. I’ve said good-bye to so many people, so many times. I’ve made my career in international education. More farewells. The process isn’t necessarily easy, but I am accustomed to it. When my husband and I decided to leave Hong Kong, we knew the hardest part would be separating from the people who’ve made our seven years here so memorable, but we also knew we could handle it.

What I didn’t consider was that our baby, now a toddler, would be left behind.

Of course I don’t mean literally. He’s booked in a seat sandwiched between ours as we rack up the last of our Cathay Pacific airline miles, for now. But, he was born here, and spent his infancy here. And we can’t take that with us.

When we fly into Amsterdam airport later this month, we will be leaving behind the sweet little crew of munchkins that have become his tribe. We rotate group play dates at one another’s homes every Friday, swim in the community pool together every Tuesday, and bop around with maracas and plastic leis (don’t ask) at “dance class” every Wednesday. More afternoons than not, my child spends an hour or two on the playground with these babes, learning how to negotiate, to take risks, to show compassion, to have fun. We hosted the play group a couple of week ago, and he cried a little when the children left. “I miss my friends”, he said.

Oh, dear.

Hong Kong is where I gripped the edge of his car seat, instructing the taxi driver to slow down, as we wound down Mount Kellett Road, heading home from the hospital where he was born. Hong Kong is where he, inspired by his older/wiser/more experienced buddy (born 2.5 months before him) took his first steps across the brightly-coloured, vinyl-covered indoor play room where we passed so many hours in monsoon weather or to escape the air pollution. Hong Kong is where he used to pitch pieces of very expensive, organic pears imported from Italy onto the dining room floor because he was learning how to eat, but also learning about gravity, which was more fun. Hong Kong is where he was a baby.

Parenting adds a new – often unexpected – dimension to virtually every aspect of life, and this is no different. My husband and I have begun to bid farewell to friends, but we also know that we will be able to stay in touch with them, and there are certainly people we intend to see again. Those relationships will change with distance, but they will not disappear.

Our baby’s relationships will essentially disappear. So much happens in a child’s development that it’s not possible for them to keep up with others without real contact. In a year from now, his little crew won’t know him anymore. He was a baby with them, and they won’t be babies anymore. Perhaps that’s why, despite the cost of shipping to our new home in the Netherlands, I’m bringing along a box full of clothes that definitely do not fit him anymore.

As international parents, there is a definitive finality to moving. When we leave Hong Kong, we will do so with a full-fledged toddler. Our baby will stay behind.

 

How do you carry on memories of a place with young children? 

Emily Meadows

You Don’t Have to Kiss Auntie Katie: Teaching Consent in International Families

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My son will undoubtedly be thrilled to see my sister this month. Whenever he hears the FaceTime ring, he shrieks her name in anticipation of their chat. However, if it takes him a while to warm up to Auntie Katie since our last visit, that’s understandable. Katie also has children and knows that it is not just about respecting our babies’ personal space; we are teaching them about consent.

It can be tricky when the relative seeking a kiss from your child doesn’t receive it in return. It may feel like a personal affront when a little one denies their offer to snuggle and, as parents, there may be pressure to apologize for the perceived slight, or even coax the wee one into their loving relative’s arms. The message we send when we do this is that physical contact is owed to certain people, by nature of the relationship, regardless of whether it feels good.

These interactions may seem innocuous: What’s the harm in one hug? It’s from someone you love, after all. And they gave you a present! You don’t want to make them feel bad, do you? You hugged them last time you saw them… However, the path to date rape and other forms of sexual harassment can follow chillingly-similar lines of logic. When we prioritize other peoples’ desire to be physically affectionate (however well-intentioned) over bodily autonomy, we are depriving our child the chance to learn how to set boundaries.

The Harvard Graduate School of Education has reinvigorated this conversation with a report published last month showing that an estimated 87% of women aged 18-25 in the U.S. have been sexually harassed[1]. These findings are serious, and all children will benefit from understanding how to set boundaries for themselves, and to respect those of others. Of course I am not equating our loved ones’ affection with assault. Still, it is understandable that children may have difficulty understanding bodily autonomy if they have learned at home that personal boundaries are trivial. Indeed, this Harvard study suggests that most parents and educators aren’t talking with young people about consent at all.

As a school counselor, I have taught hundreds of children about consent; this can be done at any age. We discuss the importance of asking permission before offering a hug. We learn about reading body language and experiencing empathy for others. Even young students appreciate personal space, and should be taught how to say no to unwelcome touch[2]. Hugs can be heartwarming, bond-enhancing acts of kindness, but only if all participants are enjoying it. While parents and educators world-wide teach children to use their manners, it is important that young people also know they have the right to be firm when it comes to unwanted physical contact.

For international families, this is a particularly salient issue. Children abroad may not see extended family and friends for spans of months or years at a time, so close physical contact might not feel appropriate upon reunification. International families sometimes harbour guilt at separating their children from relatives and friends back ‘home’, which can exacerbate the situation. And even if, as in the case with my son and his Auntie Katie, the child adores the person, seeing them face-to-face for the first time in a while may feel overwhelming.

5 ways to support children learning about consent: 

  • If you haven’t already, start talking about consent with your child now. The full report from Harvard includes recommendations and resources for teaching children about healthy relationships, with a focus on preventing misogyny and sexual harassment.
  • Check with the school about lessons your child has received on consent so you can reinforce the message, language, and strategies at home.
  • Have a chat with family and friends before reunions to let them know your child is learning about consent. This way they won’t be caught off-guard.
  • Offer your child the option to give a high five/fist bump/wave instead. These can be friendly alternatives to a hug or kiss.
  • Finally: be prepared! We have all had the experience of being caught, with our child, in an awkward situation. (I will never forget the first time – yes, it happened more than once – that a friend stuck her finger in my baby’s mouth. You’d better believe I had a quick response ready the second time someone tried this.) If you and your child have a plan for how to respond to unwanted touch, they will feel more confident asserting their needs, and you will be prepared to support them.

How and when does your school teach students about consent?
What are your favourite resources for talking to children about consent?

[1] Weissbourd, R., Anderson, T. R., Cashin, A., & McIntyre, C. (2017). The talk: How adults can promote young people’s healthy relationships and prevent misogyny and sexual harassment [Executive Summary]. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Graduate School of Education.

[2] Children should also learn about exceptions, such vaccinations from the doctor, which are not necessarily welcome touch, but required for health and safety. I teach students that these exceptions should never be a secret and, if in doubt, to seek help from a trusted adult.