Lessons in Compassion

Maya began attending theater camp last week.  It runs 6 1/2 hours per weekday, with an hour lunch break included.  While she has had many busy days filled with multiple activities in her nine years, including several half-day camps, and even a one-week, all-day split location camp last summer, this is probably the most "school-like" environment she has ever experienced.

Long hours.  No control over the timing of breaks.  The randomness of classmates.  Running from one building to the next, with little time to spare.  The "3 strikes" method of discipline.  Crankiness setting in by the end of the day.  Homework when you have rehearsals in the evening.

Compassion is something I am hard at work on deepening in myself.  I am always trying to feel more for the general human experience.  As a parent, it is natural to aid your child's development of empathy.  After her first comment about the length of the day, I noted she only had to do this for three weeks.  Most kids do this all year long.  Some have even longer days, with before and after school care.

This, it seems, really made her pause.

She continues to talk about it.

For three years Maya has been attending a multiplicity of "after-school" programs, like ballet lessons, acting, and modern dance.  She is a very serious student, with laser-like focus on the task at hand.  While she enjoys meeting kids, and making friends that share interests, she doesn't like to socialize during class. 

After class, she has endless tales of woe regarding the demeanor of some of the students.  "They won't listen."  "They try to talk to me while I'm listening."  "They have to go to the bathroom all the time."  Analysis ensues.  "Why do YOU think these students behave this way?" I ask.  We have endless conversations about kids not having much power, parents who mean well, but perhaps don't choose activities that best suit the child, family problems, and what it's like to be powerless and maybe a little bored all day long.

Maya has always seemed to grasp the point of these conversations:  Everyone has a story.  Every story has an internal logic.  Internal logic is not always in tune with external logic, as it is part of a narrative told from only one perspective. Unless we know someone very well, we are only witnessing the actions of the tale, not the motivations.

Sometimes to amuse ourselves, but also as an exercise in empathy, we create stories for all the poor drivers on the road.  Sometimes they are bathroom related.  Other times they are tales of woe, like the death of pets, driving home from a funeral, or going to a hospital.  Maybe they are so excited to see a loved one after a long separation they JUST CAN'T WAIT TO GET THERE!

But somehow, after all these talks, all these mental exercises, I think at age 9 Maya is really finally internalizing this empathetic process.  She honestly feels deeply for the unique circumstances of her peers at theater camp.

Conversely, she is also coming to understand how extraordinary our ordinary family's choices are.  She's the only one in this particular peer group who doesn't share a narrative. That story powerfully shapes who these kids will become.  Will they continue to be reactive?  Will they become passive-aggressive?  Or just plain passive or aggressive?  Hyper-competitive?  How many will use this daily, year-after-year experience as a springboard to authenticity, true authorship of their narrative?

Maya is learning that as a family, we may at times have limited funds, limited experience, limited knowledge, and limited power, but we have limitless dreams, fearlessness, and creativity.  We believe we can always rewrite the narrative of our lives to avoid overwhelming powerlessness and to stave off boredom.  Many people continue to see our home schooling as swimming upstream, a Quixotic adventure.  But to me, impossible is just a degree of difficulty.  I hope those kids that feel they face the impossible each day will find their true voices and sing.