There was something vaguely familiar when a man in his early thirties presented himself at the front door: "Do you remember me?"
The penny dropped when he said his name: Adam. Of course. He was my older son's best friend when they were children. But then, after the primary school years, Adam had moved interstate and we had lost track.
I remembered Adam as a pleasant and, apparently, happy child. The most outstanding fact, however, was his brilliant piano playing. He played Beethoven sonatas and similar works long before his legs could reach the pedals. Needless to say that now I expected him to have become a brilliant pianist. As soon as I mentioned music, a shimmer of sadness fell over his face: he had not touched a piano key since he was 16 years old.
Later he explained to me how his father had forced him into mastering the keyboard, how he had pushed him mercilessly year after year, determined to make him into a concert pianist. Adam told me about a constant fear he had felt whenever his father was around. Never had he been able to enjoy music. To him, music was discipline, pain, it was simply hard work. Nothing he ever accomplished was considered good enough no matter how hard he had tried. Long before he was 16 years old he had decided one day to quit and never play the piano again.
"I used to think that every child was afraid of their fathers" , those words echoed in my ear long after Adam had left. It reminded me of the middleaged man who, only a few days earlier had explained how he had come home from school one day, exclaiming joyfully: "I've got 95% in my test", only to be confronted by father's stern reply: "What about the other 5%?"
Stress appears in may different ways. It may be dramatic, as in the case of Adam. It may be covert as in the case of the mother of a bright youngster. She likes mathematics, but avoids writing whenever possible. It started in school, she explained. She just didn't dare to write. Her teacher was obsessed about anyone making 'a mistake'.
Parents' prejudices and expectations can play a great part. I remember an encounter from years ago where both parents complained that their 11-year old had - as they put it - 'no real interests'. Later in the session, and now off-guard, I asked them casually about their child's interests. Out they came, reluctantly, including marine biology, archeology and technical drawing. The child was under stress because his parents simply didn't accept their son's interests as worthwhile.
Children who are suffering from stress cannot be expected to perform anywhere near their potential. And yet, this is a generalisation which may - or may not - be true. If stress is imposed from the outside (by unrealistic expectations, helplessness, anxiety about school grades, worrying that the teacher: '...doesn't like me...', emotional isolation, overt or covert rejection and a host of other factors) the results are sure to be negative.
A different story emerges when stress is imposed 'from inside the child'. The questions we'll have to ask are: Has the child opportunities to explore the area for which s/he has a passion? Can the child satisfy the hunger for more and more knowledge in the area which is dictated by his or her natural aptitudes? Does the child find the support, acceptance and understanding he or she needs? Can we accept that our child's interests may be different from ours? Is the stress accepted by the child as a challenge and does it carry the promise of a fulfilling outcome?
The greatest gift for a gifted child, it has been said, in the first instance, is a gifted parent. It is the parent who provides the materials and the opportunities to enrich the child's experience, who encourages interactions with other intelligent children and enthusiastic adults who can can guide the child without becoming overly commanding. (Maria Montessori put it beautifully: " Help me to do it myself.")
Generally speaking, it is not difficult to distinguish between the kind of stress that interferes with or works against progress on one hand, and the kind of stress which encourages, stimulates and opens the way to competence and trust in oneself, on the other. I remember the boy whose cello teacher 'couldn't go on further until this or that scale was mastered perfectly'. I remember him explaining bitterly: "I'm giving my best, but that's not good enough for her". I met him years later, selling shoe laces. But sometimes I also wonder how a positive kind of stress must have sustained Edison 's enthusiasm when he had made one mistake after the other - yes, hundreds of them - trying to invent a light bulb, until finally he had succeeded.
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Copyright © 1997 - 2001: Peter Schmedding, Canberra Australia
Email the editor: Peter's e-mail address