My daughter taps the microphone, eager to begin. “Are you ready?” she asks.
“I’m ready,” I reply, settling onto the couch next to our Goldendoodle, both of us bracing ourselves for the familiar strains of Idina Menzel’s “Let It Go” as it loads on the karaoke app — for the third time.
My middle schooler shifts in her seat, a smile spreading across her face, caught up in the thrill of the moment. For a fleeting instant, I allow myself to share her enthusiasm. Perhaps today, she’ll nail it, and with enough dedication, who knows? Maybe she will one day achieve her dream of becoming a famous singer.
She launches into the first line. I brace myself. The dog shifts at my feet, clearly unimpressed, as the chorus swells. Soon, he exits the room. Meanwhile, my daughter, the brilliant, funny, kind-hearted girl I adore, gives her all, hitting some flat notes along the way.
“Was I good?” she asks, breathless and flushed.
It would be easy to tell her she was fantastic. I’ve done that before.
“Mom, what do you think of this painting?”
“Think? I love it.”
“Mom, aren’t those leaves amazing?”
“Absolutely, those are the coolest leaves ever!”
Lying can boost a child’s confidence, and sometimes it feels necessary in parenting. But is it always the best approach? Just look at past seasons of talent shows, where countless hopefuls audition with delusions of grandeur. It’s clear that honesty has its place too.
This feels like one of those moments. My daughter isn’t just singing for fun; she’s serious about auditioning for Broadway. Realizing I need to be her honest mirror, I choose my words carefully: “It was pretty good.”
She peers at me, hopeful. “Good enough to audition for The Voice?”
“I think you have to be 13 or older for that, right?” I deflect, using it as a way out of this tricky situation.
“You know what I mean. Am I good enough to be a celebrity?”
And there it is.
“Well,” I say, attempting a casual tone, “everyone has a unique talent. Your singing is good, but it might not be your standout skill. That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it, though.”
“So you think it was terrible.”
“No, I’m saying everyone excels at different things. To really succeed as a singer, you need to be outstanding at it.”
“Do you think if I take lessons, I could be exceptional?”
“Maybe,” I reply, hoping to rekindle that flicker of belief. I’ve read Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers. I know about the 10,000 hours of practice required for mastery.
Years ago, I attended music classes with her, taught by a free-spirited instructor who believed talent develops through exposure and practice. She would likely agree with Gladwell that the idea of a prodigy is a myth; those labeled talented often simply put in the hard work.
Yet, even if effort can transform mediocrity into mastery, do we truly not need some innate ability? If I encourage her to pursue singing without recognizing where her true gifts lie, am I possibly steering her away from what she could truly excel at?
I loved writing in my youth but was far from good. The journey was often frustrating, yet I persevered, clocking in my own 10,000 hours without much external encouragement. I’m decent now, and I’m grateful I explored other creative paths that provided stability and paid the bills.
Perhaps I should nurture her singing as a hobby, allowing it to develop naturally over time. If she’s genuinely committed, she’ll continue to sing along to her favorite songs and put on little shows at home. I can offer her loving critiques while ensuring she also pursues her other interests.
Then, there’s the question that lingers: Why does she want to be a celebrity?
“Why do you want to be famous?” I ask, plucking at the couch fabric.
“Because everyone knows you,” she replies.
“And for what reason? Singing? Wouldn’t it be worthwhile to be known for something that truly matters, like making a difference in the world or curing diseases?”
“I can do all that when I become a celebrity.”
Touché.
“Okay, let me hear it one more time, and I promise to give you my honest feedback…” I lean back, prepared to listen. To my surprise, her voice isn’t as flat this time around.
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In summary, while it’s tempting to encourage our kids by telling them they can achieve anything, it’s crucial to balance that with honesty about their talents. Nurturing their passions is important, but so is helping them understand where their true strengths lie.