Frankenstudent

This editorial is interesting. I came across it while reading through the RRVWP blog (check it out).

The editorial explores "The myth of the Frankenstudent," which is a student whose parents have pushed them to excel in every single facet of life. The author, Joan Wickersham, argues that instead of creating well-rounded and eclectic young adults, parents are creating . . . well, monsters.

I like this paragraph --

"Every year when college admissions season rolls around, I read articles about how the applicant pool is bigger and stronger than ever before [my personal note here - if this is true, then someone explain Mark Bauerlein's rational behind The Dumbest Generation!]. But are we really seeing better kids, or just slicker packaging? We think our children should be academically brilliant, musically and athletically gifted; and dedicated to serving, if not downright saving, humanity. Are there really a lot of people like this? Or are we creating Fraknestudents -- artificial monsters, impossible composites of skills and achievements that rarely co-exist in real life?"

I first came across this idea in Denise Pope Clark's book Doing School.

She followed several students for a year in a very high profile California high school. Each was a Frankenstudent. She found students who pushed themselves so hard to excel they crammed as many AP class as possible, got involved in as many activities as humanly possible, volunteered, and were so busy they skipped lunch and did home work until 3 am. And none of that had anything to do with learning or becoming educated. They just wanted to build a transcript that would get them in to Ivy League university of their choice.

What Clark calls "doing school," Wickersham calls "slicker packaging."

Clark heaps the blame on schools who allow kids to cheat the system and colleges and universities that thrive off this system of insane competition.

Wickersham, though, heaps the blame on the parents.

I tend to agree with Wickersham. To some extent.

I often ask my College Comp classes what would happen if they came home with a C. Most said their parents would freak. Yet, I wonder, how many of their parents pulled C's in high school (studies show - God I hate that phrase - that fifty years ago that the majority of grades were C's or lower. Today the majority of grades are B or better. Hello? Grade inflation! Or helicopter parents.) I recall a former student who was hell-bent on maintaining her 4.0 GPA. Then she stopped by after her first year of college. I asked her if she still had her precious 4.0. I'll never forget her response - "C's earn degrees! C's earn degrees!"

Now, there's nothing wrong with wanting your son or daughter to do better than you did. That is one thing. But pressuring and forcing them to excel in a myriad of things is unrealistic. And unhealthy.

By applying so much pressure, Wickersham argues, "we are distorting a process [education] that should allow people to experiment, question, take risks, stumble, and occasionally fail [trust me, after 12 years in high school - I rarely see students willing to experiment, question, take risks, and stumble]. We need to give people permission to spend time doing things that are not quantifiable and don't show up on a resume -- things like daydreaming, reading for pleasure, learning how to cook a frittata; and studying a subject you're not very good at, just because it interests you. We need to stop pretending that everyone peaks early (or that everyone even peaks at all). We need to prepare our kids for unpredictable lives and uneven careers, for bumps and jolts and ambiguities. in short, for real life."

I think she is saying parents simply need to allow their kids to, well, be kids. Imagine that.

They are not mini-adults. Though we treat them like that and often expect them to be just that.

As Ken Robinson noted, "a three year old is NOT half a six year old." They're three. Let them be kids!

If not, then you get the insanity that leads to numerous articles and studies around the concept that "college begins in kindergarten."

Let kids explore and play and imagine and . . . well, be kids.

And what - ultimately - is wrong with learning to quit a few things a long the way?

I know, as Americans, we hate the idea of quitting. As Robinson notes "we stigmatize mistakes . . . this is profoundly mistaken."

What would have happened if Einstein had not quit the patent office? What would have happened if Gates or Dell had not quit college after one semester? Zuckerman dropped out too. Jobs quit Reed college, hung around, and took a class in calligraphy (he must have headed Wickersham's advice about studying a subject because it just interests you). While the fruits of the semester long class weren't readily apparent, Jobs did see the beauty of Sanskrit and typeface and font. Ten years later when he rolled out the Mac personal computer, one thing that made it such a success was its revolutionary fonts and typeface. Everything he learned in the calligraphy class he poured into Apple. Not bad, eh?

Now I'm not advocating a radical concept of quitting like Timothy Leary's "Turn on, tune in, and drop out." I'm not saying quit haphazardly. Learning when to quit, is as essential as the iconic idea of struggling against all odds and obstacles to persevere and succeed. We idolize those instances in American culture when the underdog does just that. What would have happened had Stephen King given up after Carrie had been rejected a dozen times? Or if Elvis or Johnny Cash had given up when they were told they were hacks?

Fine. But what about all those people clinging to dreams or hopes that will never come to fruition (just watch the first few weeks of American Idol some time or watch the youtube trailer for the hit documentary The Story of Anvil)



I say, learning when to quit is as essential as learning when to persevere. Learn when the ship has sailed and when to leap in and swim after the thing and learn when to wave it goodbye rather than drowning trying to catch up to it.

If you blindly cling to a dream or goal, you may find yourself living a life "of quiet desperation" as Thoreau called it.