Growing up, I thought the people who saw the glass half-full were real downers. An only child knows only a full glass. One that comes with unlimited refills. After 17 years in a profession that regularly exposes me to the
Growing up, I thought the people who saw the glass half-full were real downers.
An only child knows only a full glass. One that comes with unlimited refills.
After 17 years in a profession that regularly exposes me to the ugly side of humanity, I should probably pay my dues and become a card-carrying pessimist. But what’s the point? There’s no way a group like that would ever make it.
Enough clouds have crept into my worldview that hard-core optimists creep me out, probably the same way smiley clowns frighten some people. So I can barely recognize my own cheery voice as it encourages my 3-year-old son, who gets frustrated easily.
“I can’t doOOOOOOO IT!” he complains, accelerating from a whine to a scream in 0.6 seconds.
“Sure you can,” I hear myself say, channeling motivational speaker Tony Robbins. “Just take a smaller spoonful.”
“I can’t doOOOOOOO IT!” he responds, even as he’s doing it.
These little coaching exchanges are repeated throughout the day, for a variety of tasks. He quickly gives up trying to put on a shirt. Or take apart a toy car.
Pessimists are often mislabeled as lacking confidence. I know, for example, that I’m capable of playing on the PGA Tour. All that holds me back is the stupid muscles that refuse to swing the club right after 35 years of range balls.
The upbeat voice I use to support son Sean is sincere. I really do think he can do it – know it, in fact.
Confidence is easy for the parents of a toddler. I cannot picture a scenario where he’s standing at his high-school locker, yelping for help with the zipper on his jacket.
Someday when he applies to that elite school, maybe I’ll have to fake the words of encouragement. That’s a long way off.
After a frustrating journey, success is a little sweeter. It shows in his reaction.
“I DID IT!” the boy says, grinning widely as his two coaches gush.
The next time he tries the same task, of course, it all reverts to square one. Whine, scream, receive encouragement, succeed, repeat. This is all part of the coach’s job description.
Optimism rules other parts of his life. No matter how many of the people in his inner circle are busy, he’s always confident somebody else has time to devote to his next activity.
It’s only when trying new tasks that he sees the half-empty glass. I want to tell him that repetition will make all the difference, that if he practices something enough he’ll always become good at it. Provided he never takes up golf.
• The Journal Times reporter Mike Moore writes Daddy Talk. Mommy Talk is written by reporters Marci Laehr Tenuta and Janine Anderson.
