My daughter taps the microphone, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” she asks.
“I’m all set,” I reply, settling onto the couch beside our playful Goldendoodle, both of us bracing for Idina Menzel’s “Let It Go” to start playing on the karaoke app—for the third time.
My middle-schooler shifts in her seat, her smile broadening as the intro begins. For a fleeting moment, I indulge in her enthusiasm, imagining that this time, she might just nail it. Perhaps with enough dedication and practice, she could one day achieve her dream of becoming a famous singer.
She launches into the first line, and I brace myself. The dog, sensing the tension in the air, shifts restlessly at my feet. My daughter? The smart, lovely, and capable child of mine? She pours her heart into it, hitting some less-than-perfect notes.
“Was I good?” she asks, cheeks flushed and breathless from her effort.
It would be easy to offer a comforting lie—I’ve done it before.
- “Mom, do you like this painting?”
“Like it? I love it!” - “Mom, aren’t those leaves amazing?”
“Absolutely, those are the most incredible leaves!”
While lying might boost kids’ confidence, it can also do them a disservice. Watching countless hopeful contestants on past seasons of talent shows like American Idol makes it clear: sometimes, honesty is crucial.
This feels like one of those moments. My daughter isn’t singing just for fun; she’s earnest in her desire to prepare for a Broadway audition. Aware that I reflect her self-perception, I choose my words with care: “It was pretty good.”
She looks at me, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “Good enough to audition for The Voice?”
“Isn’t the age requirement 13 or older?” I reply, using this to sidestep her question.
“You know what I mean. Am I good enough to be a star?”
That’s the crux of it.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound casual, “everyone has unique talents. Your singing is good, but maybe it’s not your standout skill. That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”
“So, you think it was terrible?”
“No, I’m saying everyone excels at different things, and to truly make it as a singer, you have to be exceptional at it.”
“Do you think if I take lessons, I can be exceptional?”
“Maybe,” I respond, wanting to believe in her potential. I recall Malcolm Gladwell’s theory in Outliers about the 10,000 hours of practice needed to achieve mastery.
A long time ago, during our Mommy and Me music classes, a teacher shared her insights: no child is born with a good or bad voice; it’s all about exposure and practice. She likely would have agreed with Gladwell that those we label as “talented” have put in the hard work.
But even if we can become whatever we aspire to with enough effort, do we not also need a foundational talent? If I encourage mediocrity under the guise of potential, am I steering my daughter away from discovering what she might truly excel at?
I loved writing in my younger years, even when I was quite bad at it. The process was often frustrating, yet I persisted, accumulating my own 10,000 hours of practice—often without external encouragement. I’m decent now, but I also appreciate that I explored other creative avenues that sustained me financially.
That realization hits me during this karaoke session. Perhaps I should nurture her singing as a hobby, allowing it to flourish organically. If she’s genuinely passionate, she’ll keep at it, just like I did. She can sing along to her favorite songs and perform for us, and I’ll offer her fair and loving feedback. But rushing into voice lessons now might overshadow her other talents.
There’s also the underlying question—why does she want to be a celebrity?
“Let me ask you something,” I say, picking lint off the couch pillow. “Why do you want to be famous?”
She shrugs. “Because everyone knows you.”
“And for what? Singing? Wouldn’t it be better to be known for something that really matters, like helping people or curing diseases?”
“I can do all that once I’m famous.”
Touché.
“Okay, let’s hear it one more time, and I promise to give you my honest opinion…”
As I lean back to listen, I’m pleasantly surprised—this time, she’s hitting more notes than before.
In the end, it’s about finding joy in what she does while exploring her true gifts. For more insights on this journey, check out our other blog posts at Home Insemination Kit to find helpful resources. And if you’re interested in understanding the science behind home insemination, Make a Mom offers great information. For those considering their fertility options, Johns Hopkins is an excellent resource.
In summary, while it’s tempting to inflate our kids’ hopes with the idea they can do anything, it’s often more beneficial to guide them gently towards understanding their unique strengths and passions. Encouraging them to enjoy hobbies without the pressure of perfection can foster a healthy exploration of their true potential.