Passion and Purpose

Gift-giving can be a risky thing. When we put a lot of time and thought into a gift, be it for someone’s birthday or some other special occasion, we do so in the strong hopes that the recipient will be moved, delighted, or even transformed by what’s been given. But sometimes they’re not. Sometimes, they don’t like what they’ve been given—or, perhaps worse still, they don’t seem to care. And for the giver, particularly those who love the gift that they are sharing, this can be a real drag. Those of us who have seen a cherished book go unopened, a handknit scarf sit unworn, or—worst of all—anything special “regifted” know the sting of which I write.

This is all analogous to raising children, of course. One of the fundamental acts of a parent, or a teacher, is to offer those in our care some gift—a piece of learning, an experience, a favorite food or film or fable—in the hopes that they will value it as we do. And sometimes they do! Yet try as we might, an uncomfortably common reaction to our offering may be boredom, neglect, or outright rejection. This can hurt, much as the ignored birthday gift can hurt. When we explain the elegance of the Pythagorean theorem or suggest a hiking trip or invite a screening of Star Wars, we’re not just putting forth math or exercise or cinema; we’re presenting things that we love. We’re thus risking rejection not of concepts and artifacts, but of ourselves.

My own parents must have felt this way, for my childhood was a cavalcade of gifts disregarded.  Did I want to join the Boy Scouts, read Harriet the Spy, go camping, learn to cook? No, no, no, and no. In retrospect, what strikes me is not only the incredible privilege and security of my childhood and preteen years—I had so many chances to grow—but also how often I parried my folks’ attempts to share the things that had brought them joy. I’m guessing that in the moment, my reactions were difficult (or irritating, or hurtful) for my parents, and as a parent and teacher myself, I empathize. But what I see clearly now is that it is in these moments or periods of dismissal that we really express ourselves as caregivers for our kids. Despite my resistance to particulars, my mom and dad kept sharing of themselves anyway, and though I may never have appreciated my dad’s love of science fiction or my mom’s affinity for tennis, I think I did learn to esteem some larger things.  

The boys that we are teaching and raising will not adopt all our affections as their own, and perhaps it’s wise to keep this in mind. Yet even if our guys do not see the beauty of the periodic table, or embrace old school hip-hop, or want to throw a curveball, they will surely notice that we love these things, if we continue to tell them. And that’s important, for we are showing our young that adults are more than administrators of rules and consequences, that what we hope for is far richer than obedience and imitation. We reveal that our lives are shaped by passions and interests as much as they are structures and obligations, and that our principal job is not to pass along material advantage, but rather to give emphasis to the kind of loves and values we believe help us to live with purpose, as Browning’s mission demands.  

“It’s not the gift, but the thought that counts”: So goes the cliché, and with good reason. In giving gifts—whether they are initially accepted or not—we endorse the very importance of gift-giving itself, and we implicitly invite our boys to expand their sense of who they are, even if it is not going to be entirely like us. Truly successful parenting and teaching comes not with the transaction of a specific passion, but with the ongoing revelation of how exploring, embracing, and sharing enduring loves, values, and ideals is vital to living well.