Rejection Hurts. Helping Our Kids Through it Hurts as Well.

As a man who was once single, I learned the subtle art of rejection. The sweet sting of a no or a fake phone number. And then as young professional, the promised raises that were suddenly forgotten about. Finally, as a writer, rejection is so commonplace that I have a folder dedicated to the “thanks for the look, but we are going to pass.” My completely over developed sense of confidence should not exist at all. However, if you asked me today if I could train to be an astronaut, there would be a part of me that would think Hmm, maybe in about a year. Sure, why not? I should probably see a therapist.

It is that confidence in myself, though, that protects me from the feeling of not being good enough. Of being ordinary or bland. It’s a defense mechanism, sure, and it may not be perfect. It does work. But when it comes to our children, they haven’t had time to develop any skills on how to deal with rejection. And the first one hurts.

My 9-year-old son scores high on standardized national and state testing. I’m not a big fan of any of these tests because I don’t see the purpose other than to check boxes on a statistician’s spreadsheet. I know that they can affect funding, but I also know schools that perform poorly are in danger of losing that funding. That seems counterproductive. I also think it’s idiotic for teachers to be held to a testing standard over what they honestly have little control over. Yes, they can teach the material, but without parental support, it may all be futile. But be that as it may, testing continues.

After the last round of tests of my guinea pig son, my school district wanted to test him again. “It’s a special test,” administrators told him. He translated that into thinking he had a chance to be special, even though I tell him every chance I get. And should he pass this test, he would be allowed to go into the gifted program. It’s a place where Fourth Graders think about physics and the color purple. Probably.

This is the second time they have tested him for this program. The first time was for his reading ability. He scored 94.5 %, which is ½ a percent short of their requirement. At the time, he was only in the 2^nd grade and quickly forgot that he even took the test. I let him know and then he went to eat Gold Fish crackers because those are truly special.

This time was different though. He didn’t make it in, again just a fraction short, but they sent home an official letter in his backpack.

Once he got home from school, he was already bouncing off the walls. He told me about the letter as he tore open the envelope. I rushed over to see the letter and help him make sense of it. However, his little nimble fingers and nimble mind got to it before I could. Immediately he broke down in tears.

“I’m not special,” he kept repeating. “I’m just like everyone else.”

The letter itself was very official. On clean blue letterhead and complete with a computer-generated signature, it assured parents that not everyone is cut out for their program. The gist of it was “Better luck next time.” There won’t be a next time.

What really got me was not that my son didn’t get accepted into this program. It’s that the rejection was so official. It was not a teacher explaining that things didn’t work out, or myself telling him. It was a cold and heartless generic form letter notifying a 9-year-old that he officially sucks. And although I may be used to these things (I’ll make it into McSweeneys one day!), he is not. It seemed unintentionally cruel and emotionless. This is what bothers me.

I realize that as a father, I may take things more personal than I ordinary would. I don’t necessarily think that is a bad thing. I like to think that I extend that level of protection to all the people and children in my life, whether I know them well or not. To me, it’s basic human kindness and if I can make a brief impact, I’m all for it no matter how insignificant it may seem. But I also know that seeing my son break down in tears because he has officially been told by the state that he is not special causes a certain level of anger in my chest.

Logically, I know that our kids need and should experience rejection. They need to understand that the world in general is not going to coddle them. That their future is in their hands. However, with that said, this is a skill that we should be teaching gradually over time and not laying it on the small shoulders of an elementary school student. This is not a “why do we give all children trophies” rant. I find that argument weak and without any nuance of the real issues. But this is about how we teach our children, and in some cases, how the standardized testing and statistics fail them. How they take the human factor out of equations and education. And it’s there that we fail as a society. We forget that our children are children and not adults working in a cubicle.

I’m a big fan of teaching most adult skills through micro-exposures. Little bits and pieces of a whole that eventually make sense. Through those small experiences, they can gain the confidence that pushes them forward. From money management to interpersonal relationships, it’s a technique that really works. I’ve been lucky enough to interview professionals from many different backgrounds and this is the common thread they all come back to. To put it into an analogy, we don’t teach math by throwing a calculus book at a 6-year-old. We do it one step at a time. I don’t see why we don’t’ do that with rejection as well.

I comforted my son and assured him that he was a good and smart kid. That things like this happened and that if a pony would make him feel better, I would buy him one. A moment of weakness, sure, but when you kid is broken in front of you, your heart will do anything to protect them.

He calmed down but was subdued for the rest of the day. My hope is that we can take this moment as a learning experience so that when he is rejected in the future, he will know that his value is in what he thinks of himself, not what a letter thinks of him.

And if he does test well in standardized tests next year, and they ask for him to be tested again, I’m going to say no. But only on professional letterhead with a nice blue header.

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