Last week I wrote about a lesson I've learned recently--adapting the means employed to achieving an adult-defined objective with adolescents. The next thing I learned is closely related, but not quite the same and I'm working to try and articulate the difference in my own mind. 

Back to my most recent foray into the swampy fields of adolescence: the school play.

The choreographer and I were watching rehearsal a few weeks ago. I told her how much I loved a number that had just happened and she said, "Well, it's not exactly what I taught them, but as long as you like it, I guess that's okay."

The number wasn't wildly different from what she'd taught them--but they had essentially adapted it to fit their own capacity and sensibility. I'm certain it wasn't conscious, but adolescents tend to translate everything into their own terms and also will do what they feel is best. They are particularly agressive about doing this to make something more comfortable. 

That can be aggravating--and is sometimes dangerous. Generally speaking, I don't have much patience with schools of thought that see children as being terribly competent in terms of making their own decisions. I think that is romantic, wishful thinking. I think it's pretty clear that many times, adolescents make terrible choices when left to their own devices and adults need to provide very clear guidelines.

But there are times when the stakes aren't terribly high and letting them improvise within those parameters is very productive. Sometimes this might be conscious collaboration or compromise, other times it might be just letting them do it their way--as long as it's reasonably close to what you wanted. 

So, last week I suggested letting them come up with the means to meet your objectives. This week, I am suggesting that there are times when being flexible with the end result and letting them suit it to their needs, wants, abilities and so forth can be very helpful. 

This means that you not only allow them flexibility to meet certain objectives, you work with them on the means as well as the ends--allowing them to have some say in the final outcome as well as the intermediate steps. 

I've found that this is where theatrical brilliance  or true learning in the classroom often occurs, incidentally. I provide a scaffolding or foundation for them but then, in a moment of  inspiration, frustration, or curiosity,  they then change it. Often the result is vastly superior to my original plan. At a minimum, the fact that they have ownership makes them execute the plan far more energetically and happily. As I look back, I see that some more successful parenting moments were also an application of this principle. Often, this is not done in a formal way, through a conversation. That can happen, but usually, I think it happens organically by just backing off a bit and letting them find the path. 

Well the big show opens on Thursday. I'm so excited! 

This year, I hired a professional to choreograph our show. She makes her living acting and singing and doing some choreography on the side, so she knows her stuff. It has been fun to work together to translate her professional experience and approach into middle school realities. It's been good for me, too, because it's required me to think through my approach, articulate some ideas, and question my assumptions.

This process has led me to three new insights about working with adolescents to help them perform at a high level. While I've been thinking about these insights in a theatrical context, I think that there are principle that are generally applicable to other non-theatrical areas as well. 

The first thing I've come to appreciate more is flexibility. I've always thought this important and I realize it's always informed my work, but I'm starting to think about it more consciously in terms of my practice and work with students. I'm also beginning to be more conscious about this and use it as a tool. 

The choreographer came up with a brilliant dance for a huge group number. I loved it. But for some reason they just couldn't get it. We'd teach it and they'd do it correctly, then we'd run the number and they'd be off again. This happened over and over. I finally watched closely and I realized that the problem was that something about the rhythm of the song was making them want to kick/step at a different time than we had taught them. Our way was cool--but it felt counter-intuitive and awkward to them. They just felt it a certain way. Had they been adults or professionals, they could have adapted and disciplined themselves to make it work.

But they are adolescents. They can't do those things. They just aren't designed that way. 

I tweaked what they were doing and aligned it more with what their natural inclinations were. With a very slight alteration, we were able to keep the essence of the choreographer's vision but tweak it so that it felt right to the kids. Once we did that, they nailed it every time. 

It's important that the kids feel it. At this age, it's difficult to get them to do well anything that doesn't feel natural, comfortable, and right to them. That's true on-stage and off. 

There are times when you can't compromise with kids and you need to hold the line and stand your ground. But there are other times--I think many other times, actually--where you can find a way to accomplish your objectives in a way that feels right to them and that comes more naturally.

I've learned if I define the objectives, but am flexible on the methods employed to get the objectives, the objectives are much more likely to be reached. I think that's true with most people, but I find it especially true with adolescents. If I can accomodate my vision to their realities and what they feel, then I think there is a much greater chance of success. 

This principle can be adapted, I think, to all kinds of things: cleaning rooms, doing homework, and so on. 

First of all, a friend asked me recently where they could find former posts for Middle School Mondays. I was happy that someone wanted to read them. In case that applies to anyone else, there's a now link on the sidebar. If you look at the top of the sidebar to your right, you should find it. 

 I've mentioned before that in middle school no one feels popular, no one feels like they have arrived socially. As an interesting appendix to that discussion, I saw this little scoop about Taylor Swift. She told Vogue magazine, "I don't ever feel like the cool kid." Think how many people would love, love, love to be Taylor Swift. But she doesn't have a sense of being "there." If Taylor Swift doesn't, then I think it's safe to say the average 7th grader is the same, no matter what your perception is. 

This is a much more important insight than most people realize. Because social perceptions inform middle school-age interactions more than any single factor I can think of. 

Some time ago, I was contacted by the parent of a student. This student was not fully enjoying participation in an extra-curricular activity because some of the student's peers were not being as nice and supportive of the student as would have been hoped. I don't think anyone was being actively mean--but they weren't working to make it a good experience for this particular student.

I tried to teach this principle and pointed out that the other students felt just as insecure. I suggested that this student take charge and act in the way that she/he hoped someone else would act. 

Every time I share this with parents and students, they are surprised and incredulous, but I'm telling you, it's true. The vast majority of kids all feel like they are not cool. Even the kids everyone else thinks are cool. 

Because they don't feel cool, they are likely not going to reach out and include your child in the cool group--they don't seem themselves as having any ability to do that since they want to be in the cool group themselves. 

The only productive choice you have here is to try to coach your child into doing what makes him or her happy. Coach them to reach out to other people and to be as considerate and nice to others as they hope others will be to them. If they will do this, they may not attain a sense of popularity or coolness, but they will be happy! And they'll start to free themselves from the tyranny of what other people think. 

I watched one year as one student did a lot of reaching out to others. The student in question was definitely one of the "cool" kids. However I don't believe that she acted in this way because she was cool. I watched her closely and it seemed to me that she made a choice at the beginning of the year that she was going to be nice to people, that she was going to reach out and be inclusive. She did this by choosing to ignore her own insecurities and focusing on others--not because she was inherently comfortable.

Watching her do this was like watching someone trying to master a new physical skill. At first it was awkward and a bit stilted. She wasn't comfortable or smooth at it. But as she continued, she's became very deft and adept and mad, I think, a real difference for some other kids.

But this was not a modern social equivalent of the lady of the manor comfortably bestowing kindness on the peasants. It was one of many students who decided she wanted to help her class grow closer and instead of waiting for others to act (and complaining when they didn't) was going to make a difference on her own--even if she, like Taylor Swift, didn't feel like she was one of the cool kids. 

Kind of a long post. I almost broke it up, but felt that would mess up the flow. Sorry for the length, but I hope you havAlmost every author I know had a common experience with their first book. They wrote it in a white-hot blaze of brilliance. This book was going to blow everyone away. They felt inspired while they wrote it and they knew it was amazing. Then they sent it off to a publisher or agent. Often, they knew that there might be some grammatical errors, or a maybe some punctuation glitches they had overlooked. But the brilliance of their book, they were sure, would more than compensate. That's what editors are for anyway, right? So, they sent something in that was a bit rough, or at least not polished, sure that the underlying awesomeness would trump a few technical errors.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Editors and agents, of course, want you to send in a book that is as polished as you can make it. Except for a very, very few exceptions who are notable exactly because they are so rare, those who do this kind of thing get their work rejected. Some agents may see hundreds of queries a day from authors who are all sure they've written the next Harry Potter/Twlight/Jurassic Park/Whatever. 

Experienced authors chuckle at this now and smile ruefully as they remember doing the same thing. Serious writers revise and polish until they can make their work as good as it can be. Then they send it out to a critique group--other writers who give them honest and blunt feedback on what doesn't work and how to fix it. 

Incidentally, this instinct doesn't end. I'm always surprised when I send a chapter out to my critique group. I know how amazing it is. I can feel the intrinsic worth and merit flowing. And they usually give me some nice compliments. But they also focus my attention on what is flawed and what needs to be fixed. Quite frankly, I'm often surprised by how much there is in this category. I was so sure this was awesome. 

So, I have a choice. I can be defensive and insist that they are blind or malicious and cling tightly to a flawed manuscript that will never be all it can be. Or I can humble myself  enough to hear what they are saying. 

You know where this is going, don't you?

Whenever I take their advice, I always realize they were right.

Writing a book is something you pour your whole soul into. It consumes you and becomes a part of you. Consequently, you lose your objectivity very quickly and have very little ability to view your book calmly, dispassionately, or accurately. 

I submit that parenting is much the same. You have this wonderful child who is literally part of you, your flesh and blood. You have poured your heart and soul and time and money and effort into raising this child and you love them. You are sure, quite sure, that your child is the smartest, kindest, funniest, most talented child ever. 

You, like the first-time author, are so sure of the value of your child, the inherent awesomeness that you assume everyone else will, too. Yes, he might be a bit spirited, but surely everyone will see what a heart of gold he has. Yes, she might be a bit silly sometimes, but she has a heart of gold. 
Usually, those lower school or elementary school years are fairly smooth. Kids that age are sweet and often do what the teacher wants, so you might even have your view of your child reinforced. 

But then in middle school things start to change. You might hear that your child is disruptive or mean or lazy or disorganized or needs to be in a lower math class. You might hear that your child is all kinds of things that you don't like and don't believe. Like a critique group, they start sending back comments that imply your child is not perfect. That he or she might even be deficient in some areas and may even need some serious work. This might come from coaches or teachers or some other outside expert. 

Now, you have a choice. You can assume that everyone is either blind or malicious or both. You can assume they just don't get your it. They just have it out for your child. And in doing that you can cling ever tighter to a flawed human soul that will never meet it's true potential, protecting it from that which will make him or her stronger and better.

I am not going to tell you that teachers are always right. Nor are coaches are the other outside experts who interact with and evaluate your children. But after 25 years of working in schools, I'm going to tell you that I've not many malicious fools. 

Take a deep breath. This is not a rejection. This is simply your manuscript coming back with lots of red marks from people who care enough to tell you the truth, people who want to help you.

You can fight it and ignore it. Or you can listen and work on it. 

Consider that it is statistically improbable that your child is as perfect as you might think they are. Yes, you love him or her. But that doesn't mean he or she always acts well and does the right thing. And that's fine. They're not mature adults. Accepting criticism of your child is not rejecting the inherent worth or value of your child. It's simply acknowledging that there is some work to be done.

Teachers are often the parent's critique group. Don't seem them as adversaries. See them as giving you feedback that will help. And for heaven sakes, if you hear the same thing from multiple people, listen! It's highly unlikely that they all have it out for your child. 

I hear often from parents that "Mrs. X just doesn't like my son," or "Mr. Y just doesn't appreciate my daughter."

Maybe that's true. But I think students and parents vastly overstate the amount of personal animus behind corrective feedback that comes from teachers. It truly is not usually personal.

However, even if it is, so what? Does that automatically negate the value of the feedback? My daughter once had a teacher that she swore didn't like her. And as I watched, I came to agree. I really don't think he liked her. But that didn't negate the comments he said about her. I think some of what he said was true . More to the point, the things he told her could help her become a better person. Sometimes the feedback of our harshest critics might be truer than that of our friends. 

Consider that you are going to be just as biased about your child as a teacher who doesn't like him or her--it's just bias the other way. And honestly, your bias is probably going to do more long-term harm than the other kind of bias. If a teacher is seriously biased worst-case scenario is that your child gets a lower grade in one class and some negative comments. If your bias succeeds, your child might go out into a competitive world with major blind spots and deficiencies that could impede his or her ability to get and keep a job, succeed in relationships and so on. 

Hence the value of the critique group we call teachers. Coaches. Church leaders, etc. If you get comments listen and thank heaven that these people care enough about your child to use their valuable time to correct them and help you. If you hear similar themes from several people, listen! 

Your job is not to protect your child from criticism. It is not to convert the world to believe in the goodness and greatness of your child. Your job is to help your child become all that he or she can become--and that includes learning to except feedback and overcome flaws. Realize that you are going into this extremely biased. 

Last night at 1:00 am, our family left the cozy precincts of Mockingbird Cottage and dashed through the rain and wind to enjoy the hospitality of our neighbors, who have a basement. 
We love Mockingbird Cottage and find it a wonderful home. But with no basement, it is less than ideal for tornado warnings. 

The immediate danger of tornadoes passed and we returned home, but the storm raged the rest of the night.

This morning, we walked out of the house and the sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was warm and spring-like. All was bright and happy and cheerful. The contrast to last night, when it seemed the world would be blown apart by the storm, couldn't have been greater.

It occurred to me that this is a very apt metaphor of the adolescent years. Tremendous storms are followed by the most beautiful, loveliest days. But the sunshine can be deceptive. We could easily get another storm tonight and it might be bigger or worse.

Those of us who live in places where tornadoes are apt to occur have a plan. We don't tent to get too worried about them, they're not part of what most people think and deal with on a normal, daily basis.

I would suggest that this provides a useful approach in dealing with the adolescent storms that will come to your child. Don't let them rattle you. Go about your daily business, keep calm and carry on. Storms will come often and they usually blow themselves out. Most storms can be weathered with not special shelter. 

To the extent you can, be there for your child. Support and love, but always be the voice of reason. Help them see (gently) that what they think is devastating at the moment is probably not going to hurt them in the long run. Teens need people to talk them down in calm, warm tones not someone who make the storm seem bigger and worse than it is. 

But there are sometimes when a storm is big enough and the atmosphere unstable enough, that a shelter is necessary. You are the shelter! Your strength and stability will help shelter them from the tempests of adolescence.  

Don't try to make the storms go away. You can't. Just provide the quiet, safe place for them to work through the storm. 

Don't let the storms interrupt your life or ruin your equilibrium. Your child needs you to be the stabilizer, not to stir the pot even more.

To be a shelter, you need to be grounded and solid. You don't need to be perfect, but you need to be mature. You are the adult, not the oldest kid. You must be grounded in something. It might be your relationship with God or your spouse. It might be your responsibility to your family--whatever it taks. 

 But if you are to help your teen deal with these storms you must be the shelter--a quiet, place of security and calm that the storm can't beat down. You need to be the adult. If your psyche is sheltered and secure you can coach your child through. If it's not, if you are insecure and dependent on others, then you are running around in a tornado trying to shelter your child with a Hello Kitty umbrella. It's a nice thought--but it's not going to do much. 

Kids need adults in their lives--adults, not just older people. The maturity and security that you radiate will provide you with the ability to help your child. 

One of the trends that worries me most is how many parents are skewing down to their children in terms of the way they act and talk. They are as caught up in teenage dramas as their children. This kind of a parent can offer very little during these storms.

Note:  If your kids think you are cool, you might need to do some careful examination. There are some parents who pull this off, but most parents, if they are really parenting, are not going to seem cool. Extra warning: if you care that your children think you are cool, if you have ever tried to be cool to them or their friends, then you really need to re-think things. Don't be cool. Be a parent. Don't be fun. Be an adult. If you are real, they will love and respect you far more than if you manage to snatch some fe

I want to talk about a serendipitous discovery I made that has seriously changed my class. 

Let's be honest: most middle school kids (there are some exceptions) are really not all that worried about how the chorus they are in sounds. It just doesn't hit their radar screen at all. Saying something like, "Ya'll, you're flat!" or "That just doesn't sound good" is going to be met by anything from apathy to sarcasm--and this is true not only on chorus but in all kinds of other endeavors.  

They just don't care. There is too much going on in their lives. They are worried that someone just walked past them without saying anything to them. Does that mean they are now a social outcast? Has everyone noticed the zit on their nose? Is the rumor true that the girl/boy they like is now going out with someone else? They just got a C on the math quiz, but it wasn't their fault that they forgot to study because their math book was at their friend's house and so on....

Middle school students feel things in heightened emotional terms. Everything about their lives is sort of life or death, desperately urgent. So, some fat old guy standing in front of them saying, "At measure 23, you really need to remember to decrescendo"  is just not going to merit a whole lot of their attention. Again--this could be true about doing their homework, cleaning their room, you name it. 

For years, I struggled to get them to notice and care about how they sang, and for years I ended up frustrated. I would try to get them to take it seriously, explain why it was so important, and so on. They cared even less. And then I discovered a secret that is so simple and so effective that it is seriously like magic.

I'll tell you about it next week.

Just kidding. 

The secret is called the Lame-o-meter. It's very simple. The Lame-o-meter is a 10 point scale that I draw on my white board. I write a 10 at the top and a one at the bottom and then fill the numbers in descending order in between. A ten means that their song has been perfectly, completely, and totally lame. A one means that the song is flawlessly wonderful. 

During the song, as they sing, I moved my marker on the board, up and down, as they sing, making a sort of musical EKG graph. If they do a passage really well, the line goes down. If they do something poorly, it goes up. It takes some effort to conduct and do this at the same time, and I have ruined more than one white shirt with my dry erase marker, but it's worth it.

I don't know why, but for some reaosn this is magical in terms of getting them to do what I want them to do. 

As far as I can tell, there are two elements in this. First of all, the real-time feedback is very helpful. Middle school students live in the moment and a few minutes in the past can be forever ago. So, giving them feedback after the song is over doesn't always work well. 

Second, they understand the concept of lameness as their whole existence is an epic struggle to not be lame. The world, as they see it, is not cast in terms of good and evil or light and dark. No. It's cool and lame. Period. They don't want to be lame, nor do they want to be associated with anything even remotely lame. Even singing.

Incidentally, when I first tried the real-time graph as feedback, I used a traditional scale with 10 being the highest. That worked fairly well, but not nearly as well as the lame scale. I think that part of this is that they instinctively flee from anything too earnest or sincere or serious because it makes them vulnerable. 

I'm still trying to understand exactly why this works. I also think that the sarcastic humor inherent in this is also part of the magic. Sarcasm can be a wonderful, wonderful thing with this age (has to be deployed SUPER carefully, though. Use only small doses occasionally and work up). 

Here is one caution to parents, though: You are lame. Sorry. You are. It doesn't matter how beautiful, cool, funny, rich, or accomplished you may be in the outside world. To your adolescent you are irreparably, irretrievably, hopelessly lame. Don't try to fight it. You'll have an easier time teaching a fish to breathe out of water. Just realize that and adapt accordingly. 

Last week I learned an important lesson about middle school students--one I want to pass on because, as I think about it, this particular trait has some big implications. Of course, perhaps I'm the last one to figure this out and everyone else already knows it. 

The other day in class, I quoted something from Napoleon Dynamite. I expected them to laugh. Instead they just looked at me--they didn't think it was lame, they just didn't get it. I was intrigued by that. It didn't register at all. Yet, a few years ago, the kids all wore "Vote for Pedro" t-shirts and quoted the movie often. 

But that was a few years ago. 

To an adult, for whom life is relatively static and stable and consistent, a few years ago is not that long. 

To an adolescent, it is an eternity--a different lifetime, in fact. 

They are growing and changing so fast that these years are almost literally like dog years to them. 

A few years ago, I was slimmer and had less gray. There are a few other things that were different, but not all that much has changed in my life since then. 

A few years ago, these kids--who are now interested in clothes and boys/girls, movies, new music and so forth--were third graders trading Pokemon cards and still watching PBS.  In three more years, I'll be fatter (well, hopefully not, but I'm being honest), grayer and will hopefully have written another book or maybe two. My life will be, probably, essentially the same. Differences are likely to be in degree, not in kind.  

On the other hand, in three more years, they'll have left the school they've known for most of their lives, entered new social groups, and will be driving, dating in earnest, deciding whether to drink, take drugs, engage in serious relationships, figuring out where to go to college and other major, life changing events. 

The rate of change that takes place in an adolescent's life in the same time period is far, far greater than what occurs in an adult's.

Does your teen argue with you about everything? Do they debate the smallest rules and requests? Take heart. According to a new study, that means he or she is more likely to be able to resist peer pressure. You can read about it here. 

This confirms one of my deeply held beliefs. I firmly believe that, just as the seed has everything in it that will need to grow into a healthy plant, children and adolescents have what it takes to grow into healthy adults IF WE DON'T MESS IT UP. 

Adolescence is an important and painful part of that process--and it's painful for both parent and child. But this study confirms my belief that the very messy, painful process is part of what makes it happen--a necessary ingredient, not just an unpleasant side effect. A butterfly who doesn't have to fight it's way out of the chrysalis has stunted, weak wings and cannot fly. You can only get teeth by cutting them. Growing pains accompany the inevitable lengthening of limbs. Unfortunately, the growing part of adolescence requires pain for both the grower and the close observer. Your teen is the tooth being cut, you are the gum. 

This study suggests that the clashes we have with our kids are also part of that dynamic. That it is the very clashes we lament that make our children stronger for facing the outside world. 

Now, I do note that this study was about teens who argue with their mom. Teens who argue with their dads are just nasty, ungrateful, ill-mannered louts who should be spanked soundly and sent to their rooms until they are 21. 

I add what I think is an important caveat to this: in my opinion, this does not mean that we just blithely tolerate disrespect. Arguing is part of the natural process of growing up--and this article suggest it is not only natural, but healthy. But another part of growing up is learning to moderate your emotions, modulate your tone, and communicate in constructive ways. My own bias is that a teen ought to be able to talk about anything with his or her parents, to say anything they want--but that it needs to be in a respectful tone, in a discussion, not a tantrum. To allow anything else is one of the ways we mess our kids up, I believe. 

I am also firmly of the opinion that once the teen has been fairly heard, the parent makes the final decision--and everyone abides by that decision.  It seems to me that these two important caveats better position the teen for future success in life. 

My message today is one of Christmas cheer and hope and peace. To those of you struggling with crazy adolescents right now, trying to help them through the changing social scene, academic struggles, awkward physical changes all the while putting up with their mood swings, erratic and irrational behavior and so on: it's going to be okay. 

Adolescence is a weird and upsetting phase. But it only a phase, a stage of development. Your child will grow out of it. I promise. I have seen this many times, up close and personal. 

This is a hole in our wall courtesy of my son's fist. He had a tempestuous, very volatile adolescence. Everything was a fight--one that my wife and I often felt we were losing. There are a few other holes around our house similar to this one. 

But it ended. He grew up. By 8th grade, things were leveling off. By high school, they were actually improving. Now, he's a junior. He's got a job and is taking challenging classes on his own volition. He's got a plan for the future and he's showing more maturity and motivation by the day. 

Most of all, he's fun to be around: funny, prone to laugh at jokes (even if they are on him), generally nice to his siblings and the others in our family. When he has a bad day, he's fairly quick to snap out of it. 

This happens. It will happen to your child, too. 

So, do the best you can. Have hope. Pray. Try. But just know that it will pass and your child will be normal again. I promise. 

(Note: today's Christmas song post is below) With a child away at college, I have been thinking a great deal about my parenting style and what I would have done differently--and more importantly, what I will do differently with my subsequent children. 

I've thought and thought and there are obviously times I wish I would have been more patient or loving, etc. But none of those things are really what I worry about when I think of his current situation. 

f I could go back and do one thing differently, I would have allowed his life to be harder and I would have made sure he did more  to work through his own problems while he was safely at home and I could guide him. But I would make sure that my wife and I did far less problem-solving. 

Throughout human history, we have proved ourselves a remarkably resilient group of creatures. We have survived plagues and wars and all kind of terrible things. That is in collective terms--but it's true in individual terms as well. One can find any number of stories of people who faced really dire, truly tragic circumstances and not only survived, but ended up stronger--everything from terrible illnesses to being a POW, and so on. 

Unpleasant as difficult experiences are, we all know that they end up being beneficial for us. In fact, from a moral, emotional, and spiritual point of view, we often respond better to adversity than we do to abundance, ease, and prosperity.

And yet, as parents, our first instinct is often to mitigate and cushion, to prevent or at least minimize the difficulties our children face--even when the difficulties are fairly minor. 

The irony, is that this is perhaps the one way that we really can mess up our kids. I am convinced that this one thing is the key to children growing up to live healthy and happy and productive lives.

On a visceral level, as a parent, I do understand the impulse. We are hard-wired to want to protect our young. And that is good when we're talking about predators or busy streets or ingesting poison. 

It is not good when we are talking about demerits or bad grades or playing time in little league sports, or, dare I say it, leading roles in the school play. 

In these cases, the parental instinct to advocate for your child will not be good. In fact, it is usually going to do the child more harm than good. The child will, for the rest of his or her life, have to make their way through a difficult and challenging world. If we respond to every problem they have by trying to fix it or solve it, we remove their time to build up immunity and resiliency. We won't be able to protect them forever and they will eventually leave our nests. The question is whether they will be able to solve problems on their own, or whether the disappointments they face will be catastrophic to them and lead to paralysis. 

More simply: our children will one day have to solve their own problems, without our aid. Do we want that first time to be when they are away from us and the problems are much more serious? Or, is it better to start early, when they are near us and can be guided--and the problems are fairly minor. 

Simply put, I think most of us (myself included) see ourselves as our children's advocates and protectors. I submit that this is wrong (with some obvious exceptions). We should, I think, see ourselves as their coach, mentor and guide. We should teach them how to cross the river, not build a bridge for them. Or at least, we should have them labor alongside us while we mutually build a bridge. They will have many more rivers to cross and our bridge won't be easily moved and carried. 

A good coach is not indifferent to his players and their well-being. He or she won't let them do things that will damage them or that dangerous. But he or she realizes that the job is not to make them feel good, or comfortable or make the sport easier--it is to help them win! To succeed. 

Children are remarkably resilient. They will have broken hearts one moment and will then move right on with their lives within minutes or hours. They can cope with most of what we try to protect them from ( I would argue that they can cope far less adequately with cultural rot that surrounds them that we don't try to protect them from, but that's another post). However, if they grow soft and spoiled and learn to turn to us for protection from every consequence--that might literally ruin their life.

So, here's the homework I'm giving myself. I invited you to join, too. Don't intervene. Period. Force yourself to express sympathy and empathy and love. Help them work through ways to address the problem. But don't shoot an email off to the teacher or coach. If they get a demerit--even if you think it's unfair--they will live. And they will learn. If they get a bad grade--even if you think it's unfair--they will live. And learn. People will be unfair to them for the rest of their lives. They'll need to learn how to deal with it.

Now, if your child is about to be unfairly expelled or incarcerated, or their life or health are endangered--yeah, definitely speak up. But anything short of that, think long and carefully. Are the consequences so great that it's worth risking your child's ability to solve his or her own problems for the rest of their lives? 
And now, I am off to swallow my own medicine.