Excuses, Excuses...

I read a Newsweek article last night as I was watching the man cook dinner that was very interesting to me, but simultaneously annoying. Ever feel this way-- "Hmm, that's interesting, but it really pisses me off..."

It was "But I Did Everything Right!" by Sharon Begley. She outlines that there is now a new explanation as to why some kids "get it" and some don't. You see, there is some gene variant that influences whether or not your child is fussy or mellow-- that same gene, you guessed it, determines whether or not your kid cares about what you, as a parent, say or fails to do so. You see, kids that are fussy as babies are more in tune with their surroundings and therefore are more likely to respond to parenting. Those babies that are mellow and very easy-going are more... oblivious, let's say, to their surroundings and therefore are less likely to be responsive to dear ole Mom and Dad when they parent-- i.e. tell them to clean their room, encourage them to stay in school, advise them not to do drugs, and scold them for beating their siblings with the building blocks.

The explaination is all fine and dandy-- suprisingly clear (to this anti-scientific brain) and even quite interesting that these things are ingrained in our DNA. But, my question is-- Who does this make the better excuse for, parents or their children?

Yes, these things may be related to our genetics. Yes, things like ADHD and LDs do exist and yes, they do have major impacts on the lives and learning of young people all over the world. But, do we have to continue to come up with reasons why some people end up CEOs and part of the yupper echelon while others end up dropping out of school at a young age and rebellious to the point of self-destruction? This article suggests that this gene can protect children from bad parenting and give solace to parents facing bad children. This new research allows parents and children alike to say, "It's OK, it's just the genes."

Parents that are dreadful at fostering and teaching their little ones can lie back and feel comforted that because their child was mellow from birth-- didn't cry, slept through the night from day one, let anyone hold them, and skipped off to the first day of pre-school with no separation anxiety-- that their parenting will not make one bit of difference in whether or not little Jimmy becomes an M.D. or robs a bank at 18. And little Jimmy can feel comforted that because he was a super chill baby, that he can be chill for all his days and never work for a single thing in his life, for which he will never be held accountable.

So, parents who have had to deal with colic, crying, anxiety, and overall worry about fussy little Johnny, go on to be the best damn parents they're equipped to be. And, Johnny who unknowingly put his parents through hell for years, works his butt off to be the best football player he can be and get into that great school and succeed in the world however he sees fit. And, as a result of this new research, Little Johnny and his parents can't take any credit for this hard work and perserverence because Johnny was just blessed with the genes to actually care about what his parents were saying to him.

And if we make a little switch-a-roo and place Johnny with Jimmy's parents, and vice versa, everything would come out just the same in the end. Johnny will become a brain surgeon who moonlights on the Olympic Volleyball team and Jimmy will loaf around his parents beach house until his untimely death at 45 in a freak gasoline fight accident. And it will be neither a credit to nor a fault of any party involved.

This new research allows an explanation, an excuse, even, for sloppy, pitiful parenting and kids who could not care less about the effort their parents put forth. All the while, taking the credit due from wonderful parents and kids who work hard.

Maybe I've got parenting on the brain or I'm reflecting on my own hard work to this point in my life-- or maybe I'm just tired of excuses. Do your best, or your worst, but recognize that either best or worst, it's yours.