Caitlin Ciannella

I hate homework. I hate reminding my kids to do their homework. I hate reviewing their homework. And most of all, I hate helping them with their homework. So I don’t. I don’t help them with it. I tell them to do it, but I don’t really care if they do or not. They don’t know that. They think I want them to do it. But they’ve just had a long day at school – longer than my school days ever were – and there is usually at least one after-school activity for some of them (ballet, karate, Hebrew lesson, occupational therapy, soccer practice). By the time they’re home it’s after 5pm, or even after 7pm. They’ve scarfed down snacks in the car, and been told where to be, what to do, and how to do it since 8.30am or earlier. So really, does it matter to me if they do a page of long division or translate 20 Spanish words at 8pm? No. I’ve never told them how I feel about them doing – or rather, not doing – the …

Since Teach Your Children Well came out in the summer of 2012, I have been on a perpetual book tour. I have spoken in many of the wealthiest enclaves in this country but I have also spoken to parents who are squarely middle or working class. I have been to the most prestigious independent and public schools as well as those that range from the notable to the unexceptional. I have spoken to top-level executives from Google and Microsoft, American Express and Morgan Stanley. I have also spoken to the boots on the ground people who work for these companies. I’ve been to Austin Texas, but also Midland Texas. To the Upper East Side of New York, the North Shore of Chicago and Beverly Hills as well as Knoxville, Nashville and Memphis. I’ve crisscrossed the country speaking to parents, teachers, administrators, professors, business executives, regular folks and billionaires.

I recently returned from visiting my older daughter, who works in Dallas. After a lovely day visiting some old friends, her office complex and the JFK museum, we headed out to dinner. Since we were treating, my daughter picked a highly regarded restaurant known for its casual atmosphere and fabulous food. We felt she had made a great choice from the minute we walked in. The waiter was in top form and the menu had plenty of options for the meat and veggie lovers among us. As is our family rule, phone ringers were turned off and devices were stored, after my daughter sent a quick to text her boyfriend that she would be out of commission for the next couple of hours. About 15 minutes after sitting down, she said “Mom, the family at the next table hasn’t spoken to each other AT ALL since we walked in.” That didn’t sound like it could be right, but now I was curious so I tried to subtly sneak a peek at what was happening “next door”…

As those of us with Lego-obsessed children know, a Lego set is a double-edged invitation. You can create an awesome replica of a familiar story or film scene with easy-to-follow instructions, and you can use the bricks to build, well, whatever you want, however weird, useless, or oddly juxtaposed the result (Cinderella trapped with Darth Vader in a castle that is part Hogwarts, part Death Star, and part Little Friends Dolphin Cruise Ship? Sure why not). I know families who put the instructions-based final product up on a shelf (the only way to preserve it, short of crazy glue). Otherwise, those elaborate final products smash as soon as a child grabs them in anticipation of play. The smashing, we have to think, is part of the design. The Lego Movie takes this double-edged-ness to a question at the heart of…

Massive cheating in school, kids at the nation’s best schools who can’t string two sentences together in an interview, helicopter parents editing (or writing entirely) papers for kids at Ivy League colleges and then asking to come to their kid’s first job performance review! As education researchers, we feel like we have seen it all during the last few years. Despite some horror stories, we are encouraged because the conversation is starting to change.

The current paradigm of success — that it is best measured by outward appearances, grades, trophies and prestigious college acceptances — is not without merit. It stresses persistence, hard work and the American Dream of upward mobility.
However, our over-reliance, I would say singular reliance, on this narrow vision of success has placed enormous stress on students and parents. When we are preoccupied with external markers of success, it is easy to lose sight of the internal skills that are far more predictive of success out in the world.