This week I headed to Maine for a 60th birthday party. Long cross country flights almost always provide an interesting array of parenting choices and this trip was no different. On this entirely full flight I was surrounded by families with young children. Directly beside me was a young mom traveling alone with 2 girls, I would guess about 18 months and 3 years old. They were excited to be on the plane and chatty with their mom, who was well prepared with plenty of snacks and lots of activities. A good start, I thought. Then it got interesting. Mom told the girls that once they took off she was going to take a nap and, once in the air, she handed them their electronics, put her head on the tray table and proceeded to sleep. The girls pretty much played with their devices with a few skirmishes along the way for the entire flight, rousing their mom once when they needed a potty run.
As I watched I couldn’t help feeling conflicted. On one hand, I was thinking how great it would have been to have had an electronic babysitter when I traveled solo with my 3 children (an older daughter and boy/girl twins just 20 months apart) so many years ago. I could have used help on a couple of occasions. On the other hand, it just underscored for me how today’s families are using electronics and how early the extensive screen time starts. And, why was I so bothered by this mom, who was head down for a good 5 hours, anyway? After all, the girls were safe, fed and playing independently. Maybe she was just resting up for the remainder of what could have been a long trip. It could have been that she has a sleepless night and really needed the rest to care for the girls once they landed. I wanted to get back to my book but I just couldn’t stop glancing over to see what was going on next door. Knowing that the American Academy of Pediatrics discourages media use for kids this age made me wonder whether this was a regular pattern or just a “special” travel case. Do parents know they should limit use—or is it just too hard not to give in? In the end, I think I was bothered mostly because it just seemed like a lost opportunity to read or draw or play cards together with no interruptions, a real luxury. And that was just plain sad.
Maureen Brown, MBA, is Executive Director for Challenge Success, where she oversees daily operations as well as marketing and strategic planning. Ms. Brown comes to Challenge Success with over 20 years of consulting experience in health care, financial services, and technology. Prior to joining Challenge Success, Ms. Brown worked as an independent consultant and as a Partner at APM, Incorporated, where she structured, sold and managed strategic and operations improvement engagements for health care institutions, primarily university medical centers. Ms. Brown has also worked in Cash Management for Philadelphia National Bank and Citibank. She has been on various boards at Georgetown, and most recently co-founded the Bay Area Georgetown Technology Alliance. Ms. Brown has also served as a Board member at Woodside School.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
“We’re” Not Going To College
by Julie Lythcott-Haims
A human unfolding into adulthood is an ugly, beautiful thing. I should know. As Stanford’s freshman dean for ten years I had a front row seat as thousands of teenagers emerged into their adult selves through the alchemy of trial, error, and dreams. They made me laugh. They made me cry. I rooted for them either way.
I also have two kids of my own making their way through the rigors of public school in Palo Alto so, between my own parenting experience and my decade with undergraduates, I know a thing or two about parents. Nowadays, in well-to-do communities like mine and throughout our country, we parents over-direct, over-protect, and over-involve ourselves in childhood. Of course we don’t want to see our kids struggle, let alone suffer, and we act with the best of intentions. Yet bestselling author and psychologist Madeline Levine (Teach Your Children Well; The Price of Privilege) tells us that when we do what our kids can already do for themselves or can almost do for themselves, we’re robbing them of the very experiences that build their psychological sense of self. We all want what’s best for our kids, but given Levine’s concerns it’s worth asking whether we’ve lost sight of that goal, whether we parents do in fact know what’s best anymore, whether all of this hovering is “worth it,” and whether we know what “worth it” even means.
We seem so afraid on our kids’ behalf – of strangers, of missed opportunities, of failing to keep up with the Joneses – and our fears impel us to always be there, present, hovering, poised to prevent, protect, intervene, advocate, and defend. We speak up for our little Jane when little Johnny snatches her toy. Or rush to apologize for or defend little Johnny when he’s met with the scornful eyes of the parents of Jane. We get in fights with refs, coaches and other parents on the sidelines of our kids’ games when we’re advocating for our exceptional children. We supervise recess in elementary school to make sure everyone is getting along and no one is excluded. We attend back to school nights with a vengeance, paying attention to what “we” need to do in order to be successful in the sixth grade. We argue with the teacher about our kids’ less than perfect grades in middle and high school, as if the teacher has made a mistake instead of our perfect kid. It’s as if we are the ones heartbroken over the snatched the toy, as if we are donning the jersey for the big game, or waiting for a turn on the tire swing, or sitting in a desk in a classroom endlessly raising our hand. As if we are the ones trying to get into college.
But “we’re” not going to college. Really, folks, college is not for us. Remember back to your own college years and try to place your parents’ involvement in the picture – you’ll recall they were hardly there at all. That’s the way it should be.
Of the tens of thousands of college students I worked with, many were well-equipped to handle the challenges. They came to college fairly self-motivated, and could take the initiative, pick themselves up after disappointment, find supports, and move on. They could set out to try new things based on their authentic sense of their own interests, curiosities, and talents, and they could cope or advocate for themselves when things didn’t go their way. These students made good grades, but more importantly they felt good about themselves. Their sense of self was well-developed. They might have spoken with Mom and Dad regularly, even daily, as is the norm for teenagers and young adults today, but these students weren’t scanning the sidelines for Mom and Dad to come and rescue them. Or to be told what to do.
In contrast to these well-adjusted students were the growing number of students on my campus whose parents had done too much of the work of life for them, such that the student was rather bewildered when confronted with choices, problems, or questions they were accustomed to Mom or Dad handling. (Stanford was in no way unique in this regard – colleagues on campuses nationwide reported the exact same thing.) These parents would do some subset of the following: call to wake their kid up, remind them about assignments and deadlines, provide small and not so small edits on papers, tell them what they could and could not study, condition family acceptance on academic achievement, tell them which extra-curricular opportunities to pursue, argue with the university when outcomes weren’t as desired, meet with the academic advisor to discuss what they claim to be the student’s interests, contest a student’s grade, travel with them to an overseas campus, write a cover letter for a job application. These kids often also made good grades – which tells us that good grades can belie a whole host of problems – but the human being earning those grades was often fragile, weak, lost, and in my view is likely to one day be resentful of the very parents who were “helping” in the name of love.
It is easy to point to examples of over-involved behavior, but far less so to stop its progression. After all, if we hovered throughout our kids’ childhood it feels cruel to stop hovering as our kids head off to college because the stakes are so high. The thing is, our sense of the height of the stakes is misplaced – college is inherently more flexible than the real world and so is actually a very safe space in which to flounder, flail, and even fail. And even if the stakes are high and the consequences of struggle profound, we are shortsighted to think that doing everything for our kids actually prepares them to succeed in that cold, cruel world. After all, we’re supposed to raise our kids to be adults one day, to prepare them for what’s hard about life not to protect them from it.
What’s the harm of a little over-involvement in college, you may be thinking. Well, in my experience, it just means you don’t know where to stop, and in fact you may never. Parents who were over-involved in high school turn into parents who receive late night electronic transfers of essays between them and their college-aged children, which leads to parents writing job cover letters, which leads to parents doing assignments in the workplace. I’m not making this up. People tell me these stories. I’ve become a mecca for people with the latest examples of over-parenting. The ethical implications alone are staggering, but even more grotesque is the impact on the psychological health of the young adult we are so keen on “helping.” My hunch is that our omnipresence delivers the soul-crushing news: Kid, you can’t actually do any of this without me. A 2013 study published in the Journal of Child and Family Studies tells me my hunches are right: “Undergraduates with excessively involved parents are more likely than others to be depressed or dissatisfied with life, and a high degree of parental involvement appeared to interfere with the ability of offspring to feel autonomous and competent.”[1] Hardly the advice found in any of the countless parenting books, magazines and blogs we’ve consulted over the years, is it? These same “kids” go out into the workplace lacking the very skills valued there – things like problem solving, creativity, resilience, and perseverance, not to mention good mental health. Managers in industries large and small nationwide are starting to report the presence of parents in the workplace wanting to sit alongside or in place of their “kid” at interviews and benefits sessions and it’s the parents who take on the role of asking the important questions because their “child” doesn’t want to, is too busy, can’t understand, or – let’s face it – simply never has.
Parents showing up everywhere in the life of a child is a classic example of not being able to see the forest for the trees. Of not being able to take the long view. Would any of us prefer to have our otherwise healthy adult children completely dependent upon us for decision-making, problem-solving, and negotiating the rough patches of life? Would any of us feel comfortable with the idea of such an adult child caring for us in our old age? The answer, of course, is no. Hell no. But we’re losing our sense of how to prevent these very things from happening. We’re discarding our instinctual sense of how to grow a human to adulthood.
With colleges now opening for the fall term there’s no better time for parents and college-bound children to talk about the role the parent currently plays in the life of the child, and how that role will evolve so the child can build the skills she’ll need to thrive out in the world of adult life, relationships and work. Millions of parents will march off to college this fall just as they marched off to soccer practice over the years, fearful that if they hang back but every other parent leans forward their kids will miss the important details or the chance at an important opportunity. We have a natural instinct to teach our children to succeed, but when we show up to do the intense listening, ask the hard questions, and make the choices, instead of expecting our kids to do these things for themselves, it teaches them precisely nothing – except that we’ll always be there to live their lives for them. Which of course we won’t.
Type A parents can get a jump-start on providing these benefits of independence to their child by having such conversations with their high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors. Yes there was more than a little cheek in that sentence, but the truth is, independence is most lovingly fostered when it’s done over time, not imposed cold turkey. We forget sometimes that we only got to this point of evolution as humans because generations of forefathers and foremothers let their kids go.
As parents we want to impart all we know and lead our kids by the hand, forever. But there is more to our precious children than we can possibly know. Things only they can discover. The world and our kids’ pursuits in it will give them cause for great laughter and great pain. It may even give them the chance to raise a child of their own to adulthood one day, and oh, when they become parents themselves, how much they will hope to know! Our role as parents changes as our kids become adults, but it will always be our job to love them. As our children - our pride and joy - go off to college this fall and their generation prepares to take the mantle of leadership from ours, we owe it to them to brace through our fierce tears of fear and longing and remind them to trust in themselves. The universe is vast and wild, ugly and beautiful; we may have to remind ourselves, too, to trust they can make their way in it as we commit the most loving act of letting go.
Julie Lythcott-Haims was Stanford’s first dean of freshmen, a position she created in order to help students feel a strong sense of belonging at the university. She held this position for ten years and in 2010 received Stanford’s Lloyd W. Dinkelspiel Award for exceptional contributions to undergraduate education. A graduate of Stanford University herself as well as Harvard Law School Julie is herself a student once again, this time pursuing an MFA in Writing (Poetry) at California College of the Arts. She remains deeply interested in humans living lives of meaning and purpose, and encourages the young and young at heart alike to have the courage to find their voice and honor what they hear. She is the author of a forthcoming book on the impact of helicopter parenting. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, their two children, and her mother.
I also have two kids of my own making their way through the rigors of public school in Palo Alto so, between my own parenting experience and my decade with undergraduates, I know a thing or two about parents. Nowadays, in well-to-do communities like mine and throughout our country, we parents over-direct, over-protect, and over-involve ourselves in childhood. Of course we don’t want to see our kids struggle, let alone suffer, and we act with the best of intentions. Yet bestselling author and psychologist Madeline Levine (Teach Your Children Well; The Price of Privilege) tells us that when we do what our kids can already do for themselves or can almost do for themselves, we’re robbing them of the very experiences that build their psychological sense of self. We all want what’s best for our kids, but given Levine’s concerns it’s worth asking whether we’ve lost sight of that goal, whether we parents do in fact know what’s best anymore, whether all of this hovering is “worth it,” and whether we know what “worth it” even means.
We seem so afraid on our kids’ behalf – of strangers, of missed opportunities, of failing to keep up with the Joneses – and our fears impel us to always be there, present, hovering, poised to prevent, protect, intervene, advocate, and defend. We speak up for our little Jane when little Johnny snatches her toy. Or rush to apologize for or defend little Johnny when he’s met with the scornful eyes of the parents of Jane. We get in fights with refs, coaches and other parents on the sidelines of our kids’ games when we’re advocating for our exceptional children. We supervise recess in elementary school to make sure everyone is getting along and no one is excluded. We attend back to school nights with a vengeance, paying attention to what “we” need to do in order to be successful in the sixth grade. We argue with the teacher about our kids’ less than perfect grades in middle and high school, as if the teacher has made a mistake instead of our perfect kid. It’s as if we are the ones heartbroken over the snatched the toy, as if we are donning the jersey for the big game, or waiting for a turn on the tire swing, or sitting in a desk in a classroom endlessly raising our hand. As if we are the ones trying to get into college.
But “we’re” not going to college. Really, folks, college is not for us. Remember back to your own college years and try to place your parents’ involvement in the picture – you’ll recall they were hardly there at all. That’s the way it should be.
Of the tens of thousands of college students I worked with, many were well-equipped to handle the challenges. They came to college fairly self-motivated, and could take the initiative, pick themselves up after disappointment, find supports, and move on. They could set out to try new things based on their authentic sense of their own interests, curiosities, and talents, and they could cope or advocate for themselves when things didn’t go their way. These students made good grades, but more importantly they felt good about themselves. Their sense of self was well-developed. They might have spoken with Mom and Dad regularly, even daily, as is the norm for teenagers and young adults today, but these students weren’t scanning the sidelines for Mom and Dad to come and rescue them. Or to be told what to do.
In contrast to these well-adjusted students were the growing number of students on my campus whose parents had done too much of the work of life for them, such that the student was rather bewildered when confronted with choices, problems, or questions they were accustomed to Mom or Dad handling. (Stanford was in no way unique in this regard – colleagues on campuses nationwide reported the exact same thing.) These parents would do some subset of the following: call to wake their kid up, remind them about assignments and deadlines, provide small and not so small edits on papers, tell them what they could and could not study, condition family acceptance on academic achievement, tell them which extra-curricular opportunities to pursue, argue with the university when outcomes weren’t as desired, meet with the academic advisor to discuss what they claim to be the student’s interests, contest a student’s grade, travel with them to an overseas campus, write a cover letter for a job application. These kids often also made good grades – which tells us that good grades can belie a whole host of problems – but the human being earning those grades was often fragile, weak, lost, and in my view is likely to one day be resentful of the very parents who were “helping” in the name of love.
It is easy to point to examples of over-involved behavior, but far less so to stop its progression. After all, if we hovered throughout our kids’ childhood it feels cruel to stop hovering as our kids head off to college because the stakes are so high. The thing is, our sense of the height of the stakes is misplaced – college is inherently more flexible than the real world and so is actually a very safe space in which to flounder, flail, and even fail. And even if the stakes are high and the consequences of struggle profound, we are shortsighted to think that doing everything for our kids actually prepares them to succeed in that cold, cruel world. After all, we’re supposed to raise our kids to be adults one day, to prepare them for what’s hard about life not to protect them from it.
What’s the harm of a little over-involvement in college, you may be thinking. Well, in my experience, it just means you don’t know where to stop, and in fact you may never. Parents who were over-involved in high school turn into parents who receive late night electronic transfers of essays between them and their college-aged children, which leads to parents writing job cover letters, which leads to parents doing assignments in the workplace. I’m not making this up. People tell me these stories. I’ve become a mecca for people with the latest examples of over-parenting. The ethical implications alone are staggering, but even more grotesque is the impact on the psychological health of the young adult we are so keen on “helping.” My hunch is that our omnipresence delivers the soul-crushing news: Kid, you can’t actually do any of this without me. A 2013 study published in the Journal of Child and Family Studies tells me my hunches are right: “Undergraduates with excessively involved parents are more likely than others to be depressed or dissatisfied with life, and a high degree of parental involvement appeared to interfere with the ability of offspring to feel autonomous and competent.”[1] Hardly the advice found in any of the countless parenting books, magazines and blogs we’ve consulted over the years, is it? These same “kids” go out into the workplace lacking the very skills valued there – things like problem solving, creativity, resilience, and perseverance, not to mention good mental health. Managers in industries large and small nationwide are starting to report the presence of parents in the workplace wanting to sit alongside or in place of their “kid” at interviews and benefits sessions and it’s the parents who take on the role of asking the important questions because their “child” doesn’t want to, is too busy, can’t understand, or – let’s face it – simply never has.
Parents showing up everywhere in the life of a child is a classic example of not being able to see the forest for the trees. Of not being able to take the long view. Would any of us prefer to have our otherwise healthy adult children completely dependent upon us for decision-making, problem-solving, and negotiating the rough patches of life? Would any of us feel comfortable with the idea of such an adult child caring for us in our old age? The answer, of course, is no. Hell no. But we’re losing our sense of how to prevent these very things from happening. We’re discarding our instinctual sense of how to grow a human to adulthood.
With colleges now opening for the fall term there’s no better time for parents and college-bound children to talk about the role the parent currently plays in the life of the child, and how that role will evolve so the child can build the skills she’ll need to thrive out in the world of adult life, relationships and work. Millions of parents will march off to college this fall just as they marched off to soccer practice over the years, fearful that if they hang back but every other parent leans forward their kids will miss the important details or the chance at an important opportunity. We have a natural instinct to teach our children to succeed, but when we show up to do the intense listening, ask the hard questions, and make the choices, instead of expecting our kids to do these things for themselves, it teaches them precisely nothing – except that we’ll always be there to live their lives for them. Which of course we won’t.
Type A parents can get a jump-start on providing these benefits of independence to their child by having such conversations with their high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors. Yes there was more than a little cheek in that sentence, but the truth is, independence is most lovingly fostered when it’s done over time, not imposed cold turkey. We forget sometimes that we only got to this point of evolution as humans because generations of forefathers and foremothers let their kids go.
As parents we want to impart all we know and lead our kids by the hand, forever. But there is more to our precious children than we can possibly know. Things only they can discover. The world and our kids’ pursuits in it will give them cause for great laughter and great pain. It may even give them the chance to raise a child of their own to adulthood one day, and oh, when they become parents themselves, how much they will hope to know! Our role as parents changes as our kids become adults, but it will always be our job to love them. As our children - our pride and joy - go off to college this fall and their generation prepares to take the mantle of leadership from ours, we owe it to them to brace through our fierce tears of fear and longing and remind them to trust in themselves. The universe is vast and wild, ugly and beautiful; we may have to remind ourselves, too, to trust they can make their way in it as we commit the most loving act of letting go.
[1] “Helping
or Hovering: The Effect of Helicopter Parenting on College Students’ Well
Being,” Journal of Child and Family Studies, Springer Science + Business
Media, New York (2013).
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Living the Dream
by Nicoletta Heidegger
I would be lying to you, parents, if I told you I wasn’t having fun working at summer camp. Glassy, calm, blue lake, rowboats, sailboats, hiking, yoga, improv, and even disco bingo- these are a few activities that are a part of my job. When prefacing working at summer camp, many people put “job” in quotes, insinuating that camp is not a real position, since we do not work in a cubicle or the depths of a sunless research lab. But do I have to dislike my job to make it a serious, important stepping-stone for my future?
It is my third summer working at a beautiful camp nestled in Lake Tahoe, California. I had some friends who decided to stay on campus or work in a big city; they were so excited to work one-on-one with their idol professor, or so they thought. I even considered a summer staying on campus, as the majority opinion insisted that would be the best place to make connections hereafter.
Instead, many of my friends became lab rats and spent most of their days sitting inside at a desk working for a graduate student crunching numbers, and never even met the professor who led the lab. Though sometimes this necessary grunt work paves the way for a better future position, it is difficult to say whether this interaction-less lifestyle actually helped my friends develop as human beings.
Of course, not all internships or office positions are like this. It seems the successful tech companies of the Silicon Valley have begun to incorporate a camp-style experience with office life, maintaining that happy workers do a better job. For example, a conference room at Palo Alto’s Palantir is, essentially, a Chuck E. Cheese style ball pit. Google, for example, even offers subsidized massages, Pilates classes, and a vast array of free food. Google is a beyond successful multi billion dollar company; they must know a thing or two about creating a good work atmosphere and productive employees. One recent March 2013 New York Times article about “Google: a Place to Work and Play,” noted, “…people do their most creative work when they’re motivated by the work itself.”
Though there are some set standards of hospitality at camp, like at Google, there is also space to create new and original programming and to initiate and oversee a unique camp experience. One of my co-counselors, a junior at Stanford, notes that working at a camp has allowed her “to be her best self and to grow as a person.” At most general internships, the creativity is limited to which size of straw to get for your boss’ coffee or which kind of notepad to write your chores in. With this flexibility for ownership of the camp programs, it permits staff to wear many hats: both the professional customer service beret, and the self-expressive cowboy hat. From even the most monotonous jobs like scrubbing floors, camp staffers always bring their own creativity to the literal floor; they often create themes, wear costumes, choreograph a song and dance, or incorporate some way to entertain the guests. Not only does this dimension provide a spectacle for the amused campers, it also creates a happy and productive workplace.
In addition to being emotionally fulfilled and happy working at a summer camp, every job and effort I have sweat over at camp has been indispensible to some aspect of my life. Obviously every camp is different, yet most camps today expect and feature high quality care and service.
The following are just a few additional key tools that I personally have gained as a camp counselor:
Childcare and Conflict Resolution: If you have ever tried to get two five year olds to share an amazing toy, you know how difficult it can be to appease both parties without some tears. Trying to work out a compromise requires extreme patience, good listening skills, and an ability to be an objective mediator. These qualities of conflict resolution apply whether two children are fighting over a dodge ball game or two CEO’s are discussing the next step in the million-dollar company merger.
Customer Service: Living at a camp, one is technically always working. There is constantly a guest with certain dietary restrictions, a special request, or someone who has a comment or complaint. I once had a guest tell me that the “raw mushrooms were too rubbery.” I am no scientist, but I would argue that raw mushrooms, by nature, are in fact rubbery. As a customer service representative of the camp, one must have the patience to listen to these kinds of comments, the sensitivity to feel with the guest, and the responsibility to follow through and create positive changes.
Safety/Liability Knowledge: All camp counselors are required to be CPR, first aid/lifeguard trained and are given briefs in liability and safety. In any work or personal environment, this knowledge is essential for ensuring the safety of yourself and those around you. It is also a great introduction to important legal ramifications.
Time Management: Camp work requires being on almost 24/7. One must be both able to work hard, get enough rest, and try to find personal time. In addition, on a moment’s notice one must be able to split his or her time and interact appropriately with people of all different ages and from all different walks of life.
The Future
If you are worried about resume building, camp can actually be a huge asset; it is all about how you frame the experiences that you have had and how you communicate your time. It is comparable to a well-written college essay. A friend of mine who attended Stanford with me wrote her application essay as a comparison of herself to a Nerds rope. A Nerds rope is a simple, piece of candy, yet examined from a new angle and upon closer inspection, a Nerds rope can be a complex and intricate work of art.
It is the same with including “summer camp” on your resume. One could simply just say, “camp counselor,” but as a hard-working camp counselor myself, I know that that meager description is barely even a snowflake from the tip of the iceberg. I can only hope that any future job or internship provides me with at least a smattering of the experience, expertise, and relationships that I gained while joyously working at camp.
For me, the proverbial "road less traveled" has led not only to lush forests and crystal clear lakes, but also to clarity and definition in a sustaining passion and career choice in life.
Nicoletta Heidegger graduated in 2013 from Stanford University, where she majored in Psychology and served as the school mascot, the Stanford tree. She now lives in Los Angeles and attends Pepperdine University for a clinical masters program in marriage and family therapy. In her free time, Nicoletta competes hunter jumper horses and loves to surf and play the drums.
It is my third summer working at a beautiful camp nestled in Lake Tahoe, California. I had some friends who decided to stay on campus or work in a big city; they were so excited to work one-on-one with their idol professor, or so they thought. I even considered a summer staying on campus, as the majority opinion insisted that would be the best place to make connections hereafter.
Instead, many of my friends became lab rats and spent most of their days sitting inside at a desk working for a graduate student crunching numbers, and never even met the professor who led the lab. Though sometimes this necessary grunt work paves the way for a better future position, it is difficult to say whether this interaction-less lifestyle actually helped my friends develop as human beings.
Of course, not all internships or office positions are like this. It seems the successful tech companies of the Silicon Valley have begun to incorporate a camp-style experience with office life, maintaining that happy workers do a better job. For example, a conference room at Palo Alto’s Palantir is, essentially, a Chuck E. Cheese style ball pit. Google, for example, even offers subsidized massages, Pilates classes, and a vast array of free food. Google is a beyond successful multi billion dollar company; they must know a thing or two about creating a good work atmosphere and productive employees. One recent March 2013 New York Times article about “Google: a Place to Work and Play,” noted, “…people do their most creative work when they’re motivated by the work itself.”
Though there are some set standards of hospitality at camp, like at Google, there is also space to create new and original programming and to initiate and oversee a unique camp experience. One of my co-counselors, a junior at Stanford, notes that working at a camp has allowed her “to be her best self and to grow as a person.” At most general internships, the creativity is limited to which size of straw to get for your boss’ coffee or which kind of notepad to write your chores in. With this flexibility for ownership of the camp programs, it permits staff to wear many hats: both the professional customer service beret, and the self-expressive cowboy hat. From even the most monotonous jobs like scrubbing floors, camp staffers always bring their own creativity to the literal floor; they often create themes, wear costumes, choreograph a song and dance, or incorporate some way to entertain the guests. Not only does this dimension provide a spectacle for the amused campers, it also creates a happy and productive workplace.
In addition to being emotionally fulfilled and happy working at a summer camp, every job and effort I have sweat over at camp has been indispensible to some aspect of my life. Obviously every camp is different, yet most camps today expect and feature high quality care and service.
The following are just a few additional key tools that I personally have gained as a camp counselor:
Childcare and Conflict Resolution: If you have ever tried to get two five year olds to share an amazing toy, you know how difficult it can be to appease both parties without some tears. Trying to work out a compromise requires extreme patience, good listening skills, and an ability to be an objective mediator. These qualities of conflict resolution apply whether two children are fighting over a dodge ball game or two CEO’s are discussing the next step in the million-dollar company merger.
Customer Service: Living at a camp, one is technically always working. There is constantly a guest with certain dietary restrictions, a special request, or someone who has a comment or complaint. I once had a guest tell me that the “raw mushrooms were too rubbery.” I am no scientist, but I would argue that raw mushrooms, by nature, are in fact rubbery. As a customer service representative of the camp, one must have the patience to listen to these kinds of comments, the sensitivity to feel with the guest, and the responsibility to follow through and create positive changes.
Safety/Liability Knowledge: All camp counselors are required to be CPR, first aid/lifeguard trained and are given briefs in liability and safety. In any work or personal environment, this knowledge is essential for ensuring the safety of yourself and those around you. It is also a great introduction to important legal ramifications.
Time Management: Camp work requires being on almost 24/7. One must be both able to work hard, get enough rest, and try to find personal time. In addition, on a moment’s notice one must be able to split his or her time and interact appropriately with people of all different ages and from all different walks of life.
The Future
If you are worried about resume building, camp can actually be a huge asset; it is all about how you frame the experiences that you have had and how you communicate your time. It is comparable to a well-written college essay. A friend of mine who attended Stanford with me wrote her application essay as a comparison of herself to a Nerds rope. A Nerds rope is a simple, piece of candy, yet examined from a new angle and upon closer inspection, a Nerds rope can be a complex and intricate work of art.
It is the same with including “summer camp” on your resume. One could simply just say, “camp counselor,” but as a hard-working camp counselor myself, I know that that meager description is barely even a snowflake from the tip of the iceberg. I can only hope that any future job or internship provides me with at least a smattering of the experience, expertise, and relationships that I gained while joyously working at camp.
For me, the proverbial "road less traveled" has led not only to lush forests and crystal clear lakes, but also to clarity and definition in a sustaining passion and career choice in life.
Nicoletta Heidegger graduated in 2013 from Stanford University, where she majored in Psychology and served as the school mascot, the Stanford tree. She now lives in Los Angeles and attends Pepperdine University for a clinical masters program in marriage and family therapy. In her free time, Nicoletta competes hunter jumper horses and loves to surf and play the drums.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
COURAGEOUS PARENTING
by Madeline Levine, Ph.D.
Six Things That Matter More Than Perfect Grades
Chloe: My dad is a complete asshole. He’s mean to people and he cheats in business. I really think he’s a jerk.
Me: Guess you’d like to be a different kind of person than your father.
Chloe: No, not really. He went to Harvard and he’s made a fortune. My mom went to a state school. She may be nice but she’s a loser.
Me: Why is she a loser if she’s nice?
Chloe: Nice is being weak. If she had gotten better grades and didn’t waste time being nice she would get more respect and make more money.
Me: So whom would you prefer to be like?
Chloe: Duh (complete with mandatory eye roll). My dad. No one cares if you’re a jerk. They only care if you “make it.” And I want to make it. I know I’m not really learning anything at school now. But I don’t care. As long as I ace my tests and get into one of the schools that rich kids go to, I’ll be happy.
A seasoned adolescent psychologist is not easily taken aback, but it took me a minute after this conversation to recalibrate my reactions to Chloe. While I’d like to think she’s an outlier, a particularly vapid kid with no sense of who she is yet or the kinds of skills that will actually stand her in good stead, I know she’s not. Unfortunately, she is typical of a breed of teenagers who have become so focused - by their parents, their schools, the culture, their peers and themselves on gaming the system, cheating when necessary and believing that money and material goods are the foundation of a life well-lived - that they have little opportunity to develop the kinds of ideas that used to be typical of teenagers. Decades ago, when I first began practicing, teenagers typically were concerned with friends, appearances, and most touchingly, the world. They talked a lot about “meaning,” wrote treacly poetry and cared, often deeply, about big social issues like civil rights, famine or war. Unfortunately, I rarely hear about these concerns in my office anymore.
Anyone who’s been alive for a few decades longer than Chloe, who has actually participated in life, knows that there are dozens of mistakes in Chloe’s thinking. No school guarantees either success or failure. Being a good person matters. Materialistic people are less happy than less materialistic people. Real learning, engagement, enthusiasm and persistence are what lead to interests and passions in life. And perhaps most of all, that connection to others matters greatly to well-being and that narcissistic preoccupation with looking important is certain to impair connection. That being said, and while there are many components to a life well-lived, here is my list of things that matter, not simply more than grades, but that matter if we want our kids to have meaningful, productive and moral lives.
• Having Friends – one of the best predictors of mental health. Kids who are too preoccupied with grades and put all their energy into studying don’t have the necessary time to cultivate strong relationships. Other people tend to be seen as ways to gain an advantage rather than as potential sources of mutual support. Sometimes parents say, “They can make friends later.” No they can’t. Being a good friend takes a great deal of practice beginning early in life.
• Character – integrity, honesty, reliability. These are the kinds of traits that we look for in friends, spouses and workers. This country has seen enough despair brought on by people who lack a basic sense of decency and responsibility to others.
• Resilience – Try to make it through life without a good set of coping skills. Impossible. Life throws lots of curve balls at us and will at our children. Learning how to manage: how to delay gratification, to exert self-control, to soothe one’s self, to fall down and get up again – are mandatory so that our children are not undone when faced with challenge. And they will be faced with challenge.
• Interests/Passions – I’m tentative about using the word “passion,” hence the interests/passions qualifier. I’ve had moms call me worried that their four-year-old child doesn’t have a “passion.” Life is their passion. Depending on temperament, for many kids, interest is enough. But Chloe is right when she says she isn’t really “learning anything.” Real interests and passions grow out of talent, time and practice. They make life rich.
• Collaboration – Every C-level executive I’ve spoken with underscores the need for collaboration in the workplace. In our “flat” world, problems are so complex, that they will not be solved by individuals sitting in a room and being hit by a bolt of lightening. People working together, often across cultures and time zones will solve them. And of course, we all know the benefit of having a collaborative spouse or best friend.
• Self-Reflection – Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Whether you’re a fan of psychology or not, having the time and inclination to understand one’s self is critical to making good decisions, to understanding motives and to appreciating the challenges that living presents. Kids who are busy “climbing the ladder” from early on will often say they don’t have time to “think about things.” Big mistake. Without thinking about things, one is likely to repeat mistakes and feel “lost.” A sense of self comes from many places, but can’t be constructed without time devoted to self-reflection.
Next time your child insists on staying up half the night to study, or turns down an invitation from a friend, remember this list. Put it up on your refrigerator. I’ve seen hundreds of unhappy kids over the years. While academic success is certainly to be applauded, it is only one piece of the puzzle that goes into being a good person with a sense of purpose and meaning in the world. The kind of person you’d probably choose to work with, be friends with or marry.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Should Teachers Return Graded Tests?
by Dr. Denise Pope, Challenge Success Co-Founder
Jay Mathews, education writer for The Washington Post, wrote a recent column about teachers who refused to give students back their graded tests. Some of these tests were the standardized tests that the states or districts re-use each year, and the teachers were worried about kids cheating -- sharing questions and answers with next year’s students. But some of the tests that remained under lock and key were end-of-unit tests and midterms. Jay reported that many parents and educators thought this policy was unfair. Most of the learning that takes place after a student takes a test happens precisely when that student has a chance to see what she got wrong and learn from her mistakes. This doesn't necessarily happen in the 45 minutes during class time when the tests are passed back briefly and then recollected. Sometimes a student needs to grapple with the problem, go home and think about it, and use the test to help study for future exams and assessments.
I understand how difficult it is to make a great test. It can take hours and hours of a teacher's time. But if the end goal is for all students to learn, then we must find a way to allow kids to see their mistakes and correct them. At Challenge Success we help teachers learn to use multiple forms of assessment. Sometimes we suggest that students play a role in constructing their own test questions or essay topics. Often we urge educators to consider project-based assessments which are much harder to cheat on and can be "re-used" with each new group of students. We also urge educators to allow ways for students to revise their work and to redeem themselves. We have found that when teachers allow students to take home graded tests and then turn in test corrections, the students can learn from their mistakes and eventually understand the material in depth.
We know that cheating is a problem -- especially in high school, and we sympathize with the time it takes to design effective assessments. Ultimately, however, our students will work in the "real world" where rarely (if ever?) will they be judged on the quality of their work on a timed paper and pencil exam, based on questions they don't know ahead of time, and without the ability to use any of the resources (people, internet, work notes, etc.) on which they are used to relying when doing daily tasks. If the exam is easy to copy and far removed from the kind of work folks do outside of school, then perhaps we need to design a more cheat-proof assessment that will challenge students before, during AND after they receive feedback.
Denise Pope, Ph.D., is a Senior Lecturer at the Stanford University School of Education. For the past thirteen years, she has specialized in student engagement, curriculum studies, qualitative research methods, and service learning. Dr. Pope lectures nationally on parenting techniques and pedagogical strategies to increase student health, engagement with learning, and integrity. Her book, "Doing School": How We Are Creating a Generation of Stressed Out, Materialistic, and Miseducated Students (Yale University Press, 2001) was awarded Notable Book in Education by the American School Board Journal, 2001. Dr. Pope is a 3 time recipient of the Stanford University School of Education Outstanding Teacher and Mentor Award.
I understand how difficult it is to make a great test. It can take hours and hours of a teacher's time. But if the end goal is for all students to learn, then we must find a way to allow kids to see their mistakes and correct them. At Challenge Success we help teachers learn to use multiple forms of assessment. Sometimes we suggest that students play a role in constructing their own test questions or essay topics. Often we urge educators to consider project-based assessments which are much harder to cheat on and can be "re-used" with each new group of students. We also urge educators to allow ways for students to revise their work and to redeem themselves. We have found that when teachers allow students to take home graded tests and then turn in test corrections, the students can learn from their mistakes and eventually understand the material in depth.
We know that cheating is a problem -- especially in high school, and we sympathize with the time it takes to design effective assessments. Ultimately, however, our students will work in the "real world" where rarely (if ever?) will they be judged on the quality of their work on a timed paper and pencil exam, based on questions they don't know ahead of time, and without the ability to use any of the resources (people, internet, work notes, etc.) on which they are used to relying when doing daily tasks. If the exam is easy to copy and far removed from the kind of work folks do outside of school, then perhaps we need to design a more cheat-proof assessment that will challenge students before, during AND after they receive feedback.
Denise Pope, Ph.D., is a Senior Lecturer at the Stanford University School of Education. For the past thirteen years, she has specialized in student engagement, curriculum studies, qualitative research methods, and service learning. Dr. Pope lectures nationally on parenting techniques and pedagogical strategies to increase student health, engagement with learning, and integrity. Her book, "Doing School": How We Are Creating a Generation of Stressed Out, Materialistic, and Miseducated Students (Yale University Press, 2001) was awarded Notable Book in Education by the American School Board Journal, 2001. Dr. Pope is a 3 time recipient of the Stanford University School of Education Outstanding Teacher and Mentor Award.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
In Defense of Occasional Dullness
by Laura Pochop
We’ve hit the heart of summer, a season that conjures up sepia-toned memories for all of us grownups. Coppertone-watermelon-seed-catching-fireflies-ice-cream-truck-spotlight-tag-come-home-when-the-streetlights-come-on memories. Periodically, there’s talk of year-round school. It’s true, the current schedule was built around agrarian kids helping with the summer harvest. It’s been perpetuated by the myth of a stay-at-home mom in every house. It makes no sense educationally or economically. Still, I’m sad for the kids who’ll someday suffer through a theoretically ‘better’ schedule. Because they won’t get those magical, endless days of nothing-to-do, nowhere-to-be summer that we dreamed of all year.
Except they’re not actually getting that now. Rare is the kid these days who can look forward to even a week of ‘free’ time over the summer. Instead, they’re in sleep-away and day camps, sports and art camps, community service and Spanish camps, and even actual camping-camps. The older ones take summer school classes at Cal, study for the SAT’s, and travel to Cambodia to build village water systems. The littlest learn to swim, play drums and build complicated Lego structures.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m in awe of the Bay Area’s Cheesecake-Factory menu of high-quality summer camps, and fiercely jealous of my own offspring. Some of their top life moments have sprung from creatively designed, brilliantly executed camps.
And yet, I fight to carve out time each summer when they’re not in camp. Taken to excess, the plethora of summer camp options goads us over-parenters to duplicate the rampant overscheduling of the school year, with its oppressive Team Snap reminders, carpools and nagging. It can also feed a sense of entitlement in our kids, who come to feel deserving of constant attention, programming and cool activities delivered by hyper-enthusiastic young adults 24/7.
Sometimes what kids need most of all is the absence of adult supervision and structure. To figure out how to be alone, how to invent their own games and create their own distractions. How to be bored.
This weekend, I passed a chalk-drawn hopscotch on the sidewalk, with the one-two-one-two pattern winding slowly, continuing for almost the whole block. It ended, finally, at ‘489.’ And I felt a rush of sepia-toned connection with the child who created it. There’s no Hopscotch Camp, is there?
Laura Pochop holds an MBA from Stanford University. She currently does sell-side investment banking and owns a specialty market with her husband in the Bay Area. Laura writes a column for the Piedmont Post where she offers commentary on living in our fast-paced, competitive society and the issues of raising three kids in this sometimes crazed environment. This piece was originally published in the July 10th issue of the Piedmont Post.
Except they’re not actually getting that now. Rare is the kid these days who can look forward to even a week of ‘free’ time over the summer. Instead, they’re in sleep-away and day camps, sports and art camps, community service and Spanish camps, and even actual camping-camps. The older ones take summer school classes at Cal, study for the SAT’s, and travel to Cambodia to build village water systems. The littlest learn to swim, play drums and build complicated Lego structures.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m in awe of the Bay Area’s Cheesecake-Factory menu of high-quality summer camps, and fiercely jealous of my own offspring. Some of their top life moments have sprung from creatively designed, brilliantly executed camps.
And yet, I fight to carve out time each summer when they’re not in camp. Taken to excess, the plethora of summer camp options goads us over-parenters to duplicate the rampant overscheduling of the school year, with its oppressive Team Snap reminders, carpools and nagging. It can also feed a sense of entitlement in our kids, who come to feel deserving of constant attention, programming and cool activities delivered by hyper-enthusiastic young adults 24/7.
Sometimes what kids need most of all is the absence of adult supervision and structure. To figure out how to be alone, how to invent their own games and create their own distractions. How to be bored.
This weekend, I passed a chalk-drawn hopscotch on the sidewalk, with the one-two-one-two pattern winding slowly, continuing for almost the whole block. It ended, finally, at ‘489.’ And I felt a rush of sepia-toned connection with the child who created it. There’s no Hopscotch Camp, is there?
Laura Pochop holds an MBA from Stanford University. She currently does sell-side investment banking and owns a specialty market with her husband in the Bay Area. Laura writes a column for the Piedmont Post where she offers commentary on living in our fast-paced, competitive society and the issues of raising three kids in this sometimes crazed environment. This piece was originally published in the July 10th issue of the Piedmont Post.
Monday, May 13, 2013
BEYOND A WAITRESS
by Shoshana Wineburg
Five months ago, I started working nights at a restaurant. Though the restaurant is cozy and well-attended, I noticed something peculiar: many diners were not communicating with each other. They were distracted by their screens. Disturbed, I wrote an op-ed and published it in The Seattle Times. At the end of the article, I included this short bio:
“Shoshana Wineburg graduated from Stanford University in 2009 with a degree in American Studies. She waits tables in Seattle.”
Comments ensued. Most people responded to the article’s content; others could care less. They wanted to talk about my degree. One user wrote that my bio was “the saddest part of the article.” Someone else said my degree was not “worthwhile,” and that waiting tables after graduating from Stanford was “kinda depressing.”
I haven’t just waited tables after Stanford. I’ve done other things. But that’s beside the point. The point is that the comments represent a value system that measures success by achievement and income, not character. This is a type of success our culture breeds, a type of success that pervades our high schools and college campuses. We strive for status. We are defined by our name-brands. We are measured by our income.
I know this value system because I encountered it at Stanford. I know it intimately because I subscribed to it.
Like many other students, once I got to campus, I started looking forward. I made a post-college five-year plan. I had it all figured out.
Until I didn’t.
The problem was that as I equated my self-worth with my achievement, I got sick. It started as stress. Then it mushroomed into crippling anxiety. I spent days with a tightened chest and knotted stomach. The anxiety festered. By winter quarter junior year, I was miserable. I walked around campus with a plastered smile and glassy eyes exhausted from holding back tears. I slid into depression. Negative voices suffocated me. Writing my essays took forever. I imagined getting D’s. You’re worthless, the voices whispered. You’re a fraud.
The following quarter was my quarter abroad. I was supposed to go to France. I convinced myself that the Eifel Tower would solve my problems. Who gets depressed in Paris? How could chocolate croissants not make me happy?
I got worse. I lost my concentration. I couldn’t read because I couldn’t register the words. I struggled to speak. Sentences came out disjointed, thoughts incoherent. I had sleepless nights and my eyes started twitching. I would walk around with my hand clasped to my chest, because the pain throbbed. Complex thoughts shriveled to simple ones. Could I get through the day? How much more could I tolerate? How much longer could I last?
I never got to enjoy the croissant because food lost its taste. I stopped eating. I stopped talking. I stopped living.
Had I not had a best friend with me, I don’t know what would have happened. Her presence was my blessing. It was she who convinced me to go home. She told me that I had been strong, but the real strength would be to admit that I needed help.
So I did the unthinkable for someone who had been hard-wired to succeed. I dropped out of Stanford-in Paris. I failed.
Here’s what failure teaches you. Failure teaches you humility. Failure teaches you are more than your shortcomings; your humanity extends beyond the W’s on your transcript. Failure teaches you gratitude. It forces you to reexamine what’s important and appreciate all you have. Failure is impermanent. You get through it. Along the way, you cultivate perspective. And empathy. And compassion. You learn that despite the fall, you’ll be okay.
When I got back to school, I promised myself that I would live with integrity. I dropped the honors and the double major. I spent my senior year taking classes that resonated with me. I took meaningful classes, classes that forced me to think critically, ethically, and philosophically.
Failure gave me the courage to pursue different paths and paradigms of success. After graduating, I spent time at a religious institute in Jerusalem. I worked with an NGO doing community empowerment with Israel’s Ethiopian Community. I lived on a mountain in Peru and taught English in the Andes.
Now, I’ve returned to the US. And, yes, at night, I work in a restaurant. It’s good money and it pays my bills. It’s not permanent. I don’t aspire to serve food my whole life. But for now, it’s what I’m doing.
We all want to find stable and satisfying employment. But ultimately who we are—how we think, how we communicate, how we empathize, how we love—is just as much a part of success as achievement. Too often we value the latter at the expense of the former. Too often, that recipe makes us sick.
I won’t be made sick. Not again.
Shoshana Wineburg grew up in Seattle, Washington. She graduated from Stanford in 2009 with a degree in American Studies. Following graduation, she lived in Israel and Peru and waited tables in between. She currently works at a restaurant in Seattle.
“Shoshana Wineburg graduated from Stanford University in 2009 with a degree in American Studies. She waits tables in Seattle.”
Comments ensued. Most people responded to the article’s content; others could care less. They wanted to talk about my degree. One user wrote that my bio was “the saddest part of the article.” Someone else said my degree was not “worthwhile,” and that waiting tables after graduating from Stanford was “kinda depressing.”
I haven’t just waited tables after Stanford. I’ve done other things. But that’s beside the point. The point is that the comments represent a value system that measures success by achievement and income, not character. This is a type of success our culture breeds, a type of success that pervades our high schools and college campuses. We strive for status. We are defined by our name-brands. We are measured by our income.
I know this value system because I encountered it at Stanford. I know it intimately because I subscribed to it.
Like many other students, once I got to campus, I started looking forward. I made a post-college five-year plan. I had it all figured out.
Until I didn’t.
The problem was that as I equated my self-worth with my achievement, I got sick. It started as stress. Then it mushroomed into crippling anxiety. I spent days with a tightened chest and knotted stomach. The anxiety festered. By winter quarter junior year, I was miserable. I walked around campus with a plastered smile and glassy eyes exhausted from holding back tears. I slid into depression. Negative voices suffocated me. Writing my essays took forever. I imagined getting D’s. You’re worthless, the voices whispered. You’re a fraud.
The following quarter was my quarter abroad. I was supposed to go to France. I convinced myself that the Eifel Tower would solve my problems. Who gets depressed in Paris? How could chocolate croissants not make me happy?
I got worse. I lost my concentration. I couldn’t read because I couldn’t register the words. I struggled to speak. Sentences came out disjointed, thoughts incoherent. I had sleepless nights and my eyes started twitching. I would walk around with my hand clasped to my chest, because the pain throbbed. Complex thoughts shriveled to simple ones. Could I get through the day? How much more could I tolerate? How much longer could I last?
I never got to enjoy the croissant because food lost its taste. I stopped eating. I stopped talking. I stopped living.
Had I not had a best friend with me, I don’t know what would have happened. Her presence was my blessing. It was she who convinced me to go home. She told me that I had been strong, but the real strength would be to admit that I needed help.
So I did the unthinkable for someone who had been hard-wired to succeed. I dropped out of Stanford-in Paris. I failed.
Here’s what failure teaches you. Failure teaches you humility. Failure teaches you are more than your shortcomings; your humanity extends beyond the W’s on your transcript. Failure teaches you gratitude. It forces you to reexamine what’s important and appreciate all you have. Failure is impermanent. You get through it. Along the way, you cultivate perspective. And empathy. And compassion. You learn that despite the fall, you’ll be okay.
When I got back to school, I promised myself that I would live with integrity. I dropped the honors and the double major. I spent my senior year taking classes that resonated with me. I took meaningful classes, classes that forced me to think critically, ethically, and philosophically.
Failure gave me the courage to pursue different paths and paradigms of success. After graduating, I spent time at a religious institute in Jerusalem. I worked with an NGO doing community empowerment with Israel’s Ethiopian Community. I lived on a mountain in Peru and taught English in the Andes.
Now, I’ve returned to the US. And, yes, at night, I work in a restaurant. It’s good money and it pays my bills. It’s not permanent. I don’t aspire to serve food my whole life. But for now, it’s what I’m doing.
We all want to find stable and satisfying employment. But ultimately who we are—how we think, how we communicate, how we empathize, how we love—is just as much a part of success as achievement. Too often we value the latter at the expense of the former. Too often, that recipe makes us sick.
I won’t be made sick. Not again.
Shoshana Wineburg grew up in Seattle, Washington. She graduated from Stanford in 2009 with a degree in American Studies. Following graduation, she lived in Israel and Peru and waited tables in between. She currently works at a restaurant in Seattle.
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