In each of the pre-production meetings, we sat down as a group and Gene asked us to make suggestions about whom we should profile. For the families episode, we wanted a family who would challenge the prevailing image that black families undervalue education. Through some great suggestions, we were referred to the James family. Clarence L. James, residing then in Atlanta, Georgia, is a very popular minister with six amazing, high-achieving children. They fell between the ages of seven and sixteen and they all said they were heading in only one direction—college and beyond.
From the moment our crew walked in the front door, everyone knew the James family was one that valued and celebrated children and all their possibilities. With enormous pride, Reverend James escorted the crew around his family’s compact home and pointed to framed honor roll report cards and certificates of excellence that decorated their refrigerator and hallways. There was little doubt in any of our minds, in large part because the kids said it themselves in one way or another, that the parents’ verbal and visible appreciation of their accomplishments and attitudes toward each other helped fuel their desire to achieve. Education was clearly a value that this family firmly adhered to: To breathe is to learn and grow, they believed; to use your mind and use it well is a duty. The brag walls and curio cabinets around the James house were so much more than gold and silver medals, trophies, and straight A’s. They represented the characteristics that come along with children who apply themselves in any way, shape, or form. Reverend James highlighted all the things and attitudes I wanted to one day see in my children. Resilient, check! Inventive, check! Supportive of each other, check! Committed to excellence, check! I locked away that moment, imagining the walls of my own home similarly decorated with ribbons and certificates of honor. This, I said to myself, would be a great way to show the impact of their hard work and what happens when they commit their minds to something.
Taking the time to collect, collate, and celebrate my kids’ achievements would also be, I calculated, a way for me to show that I could value, love, and celebrate each of them as much as any two parents. My challenge was to celebrate each of them as an only child so that each would feel favored but none would feel that I favored the others. If I could accomplish this, I surmised, it would let them know that even when I can’t be with them individually, I appreciate each equally, living and lifting up our family values in regard to education and extracurricular activities. The reward? Recognition. The only problem was that unlike the James kids, my three kids weren’t marching the trail of achievement at the same pace. Shani was my reader. There was hardly a moment that you wouldn’t find her on the couch, in the car, on her bed, or in a corner somewhere reading something, anything. Her love of the written word provided a strong academic foundation that formed the basis for solid grades. Then there was Wes, who finally found his footing in the structure and discipline of Valley Forge. But for most of her tween and teenage years, my challenge was Nikki.
She always had a big personality, which, as she grew older, became a mask for the hurt she felt having essentially lost two fathers. After our move to New York, her grades started slipping, and for the rest of her tenure in junior high and high school, going to school became for her a necessary evil. It wasn’t until she began taking classes at the local junior college that she started believing in herself and realized she could measure up academically. She got all A’s in her first semester at Mercy College. When the second semester yielded the same results, I could see her sense of accomplishment and self-esteem blossoming.
That was all the opening I needed to try out the tool I had kept in the back of my mind since visiting the James family years before. While Shani was always getting commendations for academics or gymnastics and Wes was starting to bring academic and athletic recognitions home too, I never wanted to display their achievements as overtly as the James family did because I didn’t want to draw attention to Nikki’s late achievement. Of course I congratulated Wes and Shani individually and let them know how proud I was of their successes. But because keeping our family as a tight unit is one of our core values, I knew that comparing the kids in any way, even unknowingly, would cause a rivalry that could threaten their relationships with one another.
When Nikki’s first semester brought her first set of all A’s, I bought a sixteen-by-twenty-inch frame and gathered up the certificates and commendations Shani and Wes had earned their first semester. In the very center I put Nikki’s full transcript, and I made a collage of pictures of all of them and of the various commendations that Wes and Shani earned throughout that semester. Next semester Nikki had the same results so I put both transcripts center stage in a larger, poster-size frame and created a collage of the report cards, articles, photos, and special messages teachers had sent home from all three kids throughout the year. I wanted them to see how relationships and respect are formed and earned through hard work, collaboration, and tenacity. So much more is gained than a degree, and those messages from people outside the family were quite effective in showing that point. We all worked on creatively cutting and pasting together the various parts of the puzzle, and at the end we decided to call it “The Best Of.” I hung the frame in the entryway by the front door so anyone who came in or out could see how well all three were doing.
Without a doubt, visitors were very impressed, but more important I wanted Nikki, Wes, and Shani to see that with their individual achievements they had created a bold and beautiful visual statement about their combined strength as siblings. If any of them secretly counted how many of their achievements were included versus the number of someone else’s, it was never said. As we put up the poster on the wall, the children celebrated each other—especially Nikki, because she’d excelled and was where Wes and Shani wanted to be someday—in college! Some months later Nikki confided in me that she was really proud to have become a role model for her brother and sister, and that their affirmation of her that day made her want to maintain that status. “The Best Of” became our win-win, all the way around.
That was the beginning of Nikki’s college experience. A month later, in an example of the importance of social networks and the power of the pride that has always been present for our family, with the assistance of a friend of my brother’s, Tony Aponte, she was able to transfer her first-year grades to the New York State University System at Purchase. She was accepted into a special program that was created to identify students who had demonstrated the ability to do college work but lacked the high school grades for admission the traditional way. Nikki commuted the half hour to Purchase, New York, for the next three years, majoring in sociology and loving her college experience. Nikki had launched!
As a full-time college student, armed with a self-confidence that had eluded her throughout most of her academic career, Nikki said she no longer felt the need to be included in “The Best Of” posters. But since Wes and Shani asked me to keep it going, I continued collecting what they gave me throughout the year. “The Best Of” became a source of pride and friendly competition between the two of them. Eventually, because there were so many certificates and newspaper clippings, I had to give them their own individual poster-size frames as they progressed through high school.
I am so grateful to that little voice inside me that told me to wait before throwing a spotlight on Wes and Shani’s honors. I really felt vindicated when Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish’s New York Times bestselling book Siblings Without Rivalry came out and one of their main lessons was that when parents make comparisons, we heat up rivalries. I’m convinced that had I made that poster earlier, it would have caused Nikki shame that I never wanted her to feel. She was harboring enough self-doubt on her own without me using her siblings to pile more on. When she had earned the right to brag, after finding the joy in her own talents, we all were there to brag right alongside her.
To this day, the three of my children are incredibly close. They talk, tweet, or FaceTime all the time. When Wes’s first book came out, Nikki was his very first ass
istant, handling his social media, making travel arrangements, and scheduling speaking engagements. Shani remains their editor and legal adviser, and Wes is an amazing brother to them both. They remain my greatest joy and are on the way to fulfilling my fondest wish, as expressed by an unknown writer: A mother’s prayer is that her children will love each other long after she is gone.
As for “The Best Of,” like fine works of art, these framed poster-size montages that documented their hard work so many years ago still hang in the hallway of my home. Gratefully inspired by the James family, they are now a daily reminder for me and an occasional one for my grandchildren when they visit of a few things:
I have three amazing children;
my grandchildren have an amazing dad and aunts;
hard work can yield amazing results; and
whatever good is done in life—small or big—has value and should be appreciated and preserved.
LESSON FROM A LIONESS: Make it a celebration, not a competition.
One of the things I remember taking note of when I saw the brag walls of the James household was the celebration of small victories as well as the big ones. Research has shown that praising children for little achievements goes further in increasing their self-esteem than big stuff like making captain of the cheering squad or a high score on the ACT. Remember to reward things like kindness, sharing, or trying to achieve something out of a child’s comfort zone. Having the versatility to celebrate all kinds of positive outcomes enables moms to find ways to highlight one particular child’s strengths—not over the others’, but as a way to show the cumulative genius and talents of the whole family unit. Not every person in the family could be every color of a rainbow, but together you are vibrant and awe inspiring.
Remember it’s not what you do to celebrate, just as long as you remember to celebrate! Whether it’s the gift of your time, or a brag wall of your own, or even something larger, like a dinner out or a small celebratory slumber party, the recognition and validation is what this is all about. A friend of mine removes a special tiara from her curio and places it on her daughters’ heads when they have done something worthy of royalty!
Finally, remind your children, it’s not the perfect score or the Eagle Scout award that you are celebrating; it’s the fact that such achievements represent the result of a commitment the child has made to the values that mean the most in your family.
Presence of Heart:
The ability to achieve and dispense unconditional love, compassion, and guidance—to yourself and your children—creating an enduring safety net that allows the family to discover and live out its truth.
II
Presence of Heart
Introduction
A good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination.
—Nelson Mandela
As I dug deep inside my memory bank to write the stories in this book, the many different idioms about hearts played through my head. “Have heart,” “save heart,” “from the heart,” “listen to your heart,” “broken heart”; even the song inspired by ET, “Turn on Your Heart Light,” melodically got stuck in my head. When I identified my own experiences of having Presence of Heart, I realized they were the times when I felt like some powerful parenting reserve tank had been activated. These were the moments when I believed miracles were really happening. I was somehow getting my children and me through life despite the sporadic nature of my wisdom and courage, my limited finances, and sometimes my limited faith. When the going got tough and I felt I was falling short on everything that was important to me, my heart stepped in and carried us through.
Having heart is easiest to see in sports. What fuels a fatigued beat-up body at the twenty-fifth mile of a marathon? What keeps a boxer getting up on the count of seven to face more pummeling? What makes an Olympic skater pick herself up off the ice after missing the landing of a triple axel? Sports psychologist and blogger Eric C. Stevens explains, “Heart transforms our lives, knowing that we are fighting for what we love. Heart is what gets us to compete authentically with our true nature. When we see real sportsmanship and those competing at a level far beyond their athletic prowess, that is heart.” Remember Michael Jordan’s herculean effort during the 1997 NBA Finals against the Utah Jazz? He played forty-four minutes, four minutes short of the entire game, and scored thirty-eight points. All this while he was fighting debilitating flu-like symptoms! Or gymnast and Olympic gold medalist Kerri Strug, who delivered a spectacular run, cartwheel, and springboard to the vault, ending in a near-flawless dismount that she stuck on one foot, only to be carried off the mat by her coaches with two torn ligaments in her ankle? That performance helped clinch the first-ever gold medal for the US woman’s gymnastic team in 1996.
Stevens continues that having heart does not always lead you to the win column. “Having heart means accepting failure with grace, and being willing to accept it, grow from it, and try again. Even in defeat, no one can take true heart and love away from you.”
My favorite definition is actually from the dictionary. “Have heart: to showcase compassion, empathy, humility, forgiveness, putting all that is human in someone or something.” That begs repeating: Putting all that is human in someone or something.
I just love that.
We all strive to be present for our children, but it’s easier said than done. The reality is that being present demands a special kind of attention in a hectic world—a world that forces you to jump from one task to the next, from one worry to another, all with the nagging dread that you’ll never be enough, or be good enough, and that there’s no way you can get this right on your own. I found that my own feelings of inadequacy surfaced most in that moment when I first approached my front door, already drained from the frustrations of the workday and uncertain that I had enough in me to face any challenge on the other side of the door.
What I hope you will discover when practicing Presence of Heart is the art of forgiveness and compassion for yourself. Presence of heart, more than any of the other pillars, must be available to you first. Dr. Kristin Neff, a pioneering self-compassion researcher, author, and teacher, describes self-compassion as translating the compassion we may feel for someone we see in pain, physically or mentally, to ourselves. When we are experiencing inner conflict or pain, Neff advises, “Instead of ignoring your pain with a ‘stiff upper lip’ mentality, you stop to tell yourself ‘this is really difficult right now,’ how can I comfort and care for myself in this moment?” We must remember that if we don’t tend to the heart, the muscle itself weakens and we’ll have no heart to pay forward.
A research study from Israel has noted that mothers and infants can synchronize their heartbeats simply by looking into each other’s eyes and through vocal cues. Through our ability to offer such comfort, stability, security, and consistency from those first moments and throughout their lives, we as mothers can be comforted in knowing that small acts of pure love are enough to anchor our family. When it came to the loving connection and unconditional love I had for my children, those moments of a hug or a tender wiping of a tear gave me hope that the light that existed in my heart was still there.
Learning to Breathe
In all kinds of ways—if we are willing—our children take us into places in our heart we didn’t know existed.
—Dr. Shefali Tsabary
I remember the evenings when I’d drag myself home, my arms weighed down with groceries, my briefcase, and usually something I had to bring home for one of the children: shoes I’d had repaired or some special supplies one of them needed for a school project. On the ride home, I’d imagine the kids waiting for me at home: hungry, feeling neglected, and lashing out at each other. I could feel my own resentment rising: They were old enough now to feed themselves a snack, to do their homework without prompting, to support each other if one felt sad or neglected, but somehow I knew these things and more were all going to be loaded onto my plate as soon as I walked through the door. I remember feeling the events of th
e workday buzzing around my head, and in my exhausted state, the familiar pull of my worries about the future was impossible to resist. And then there were the decisions that had to be made before I arrived, like what to make for dinner. Would I be a bad mother if I ordered pizza again this week? I would reason that pizza is the perfect food: carbs, fiber, protein, good fats, lean meats, lots and lots of veggies. But how easy it was for me to rationalize something I wanted to do!
When I finally got home, I’d open the door and be welcomed by my children pretty much the same way every evening. Shani wanted to talk right away about everything, before I could set my bags down and get my bearings. Nikki almost always left the living room as soon as I entered, and most of the time Wes kept his eyes glued to the television screen, acting as if I were invisible.
I would notice everything that was wrong. Why was there a wet towel on the sofa? They had closets for their shoes and drawers for their sweaters, but it seemed like all three of them had forgotten those minor details. Wes probably had a paper due the next day. I doubted he’d finish it—and I doubted he cared.
It was tough to suppress the swelling part of me that wanted to start barking orders at my children. Most of the time my words were on repeat: “You know I work hard all day to put food on the table and the very little I asked of you, you can’t manage to do!”
There are a hundred variations on this daily homecoming scenario, and when I speak to fellow mothers, they give me their version of what I’ve come to call “the Not-Welcome Home Refrain.” We want to feel welcomed and grateful to see our kids after a long day apart. Instead, we are exhausted and irritable and feel taken for granted. We may run a familiar script in our head every night: “My kids don’t appreciate me, I sacrifice so much, would they please just leave me alone?” It’s a paradox of sorts. We want to give everything we can to our children, but feel burdened when we are doing just that.
The Power of Presence Page 5