"Dad, am I special?"
What seems at first glance to be a question with an easy, straightforward answer from a parent ("Yes, son, of course you're the most specialest specialty in the history of special!") suddenly wasn't so simple. If you think about it, that question is fraught with unexpected complications and potential repercussions depending on your answer. As a result, I had to think long and hard about how I responded.
Some parents are recoiling in horror at this very moment because I didn't automatically and exuberantly tell my son how special he is. I get it. However, what message are we really sending to our kids when we resort to that?
They say all kids are special. Well, if that's true, then doesn't "special" lose meaning? If every single child is special, does ordinary become extinct or nonexistent? Don't we lose the perspective necessary to make special a distinction if everyone falls into that category?
But more important than that, aren't we creating dangerous levels of entitlement? Hey, there's nothing wrong with positive reinforcement for hard work or a job well done. But I'm sorry, you can't convince me that constantly telling children they are special at every turn doesn't create the potential for an unbelievably entitled generation of kids.
Unfortunately, I only need to look at my oldest son for a real-life example.
A few years ago, I played a trick on him and convinced him I ate all of his Halloween candy. Well, the Jimmy Kimmel Show saw it, liked it, and used it. Suddenly Will was watching himself broadcast to millions of people. They even used his image as the thumbnail on the YouTube video, which has been seen by nearly 40 million people.
I was really excited and I went on and on about how special this was, and how special he was to appear on television and be seen by millions of people. Then the local media found out, and we were featured in newspapers and even had a segment on the local TV news. Soon Will was telling his friends, other parents, teachers, and everyone he could that he was a TV star. I just thought it was really cute and I encouraged it, because damn -- it's JIMMY FREAKING KIMMEL!
About a week after all the hoopla, I took Will on the train into Boston for an event. When we walked on board the crowded car, he was smiling and looking around at everyone. I just thought it was because he loved trains, but after a few minutes his smile faded and he started to get grumpy. I asked him what was wrong and his answer hit me like a brick.
"Why aren't these people saying hi to me, Dad? Don't they know I'm special because I'm famous from the TV?"
Oh. Sh*t.
It took quite a bit of doing to walk that one back. I just didn't realize what was happening, but what did I expect? I spent a solid week telling him how special he is, so how could I be surprised when he believed every single word of it and expected other people to treat him that way, too?
I spent a lot of time after that talking less about being special, and more about being privileged. As a writer and blogger, I get some nice perks and things sent to me by companies. But now, when that happens, we spend a ton of time letting our kids know we're lucky to be getting these things, and it's not the norm. That they're not getting them because they're special -- they're getting them because companies are advertising. I tell Will he's no better or worse than any other kid in any other part of the world. However, he's luckier than most and he needs to try to understand and appreciate that privilege without thinking he's better than anyone else because of it.
I'm not supporting the degradation of kids or calling for the total elimination of positive reinforcement. Sometimes it takes a teacher/parent/friend showing a special interest in kids to make them feel worthy and propel them to success. However, I don't want my son thinking he's special just because he's been told that all his life. Because make no mistake, far too many children fall into that category. Just ask this guy.
I will tell my sons they were born into a certain amount of privilege that will aid their ability to be great, should they concentrate their efforts and abilities. I will tell them I believe in them and support them wholeheartedly. I will tell them they have great potential that can only come to fruition with hard work and perseverance.
But that doesn't make them special. It makes them like millions of other kids all over the world. It shouldn't be a bad thing to tell kids that, either.
So how do I answer the question with which I began this piece? I tell my son he's special to me and always will be. But other than that, no. He's inherently no better, worse, or more special than any other kid.
If I do my job right, that message won't destroy his fragile self-esteem -- it'll push him to work harder and be less self-absorbed.
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