“Nooooooo!!”
I heard my daughter let out a long groan as she looked at her school timetable yesterday morning.
“I have the WORST DAY EVER… I have EMPLOYABILITY SKILLS!
Employability skills.... for 11-year-olds? Is that even legal?
"Oh... and what do they teach you?”
“Dunno, something about the 8-Building-something-or other.”
Jeez, even I felt depressed. There needs to be a major shake-up of the lesson’s content, and an immediate rewrite of the title. Possible suggestions: ‘How to get on with people’, ‘How to communicate respectfully’, ‘How to be a decent person’. Something, anything, but not Employability Skills.
Before she slumped off to school, I grabbed my ‘Think-Outside-the-Box’ Hat, and started firing off some rather (if I do say so myself) clever solutions on how to make the most of the hour’s class.
Option 1:
“Can you sneak in a rubik's cube and do it discreetly during the lesson?”
She rolled her eyes at me.
She is still shaken to her sensitive little core from me hiding a tiny piece of chocolate in her snack box at primary school, where sugar was deemed the equivalent to a Class A drug. Snackboxes were routinely checked by the Sugar Police. The contraband went unnoticed; she survived unscathed; but she’s never forgiven me.
Option 2:
(A big risk on my part)
“Well”, I said casually, looking away nonchalantly. “Can’t you put some earphones on and learn some Italian on Duolingo?”
I could feel her eyes narrow and sharpen. She’s half Italian and I do push this point a bit too much.
”Mum! I told you... I don’t want to learn Italian!” (me: gritting teeth). “I want to learn Spanish!" And anyway I’ll get Negative Points”.
The bloody negative point system. She’s even brought this into the home. I accumulate them daily.
“Well, there must be something useful you get from the class, surely?"
"He spoke about listening last week… I think”.
“Oooooh!” I started to get excited: “That’s a great skill to work on.”
But she wasn’t listening.
“Anyway, I know what I want to be when I’m older”
“Tell me!” I said, genuinely excited.
“A Colour Analyst!” Her eyes lit up.
“And what does a Colour Analyst do?”
“I cover you up, then I tell you what colours suit you.”
“Like, with a blanket?”
She ignored me.
“And I also want to be a hairdresser,”
(She doesn’t brush her hair)
“And a baker!”
She then gave me a big hug, and off she went to school, with thoughts of rainbows, french plaits, and freshly-baked bread swirling around her head. Thoughts of Employability Skills far, far away.
And that is just perfect.
I made a promise to myself that I would never share my thoughts about what I think is a good ‘career’ choice for her.
As a child, I remember well-intentioned opinions from adults. And how these would dampen my enthusiasm.
I want my daughter to be curious. At least until she’s a bit older. I want her to feel confident in her choices - no matter how fleeting - without me getting my tuppence worth in. I want her to be excited about possibilities.
If she wants to be a baking-colour-aficionado-hair stylist, and she can earn a living from it, go for it!
Last week I let her have a day off school. The rule: zero screens. She spent all day designing a collection of posters for her room… lost in her own world. When she’d finished them, she proudly showed them to me.
Later, we went for a walk into town. She literally skipped her way out of the door, telling me about different shades of green, including her favourite shade.
So, if she does become a World Leading Colour Therapist - she has me to thank for letting her have a day off school to mentally breathe.
It’s a tricky area to navigate - how much input we have on our kids. How much do we encourage and steer them in their choices
I just hope my approach doesn’t backfire, as in: “Why didn’t you push me to become a doctor!?”.
To which I will then live out the rest of my days riddled with guilt at my laissez-faire approach to Career-Guidance.
But at least I’ll get a loaf of freshly baked bread once in a while. And a haircut.
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