“I wanted to be a dancer. But you crushed that dream,” says Sophie.
We are nestled in her loft, having one of our bedtime chats. Dream-crushing, however, is a new topic.
“I crushed a dream? When did I crush a dream? How could I not notice, that I crushed a dream?”
“I was five.”
“What the heck did I say? What did I do?” I am baffled.
She sighs. “I really wanted to be a dancer. You said, ‘Well, that’s going to take a lot of work. A lot of classes.’”
“That’s crushing a dream?”
“Yes.”
“I’m just practical. You can be a dancer if you want! Of course you can!”
She sighs again. “No. It’s too late.”
I sit up, nearly bumping my head on the ceiling. I wave an invisible wand.
She looks skeptical, as she usually does, with me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waving my magical Mama wand. I hereby UNCRUSH YOUR DREAM, with gravest apologies,” I say, tapping my invisible wand on her chest. “Your dream of dancing is officially uncrushed and reassembled. Dance, my child. Dance.”
“It’s too late.”
“You’re 10. It’s not too late for anything.”
“I don’t want to be a dancer anymore.”
“Well, that’s not exactly my fault. If you changed your mind, it’s not dream-crushing. Give me a break, here.”
“You crush any dreams about careers,” she says.
I gulp. This is bad news, very bad news indeed. I remain calm and ask for clarification. “ANY career? I do?”
She nods, smiling slightly, realizing I’ve just granted permission for her to say pretty much anything. “If I say, ‘I want to be a singer,’ you say, ‘Well, that’s a tough road, you’d better learn an instrument too.’”
“That’s very good advice,” I protest, weakly.
“If I say, ‘I want to be a doctor,’ you say, ‘Well, you’d better do really well at math and science, because that’s a lot of school, and you’re going to need to get scholarships.’”
“I do not,” I say.
“You do,” she says.
“Oh. Crap. Do I?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God. I’m THAT mother?”
“Yup.”
I do what any dream-crushing mother would do in this moment: I leap on top of her and smother her in hugs and kisses. She laughs. I beg for her forgiveness.
“Please. Please forgive me. PLEASE FORGIVE THE DREAM-CRUSHER.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says, smirking.
Hattie enters and climbs up into the loft with us. “What are you guys TALKING about?”
“Sophie was telling me that I crush her dreams, like, regularly. Because I worry too much.”
Hattie nods sagely. “Oh, that. Like I really want to ride horses.”
I feel a panic attack coming on. My fist clenches and unclenches an invisible inhaler.
“Um, horses. Well…”
“SEEEEE?” says Sophie.
“No…well…it’s just…I mean, do you want to be a jockey? Like, in horse races?”
“No,” says Hattie, blithely. “I just want to ride them.”
Sophie watches me struggle. Holy crap. The kid is right. Everything, everything, is tied up in dollars and cents and bodily and psychic harm in my mind. Will she be able to earn money from it? Will lessons be worth it? Could we even afford lessons? How likely is death to occur from this particular activity? How likely is the possibility of emotional scarring to child, if fame and fortune does not arise from said activity?
“Ah…okay. Let me…look into it. HORSES. I will look into…you know. Horses! Yay, horses! Yay, dreams of horses! LET US CELEBRATE THE DREAM OF HORSES, AS VAGUE AND UNFORMED AND DELIGHTFULLY UNPRACTICAL AS IT MAY BE!”
Sophie shakes her head as Hattie laughs. I try to defend myself, without being defensive, which, if you haven’t attempted it recently, is a tricky feat.
“The thing is, my loveys, I think career is my karmic battle,” I say.
“Your what?” says H, screwing up her nose.
“Job things. Money things. It’s…like…my life’s challenge. Some people have problems with relationships, with their parents, with their kids, with their friends, whatever. I’ve had a really hard time with trying to make a living doing something I love. And I see both of you, so amazingly artistic, and so good at math and science too, and I’m torn. Because I don’t want you to have to worry about money the way we do now. And I feel like I’d be lying to you if I said you could do whatever you wanted, as many things as you wanted, and the money would follow. It DOESN’T, not always. I feel like it’s my job to be practical here. But it sounds like that’s not what you need, right?”
“Right,” says Sophie.
“It’s just a little tricky. Because you guys go to school with people who are in that top 1% of wealth in this country. The kids have lessons every day of the week, trips all over the world. I worry that that is starting to seem, well…normal to you. It’s not. And Daddy and I, we can’t match that. We have to help you choose carefully what you want to do, because there’s limited resources for things like lessons. Get it?”
“C has lessons every day,” says H, nodding. “It’s a LOT.”
“And some girls live in mansions. Like, actual MANSIONS,” says Sophie. “And there’s money for the really good boarding schools.”
“Yes. And the thing is? That’s actually NOT what’s normal or average, not in this country. Not at all. We’re much closer to how most of America lives. But you’re not seeing that, not here. So it’s hard for me to know how to talk about these things, about why other kids can do things that you can’t. I want to provide as much as I can for you, but I also want you to appreciate it and take it seriously, you know?”
“I want to be a singer and an actor and a guitarist and a vet,” says Sophie. “And a writer.”
“I want to be a photographer and an actress. And ride horses,” says Hattie.
“That’s all excellent stuff. I think both of you have the ability to do whatever it is you want to do, but I can’t pretend it’s not going to take work, and sacrifice. Something’s always got to give.”
“Great pep talk, Mom,” quips Soph.
“No, but seriously,” I say. “I could have continued pursuing acting in New York, but my bigger dream was to have you two. I couldn’t do it all, because we didn’t have the resources, your dad and I. But I made the best choice for me. You two…you’re the best choice I’ll ever make. I’m still trying to figure out how to help you guys find your way to YOUR best choices. It’s HARD. I promise to try to be more supportive, and way less boring and practical and worried. Now tell me you forgive me. Or I will sit on you.”
“I forgive you,” says HB, snuggling against me.
“I’m still thinking about it,” says Sophie, reclining. I smush her with all of my wretched dream-crushing self until she laughs.
“What’s Jaws about?” she asks, out of nowhere.
“Shark.”
“Gee, that’s detailed,” she says.
“Some answers are simple. What can I say?” I tell her. “It’s about a shark. A big life-crushing shark. He’s way worse than your dream-crushing mother. Way bloodier. Way more gross.”
“Can I watch it?”
“Maybe. But you won’t want to go in the ocean for a while.”
“Or maybe I will anyway.”
I pause. “Maybe you will.”
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Oh. Crap. I’m a Dream-crusher, too.
Thank you. This is fabulous. In fact I’m going to show it to my kids.
you 3 r the best!
Wow. Your kids are brilliant. And convicting.
I think there are many dream-crushing moms out there today, created by a society trapped by machines of cold hard steel and somewhere along the way, if you can’t touch it, it isn’t real.
I have been crushing dreams since day 1.
I AM THE DREAM CRUSHER.
My last one: She said “I’m going to be a housewife.”
I said “Why do you want to be that?”
She said “I can spend the day chit chatting with neighbors!”
She had the sweetest smile when she said it.
So I proceeded to tell her all about Bowling Alone and the shift in communities, etc and how neighbors don’t chat much anymore.
I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.
I swear she’s had all of Sophie’s dreams and I said precisely the things you said VERBATIM.
I’m swearing off dream crushing though, thanks to this post. You’ve saved me. And she’s only a little destroyed. Maybe she’ll have other dreams and I’ll try not to crush those. It’s so hard, though! Dream crushing comes so naturally to me.
I will probably be this kind of mom. Which, I think, is not such a bad thing.
Here’s what I try to do. I try to calm that thumping in my chest when I think something my children want cannot be managed as far as money is concerned. And not that I am living in fantasy land or anything, but I kind of back off of worrying about scarcity and trust that if their wish is something that is worthwhile and something they really want (such as going to an ivy league school), that we will find a way…that the money will come if it is meant to be. I open the possibility for money to come to us by closing off the possibility that it won’t.
That is a kicker of an ending. It made me smile out loud.
My life struggle is a lot like yours. Or rather, my various struggles add up to the same resulting struggle.
Just think of some big Sky Mama giving you your own advice: “You’re [however old]. It’s not too late for anything.” And don’t contradict. I’ll try to do the same.
oh, my dream-crushing darling. If you had Ben, then you could say what I say: “Not going to college and living instead in our driveway in an RV and working in a sandwich shop sounds like an excellent plan.” But all that doctor/horse-riding/dancer stuff would terrify me too.
practical, reasonable, dream-crushing mama’s unite!
Oh my gosh, Yes! I loved this post as I think daily about the ways in which I’m unwittingly crushing my little ones’ spirits and dreams. I wonder if my kids will forgive me too for all the infractions still yet to happen? Thanks again!
Oh goodness. That must have been the hardest thing. My daughter is only 2. And right now, I’m letting her take a dance class. Because she asked and asked and asked, and even though she’s too young, and it’s totally impractical, I’m letting her do it.
It’s my first attempt to not crush her dreams. But I am sure I will do it. Often and well.
This was absolutely brilliant—the insight, the writing, everything about it. Thank you!
Signed,
Fellow Dream Crusher
PS I met your sis-in-law last week. She’s totally amazing!
I will stand up for you, Jenn. Telling your children that it will be a lot of work or a lot of lessons or a lot of time isn’t crushing dreams. To me, that’s a small way of setting your children on the track to making whatever their dreams are come true.
I tell my kids (now teens) that the life they imagine as adults will not magically happen because they wish it so. They will have to find ways to make it happen with the resources they have AND they will have to find some level of happiness whether the “dream” comes true or not. We make choices, and some choices open up some doors and close others, so be aware of what you are choosing and why. What I keep myself myself from saying because it hurts too much to say is this: You can do do everything right and still not get what you want.
Fellow dream crusher here. I always thought I had to direct and resolve our children’s issues when all they wanted was to be heard and their dreams acknowledged. If I understood that then, I would have had conversations that let them take the lead of what steps to take to make their dreams come true. They would have discovered the challenges for themselves and been spared the frustration of this “Dream Crusher Mom”! (Thankfully, they are living their own dreams in spite of me.)
“LET US CELEBRATE THE DREAM OF HORSES, AS VAGUE AND UNFORMED AND DELIGHTFULLY UNPRACTICAL AS IT MAY BE”
Love this.
Being practical is not crushing a dream. If my kid wants something to be a certain way, then how would I be doing her any favors to let her think it can magically happen with no effort on her part? As long as I don’t tell her something along the lines of “that’s a stupid thing to want” or “you’ll never be able to do that”, then I don’t think I am harming her psyche by letting her know what is entailed in making a dream a reality.
Greatness is very rarely practical. Let them dream big. I think the fear of seeing your children fail is getting in the way.
“Greatness is very rarely practical.”
And greatness very rarely happens SIMPLY because one dreams about it and wishes it were so. No one gets in the Super Bowk without practice. No one wins the Scripps spelling bee without practice. No one dances at Kennedy Center (or do they sing there?) without practice. No one wins a Pulitzer without practice and working your way up from the local weekly paper. No one gets to magically be high school validictorian. No one cures cancer or feeds the hungry by wishing them away. Seriously, I could go on all day with this. Conversely, name something great that just happens…
“Let them dream big. ”
My kids can dream as big as they want. I will (and do) drive them to soccer practice, baseball practice, basket ball practice, martial arts practice, umpteen many 4H activities (including State competitions twice), girl scout activities, and rearrange my work schedule to the point of irritating my bosses to get my kids to day camps (that are in no way practical) etc. I don’t tell my kids their dreams are stupid and they should not dream so big. I tell them that if they want to win the state 4H horse bowl competition, I will help them practice (I already know far more about horses than I ever envisioned I would) and I pay for the 2 nights at the competition hotel without a word. I tell them that if they want to be good at soccer, I will get them the equipment they need, get them to practice, and even practice with them. I will never tell them that dreams can come true with out work. THAT is setting your kids up for failure, when they find out that real life does not work that way. Saying “cool dream, but you’ll have to work if want it” in no way equates to “you can’t do that”.
“I think the fear of seeing your children fail is getting in the way”
??? Considering you don’t know my kids or what activities they try or what they might dream of trying, this is a staggeringly huge assumption on your part. Careful you don’t hurt yourself leaping so far to conclusions…
When my boys talk about things they want to do, I try, usually very successfully, to get caught up in their excitement. I respond dreamily to their dreams. But then they are still little, so they aren’t particularly committed or invested in any one thing yet. I imagine the dreams of a serious older child are going to require a lot more of me than my enthusiasm.