Ferdinand, the Homeschool Kid

Have you ever read the book The Story of Ferdinand?  I hadn't either, but apparently it's a classic, so our homeschool language arts curriculum made me.  

The book tells the story of Ferdinand, a bull who would rather sit by himself and smell the flowers in the shade of his favorite tree than "run and jump and butt heads" with the other young bulls.  His mother, naturally concerned, suggested that Ferdinand join the crowd; Ferdinand refused, saying he quite simply liked it better where he was.

I'll never know what the authors of our curriculum actually wanted us to glean from this little gem, and I really don't care.  All I know was that when Munro Leaf wrote it (in 1936), he knew everything there was to know about homeschooling my daughter last week.

For example, we went to homeschool park group and, instead of holding hands and giggling with the group of girls there, Grace sat by herself and built a "fort" out of small sticks.

We met up with one of Grace's best friends and, instead of playing spies with him, Grace sat by herself and built a "fort" out of small sticks.

We had one of Grace's favorite neighborhood friends over and, instead of drawing pictures with her, Grace went outside, sat by herself, and...you see where this is going.

So there I am, trying to parent Ferdinand the (Maddening, Anti-Social, Opportunity-to-Not-Be-A-Weird-Homeschool-Kid-Wasting) Bull.  Naturally, like any good extrovert mother, I tried to talk her into joining the other girls (because this is how we'll defy the homeschool stereotype, kid, get on board) and each time, she told me in no uncertain terms that she was happy where she was.  Building forts out of sticks.  

It was at this point that I really hit my stride as an insensitive mother.  I asked her every 30 seconds whether she was "sure" she didn't want to join the other kids ("I am sure that I would like you to stop bugging me," says my aspiring teenager).  I tried to drag her over to the other children.  It's even possible that I tried to bribe her to play with the other kids by promising her time alone when we were done.  

She looked approximately like this - like a young bull saying "Talk to the hoof..." in the mid-1930s:

In retrospect, maybe all I really needed to do was to take a deep breath and a cue from Ferdinand's mom: "The mother saw that he was not lonesome, and because she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow, she let him just sit there and be happy."  

          

See how happy she looks, so confident?  It's like she understands that Ferdinand is who he is, and that he's going to be just fine.  You don't see her questioning every parenting decisions she's ever made, and calling her local public school in a panic (who would do that....?)  

I'm six years into this Mothering thing, but it took a week of failed playdates and one brilliant storybook to make me see that my kids are actual people.  They have their own personalities, their own preferences, their own insecurities, and their own modi operandi. 

In fact, it's been brought to my attention that there are people in this world called "introverts" and although the concept is entirely foreign to me, it seems that I may in fact be parenting one of them.  Apparently, these people don't easily navigate groups and sometimes actually just want to play by themselves.  Apparently, they can be uncomfortable with unfamiliar people or situations and sometimes, just actually prefer to build with sticks, alone.  

And apparently, this needs to be okay.

Once we embrace the idea that our kids are not carbon copies of ourselves, we can begin the long process of getting to know who they actually are.  We can stop trying to force them to respond to situations the way that we would and start helping them navigate their natural response.  We can stop assuming that their feelings mirror what ours would be, and start tuning into the deep, hidden parts of their hearts.  We can stop assuming things about them, and start listening to what they're actually trying to tell us.

We can stop trying to manipulate them into becoming tiny versions of ourselves, because they were created to be something completely unique.

So instead of panicking the next time my daughter chooses sticks over relationships, because that's not a choice I myself would make, I'm going to remember the wise words of Mama Bull, and try to be an understanding mother (even though I'm a cow...) and just let her be happy. 

And let her be Grace.