My little Einstein

Wed, 13 Feb 2013 00:00:00 +0000

One sunny afternoon this past February, I found myself waiting with my 5-year-old son, Jack, and his friend Oliver outside a lecture hall at Stanford University. We were there to hear about the structure of viruses from one Stephen Harrison, Ph.D. Over the many years my husband and I struggled to conceive a child, I allowed myself plenty of parenting fantasies, but taking a 5-year-old to the 41st Annual Linus Pauling Lecture was not one of them.

Graduate students streamed by us clutching coffee cups. "Finish up,” I chirped to the boys, who were stuffing their mouths with oatmeal cookie. The absurdity of the situation kicked my voice up an octave. “Now, who has to go potty?”

Like a lot of first-timers, my husband, Brian, and I went into parenthood with a plan. Ours was to give Jack an unhurried childhood (though Jack is not his real name). Both teachers, we distrusted the amped-up achievement culture in affluent communities like ours, with its tendency toward high-pressure schools, anxious parents and stressed-out kids. Yes to mud pies and bubbles, we vowed; no to flashcards and Brainy Baby preschools. What mattered was letting Jack figure out what he liked and helping him do that. “I don’t care if he ends up a surfer living out of the back of his van,” Brian said.

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My little Einstein