A Model of Failure
5 minute read
Just like you have to model so many aspects of being a human in the world to your child - what it means to be a part of a community, part of a family, part of a relationship -- it’s as important to model what it means to fail.
This can be a challenging notion, especially with society’s expectations of parenting perfection. When your kids are young, they look at you like you’re invincible. You can do no wrong. Then they start getting older and the number of hard questions and complicated answers begin to multiply. Situations increase in complexity, as do the times when you drop the ball, especially around older children who don’t miss a thing.
So how are we supposed to help prepare our kids for failure? I’m going to suggest that there is great benefit in your children seeing you fail. Now that’s a scary proposition, right? Failure sucks. Even more so when it’s shared with others or done publicly. Who wants their child to think of them as a failure?
But I think it's not the actual failure, but your response to failure, that can teach the important lesson. How you react when you fail, the conversations you have with your child about it, and the chance they have to see you deal with something difficult -- that’s where the seeds are planted towards your child’s future resiliency.
One way to deal with this involves taking the mystery out of failure. It happens to everyone. It’s a part of life. It’s normal. However, in our society, we only celebrate those who have succeeded.
What if we also celebrated those who took a risk and tried something new? Failing is an opportunity to learn. Those who pride themselves on never having failed are often those who have never pushed themselves or undertaken challenges.
My own example of modelling failure for my son was a very public one. I’m a sometime stand-up comedian and a few years ago, I had the opportunity to perform at what was billed as a family-friendly festival. In lieu of payment, my family got free entry and camping at the festival. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for my son to see me onstage and a fun first time at a festival for us as a family.
All I really knew about the comedy show was that it was scheduled to take place on the Teen stage. In my head, when preparing for the gig, I assumed the audience would be mostly teenagers and that besides adding in a few jokes about how old I am, I could use the majority of my regular material. Teenagers would love to hear me make fun of my husband’s involvement with Tidy Towns.
When we rocked up to the tent where the Teen stage was located, I saw lots of families with small children, toddlers even, sitting under the tent. Children crawling, children totting about, with a few primary-age children scattered throughout the growing crowd. There was, however, not a single teen to be seen.
My heart rate increased dramatically as I started to doubt whether my jokes about roller derby and the cultural difficulties I experienced moving here would work with the Senior Infant set.
As if you didn’t see this coming, I bombed hard. There were children swarming the area near the front of the stage, with parents sitting on the outer perimeter. I tried talking to the parents and did get a few laughs, but that was quickly drowned out by the sounds of bored children who did not appreciate my jokes about the lack of diversity and good Mexican food in Ireland. Instead of trying to engage the children, or use them as a source of jokes (WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN GENIUS - WHY DIDN’T I DO THAT??), I started panicking and doubled down on my original material.
This awful strategy only bought me another minute or two and it was at this point that I realised I needed to get myself off stage and quickly, especially before the small people nearest the stage started a revolt. Let’s just say I found out that day that my material is not family-friendly and my improv skills are rusty. Most important lesson: children are not a target demographic for my humour.
Needless to say, this would have been an horrendous experience if I had been on my own at this festival. But no, I had brought my family, so both my husband and my son got to see me fail onstage, in front of a large crowd, with a microphone in hand. Did I happen to mention that this was the first time that my son had ever seen me perform? And that my husband does not let me forget how awful I did whenever we talk about that day?
Afterwards, I asked my son what he thought of the show. He looked at me and said that he thought I was going to tell jokes. I told him that I, also, thought I was going to be telling jokes. What a beautiful bonding moment between us...me acknowledging my complete and utter failure, my son unintentionally making the best joke of the day.
As my son gets older, there will be even more opportunities to embrace failure. Whether it’s a botched conversation around sex or him watching as I continue to fail at the many things I try, I like knowing that he understands that I’m not perfect.
By having open conversations and even making light of what happens, I hope he can embrace those failures as part of who I am and see that his parents are human. It’s ok to make mistakes and that’s one message that my son specifically (along with many women and all of society in general) most desperately needs to hear.
Tara Calihman, October 2021
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