folio

I managed to upset our daughter the other evening. That was moments after she excitedly told me that she had got top marks in the class in her French test. My response began okay. “Mashallah, well done!” Yep, but then I followed on with the kind of question my parents would have asked. “Now what can we do to ensure you get full marks next time?”

I meant it to sound positive, encouraging her to strive her best. But no, of course, it just resulted in an almighty strop. I know exactly what she was thinking: that no matter how hard she tries, it’s never good enough for us. I tried to explain that wasn’t what I meant; that I just wanted her to do her best.

I gave an example from my youth, where I would lose marks for forgetting to add accents when scribbling out my vocabulary. No, but it was futile. She just pulled her headphones over her ears to block me out. That, of course, incensed my beloved, who demanded she listen to what I was saying. Which just caused her to fling her headphones down and storm upstairs instead.

So I admit, I approached the situation in completely the wrong manner. I should have chosen my words more carefully, or better timed it. Perhaps I should just have celebrated her good news and let her revel in her renewed self-esteem, without feeling the need to encourage her to do even better next time. Surely it was enough that she is already aiming high.

I let her stew in her misery for a few minutes, but as my wife got busy preparing dinner, I tiptoed upstairs to give it another shot, knocking on her bedroom door. She told me to go away, but I pushed on in anyway, telling her that we needed to have a chat. Her back turned to me, naturally she wasn’t having any of it. Not at first, anyway. But gradually she began to come around.

I want to be a supportive parent, who helps her achieve her very best. I admit that my interventions are the fruit of my own regrets for not being a better student. I can’t say with any certainty that my own struggles were a result of developmental delays linked to my chromosome disorder, or if I was simply lazy like many boys are. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that my reluctance to study held me back.

I’m not going to openly say to our kids that I don’t want them to make the same mistakes as I did, but I am going to appeal to their common sense. So instead I give the example of old acquaintances who despite being raised amidst poverty and disadvantage have far surpassed me in their achievements, occupying senior positions in their respective fields. How did they achieve this? Through hard work and determination.

“There’s no reason you can’t do the same,” I told our daughter, who by now had managed a smile. At last, we were actually having a conversation. A two-way exchange, based on mutual respect. I listened to her, she listened to me. My main thesis was that whatever she achieves now will lay firm foundations for the future: it will improve her chances, and open up opportunities.

At this point, she was good enough to remind me that I got an A and three Bs at GCSE, and in my worst subjects too. But the truth is, I’ve never know if those were genuine marks borne of my efforts, or rather a sympathy vote due to bereavement. My maternal grandfather passed away in the midst of my GCSEs and my paternal grandfather during my A-levels.

Of course, I didn’t tell our daughter that, either. I just told her that, yes, I belatedly began to study hard in that final year of school, desperate to get out. Well, not the last part. No, but in those final months before the exams — that period of revision, liberated from school — I did indeed revise seriously, making up for a decade of extreme reluctance to engage. So it paid off, I told her. “And you must do the same.”

I’m never going to be on the level of my siblings as a parent. And I admit that visits from my parents still stress me out, when it comes to them querying our children’s academic progress. Again, I am still limited by my misspent youth, not as learned as I should be. But we try our best, hoping our children will put down firmer foundations. I think our daughter gets that.

By the time I left her room a few minutes later, she had begun speaking enthusiastically about her lessons again, forgetting what a horrible ogre I had been downstairs. Indeed, she had even committed to learning her vocabulary offline for her next test. Progress then. And me? I committed, internally at least, to be less careless with my words next time.