My daughter taps the microphone, her eyes sparkling with eagerness. “Are you watching?” she asks.
“I’m watching,” I reply, settling onto the couch next to our Goldendoodle, both of us captivated as Idina Menzel’s “Let It Go” loads on the karaoke app.
For the third time.
My middle-schooler shifts in her seat, a smile spreading across her face as the intro begins, and I’ll admit, for that fleeting moment, I let myself believe just like she does. Maybe she’ll nail it this time, and who knows, with enough effort and dedication, perhaps she could even be the star she dreams of becoming.
As she belts out the first line, my ears perk up. The dog shifts at my feet. When the chorus hits its peak, the dog decides to exit the room. And my daughter? The bright, witty, kind-hearted child I adore? She pours her heart into the performance, hitting some flat notes along the way.
“Was I good?” she asks, breathless and flushed.
It would be easier to lie. I’ve done it before.
“Mom, do you like this painting?”
“Like it? I love it.”
“Mom, aren’t those leaves cool?”
“Wow, those are the coolest leaves I’ve ever seen.”
While lying can build confidence in children, it can also be a disservice. Just watch any season of American Idol and witness the countless hopefuls who are clearly out of their depth. Sometimes, honesty is necessary. This is one of those moments. My daughter isn’t just singing for fun; she’s earnestly preparing for a potential Broadway audition.
Knowing I am her reflection and internal critic, I choose my words with care: “It was pretty good.”
She looks at me expectantly. “Good enough to audition for The Voice?”
“I think you have to be 13 or older for that, right?” Even if that’s not accurate, I’m using it to sidestep the situation.
“You know what I mean. Good enough to be a celebrity?”
And there it is.
“Well,” I say, adopting a casual tone, “everyone has a unique talent. While your singing is good, it may not be your unique strength. But that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”
“So you’re saying it was horrible.”
Her intelligence could very well become her unique talent.
“No. I’m saying that everyone excels at different things. To succeed as a singer, you need to be exceptional at singing.”
“Do you think if I take lessons, I can be exceptional?”
“Maybe,” I reply, wanting to believe again. I’ve read Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers and know about the 10,000 hours of practice required for mastery.
Years ago, during our Mommy and Me music classes, the instructor—a free-spirited woman from a vintage children’s show—shared a similar perspective. After two decades of working with kids, her conclusion was that no child is inherently good or bad at singing; it’s all about exposure to music. She would likely agree with Gladwell’s assertion that prodigies are often simply hard workers.
Yet, even if it’s true that with dedication we can achieve our dreams, do we really not require some basic talent? If I encourage mediocrity in hopes it will lead to “exceptional,” am I inadvertently steering her away from the things she naturally excels at?
I loved writing in my youth, but I was far from good at it. The journey was often grueling, but I persevered, investing my own 10,000 hours. Now, I’m decent at it. Still, I’m grateful I pursued other creative paths that provided a stable income and supported my writing endeavors.
And suddenly, it dawns on me during this karaoke session: nurture her singing as a hobby, let it blossom naturally. If she’s genuinely passionate, she’ll continue singing in her room and putting on shows for us. I’ll be her fair and loving judge, giving her honest feedback. But pushing her into voice lessons now would mean neglecting her other strengths.
Then there’s the crucial question. “Let me ask you something,” I begin, picking at a couch pillow. “Why do you want to be a celebrity?”
She shrugs. “Because everyone knows you.”
“And for what? Singing? Wouldn’t it be more meaningful to be known for something that truly makes a difference? Curing diseases, perhaps, or helping others?”
“I can do all that once I’m a celebrity.”
Touché.
“Alright, let me hear it one more time, and I promise to give you my honest opinion…” I lean back to listen. To my surprise, her voice has improved.
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In summary, while it’s tempting to encourage kids with the adage that they can achieve anything, there’s value in helping them recognize their unique strengths and passions. Encouraging hobbies without pushing for immediate excellence allows them to develop naturally.