Compare. The big, sneaky ‘C’ word. Here’s how I’m learning to stop this horrible practice.

Last week, my tweenager was a little low. “My French teacher told me in class today, that I should be more like my ‘rock star sister’ and do well in tests, like her,” she said. I reacted stupidly.

Looking at my seven-year-old-wonder (in her first year of French), I said, “Oh wow! You’re a rock star? Yayyy.” *Small victory dance in head*

My firstborn looked at me in horror. I realised instantly, that empathy was what was needed here, not cheering. It’s hard when you have more than one child. It’s the same situation, but two different responses are required!

“Oh my!” I responded in a flash, “How horrible! Especially since you’ve been the one teaching your sister French!” Poor thing. She had been helping little sister with homework. She also had a study-portion about 10 times that of her little sister’s and so French was battling for her attention along with other subjects and “life”.
“We’ll talk to your teacher. I’m sure she didn’t realise what she was saying. Must be new to teaching,” I consoled.

That evening, the second-grader’s homework was handled by French apps… plus me. Her fun, fresh, young tutor had lost interest… not just in teaching, but in talking to us too. Somehow, the little sister was also having a bad day. Her ‘rock star’ compliment had come with a rider. And it wasn’t to her benefit.

And that’s the thing about comparing kids. You can’t build your joys on someone else’s sadness. Within a family, it’s poison.

Until that day, I hadn’t thought much of it. I was comparing my children all the time.
“At your age, your sister was four inches taller” I had said looking at our height chart painted on the kid’s wall.
“I wish you would be gentle like your sister”.
“Eat your vegetables. Your baby brother is almost your height already”.
“Why can’t you smile like your sister?”

And since there wasn’t a filter between thought and speech, it flowed out of me fast… and then was forgotten. My poor children had been spewed on, and impacted, by a careless me. Self-worth was being built, based on my unmindful, changing standards.

Oh. My. Mouth.

And to think I hadn’t even seen half of the impact yet! All I was seeing with today, but their adult life was rooted in this too. Later that night, at the magical hour when the house was silent (with gentle snores from sleeping children), my firstborn suddenly called out to me from her bedroom, “…she said it so many times. You will talk to her, right?” she voiced her on-going thoughts, as if a mic was suddenly introduced into a conversation in her head.

I was jolted out of light sleep. “Huh?” I said, “Your teacher? Yes. I’ll talk to her.”

Considering she was a tween, I then decided to wake up and ask the ‘must-ask’ question to let her express the feelings she was going through. “How do you feel ?” “In class – humiliated,” she replied, “… but now I’m just bugged and can’t sleep. You told me not to argue with teachers, so I didn’t say anything then.” My heart went out to her.

In hindsight, I’m thankful for that learning, because since then, I’ve been asking my older two kids to call me out if they ever feel I’m comparing them; and though they haven’t, I now notice when I’m about to. A few times, I’ve even been able to hold back.

Still learning… yeah.

I’m telling myself everyday – THEY’RE EACH DIFFERENT. I will take time to spot talent (it’s already in there, somewhere!). When I’m spending time with one child, I will pretend he/she is the only one I have, and lose myself in that moment as if nothing else matters. I might want Child A to be as confident as Child B, and though they’re both my children, the truth is, they’re different. And special. Always… even if Child C never ever reaches the highest point of blah that I want her to reach… that my neighbour’s child has reached… or that my son has… or that I have.

Every child is unique. I don’t need to see an entire generation ruined before I admit that. Do you?

And to the French teacher, I hope you read this.

And, thank YOU. You’ve helped make me a better mother.

This column was first published in the Bangalore Mirror in August 2014