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Stolen Thunder

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Talking about secrets with my daughter turned out to be more complicated than I expected. A few months ago I asked her to deliver a sealed letter to one of the teachers at school whom I had been unable to reach by email. When K. asked what it was about, I said, “Well, it’s … a secret.”
“But you said you shouldn’t have secrets!”
“This is a different kind of secret,” I said. “I have to talk with her about some exciting news she has to announce, but she hasn’t done it yet, and it’s not for me to steal her thunder .”
I think of all the exciting announcements we may get to make in our lives. “We’re getting married!” or “I got the promotion!” or “His cancer is in complete remission!” I have a friend who has a habit of beating people to the punch with good news, saying things like, “So-and-So is pregnant. Act really surprised when she tells you.”

By spilling the beans, letting the cat out of the bag, jumping the gun – choose whichever phrase you like – with someone else’s joyful news, we rob them of the pleasure of delivering it themselves. I think back to when I told my parents I had decided to adopt: they weren’t the first to know, mainly because we live in different states and it wasn’t the sort of news to deliver by phone, let alone email. If one of my friends had informed them in advance, I would have been crushed. And angry.
“Think of it this way,” I told K. “Remember last Christmas morning, there were all these wrapped presents under the tree, right? And we were guessing what they were, and getting all excited. What would it have been like if Grandma had just said, ‘your mom got you that beanbag chair you wanted – see the big box? And that lumpy one is a pair of snowshoes. This envelope from Grandpa has a gift card to your favorite store.’”
“Not very fun,” she decided.
“Sometimes sharing good news is almost like a gift, one that we want to see unwrapped at the perfect time. So sometimes a secret is only a secret until the right moment. It’s fun to see people being surprised by something good – that’s why it’s so tempting to be the one to do it.”
One thing that social courage can help us with is feeling okay about keeping good news to ourselves. Social courage makes it okay that no-one else knows we were in on the secret. Moral courage helps us to prefer to see the news delivered by the right person, and be met with all the drama and excitement it deserves.
One story about the origin of “stealing someone’s thunder,” robbing them of the chance to make a big impression, has its roots in the English theater. A playwright had invented a clever and innovative way to create a thunder sound effect off-stage for his play. Unfortunately his show bombed; to make matters worse, while attending a performance of Hamlet he heard his technique being used. “Damn them! They won’t let my play run, but they have stolen my thunder!” he exclaimed.
Other sources claim it to be inspired by the Norse god, Thor the Thunderer, whose thunder hammer was stolen and hidden by the trickster, Loki. Note to self: don’t steal Thor’s hammer. He doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Birbal Reveals the Thief

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Here we have another Birbal story. Intellectual courage allows us to try unconventional methods.  At the same time, lack of social courage may be our undoing.

At the palace of Akbar, the emperor, a robbery was discovered. One of the royal advisors was missing a valuable piece of jewelry – a thief must have broken into the palace.

Birbal, listening to the advisor’s story, spoke up. “It could not have been a thief from outside. This palace is too well guarded. No, the thief is someone who lives here. I can find who it is.”
The emperor looked at Birbal with surprise and amusement. “Are you so sure, Birbal?”
“Let a donkey be brought to the main courtyard, and have all who live within these walls come there,” Birbal said.
It took some time, but eventually everyone was assembled. Birbal stood at the head of a donkey who was tethered to a pillar. “Let each person, one by one, come take hold of the donkey’s tail and say the words, ‘I am not a thief.’ The donkey will tell us who lies.” He patted the donkey’s forehead, and the beast twitched its ears as if in agreement.
One at a time, the members of the court went to the donkey, took its tail in his hand, and said the words, “I a not a thief.” The donkey said nothing at all. At last, there was no-one left. The emperor had watched the whole thing. “Well, Birbal? Who is our thief?”
Birbal turned to the crowd. “Please raise your hands.”
It soon became obvious that each person had a smear of black paint on his hand – all except one, the one person whose guilt made him fear touching the donkey.
The emperor laughed and clapped Birbal on the back as the thief was taken away. “Only you, Birbal, could devise such a scheme.”

Courage Book Review – The Daring Book for Girls

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The Daring Book for GirlsLast week I talked about The Dangerous Book for Boys. This week it’s the girls’ turn, with The Daring Book for Girls, a sister volume.  Using the same old-fashioned design sensibility and tone, this book offers girls their own hodgepodge handbook with  essential tools for a toolbox, how to paddle a canoe, math tricks, silly pranks to play on friends, slumber party games, cat’s cradle, how to pop a wheelie on your bike, how to write a thank-you letter, flower pressing – wait, this is my own childhood! 
As I suggested in my review of the boys’ book, having a wide and eclectic set of skills and knowledge may contribute to having a strong internal locus of control – the profound assurance that one is up to the challenges that life presents.  Studies on fear show that a lack of control is one of the things that contributes to stress and anxiety.  The more things you know how to control, the less you are a prey to fear.  You can’t control the tides, but knowing how to read a tide chart and why the tides change at all can make a difference in a day at the beach; you can’t be injury-proof, but knowing first-aid may take the edge off of panic what an accident happens.  What looks like courage is often basic competence.   Maybe you don’t know how to tie a sari yourself, or how to make a peach pit ring.  But give this book to your daughter and she’ll learn how.  
Just as there was little in the Dangerous Book that seemed very dangerous, there’s little here that seems very daring, unless you think changing a tire or opening a lemonade stand takes daring.  Do your daughter a favor.  Dare her to read this book.

Courage Challenge of the Day

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This week was the start of Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting.  Consider fasting for the day, or giving up one meal.  What is important enough to you to make a sacrifice?  What sorts of feelings does it bring up to deny yourself something you enjoy?  What does the concept of “purification” mean to you?  Would you need courage?

Let Me Tell You a Secret!

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The other day the Lovely K. and I were having another conversation about secrets. In fifth grade, the girls spent much of their recess time (and any other time they can find) not playing, but talking, chatting, chewing the fat. They share bits and pieces of their stories and weave together a bigger story (the story of us, rather than just the story of me) out of the fragments. This is a vital social activity, one that promotes friendship, trust, and social cohesion. It’s an act of culture-building.

But anyone can tell you it also can foment discord. Ah, secrets! Sometimes the line between social cohesion and tribalism or cliqueishness is hard to see and easy to step over. My daughter and I have talked about gossiping and secrets, and about the destruction it can cause. Secrets often have their start in shame, and although it’s easy for me to say, “Don’t do anything you will be ashamed of,” it’s not always such easy advice to follow. Social courage may represent the biggest challenges for tweens and teens.
Here is a story about King Midas (yes, the one with the golden touch, which had by now been revoked) and his secret shame, and what became of him.
Pan once boasted that his music was superior even to Apollo’s, and King Midas, who was Pan’s friend, agreed. Oh, do not take sides against the gods! Apollo brought the two before him for a simple demonstration. “Play your flute upside down,” Apollo commanded Pan. Naturally, no sound could come out, and while poor Pan struggled to produce music, Apollo turned his own lyre upside down and played as beautifully as ever before.
To King Midas, the god now turned his scornful glance. “You have the ears of a donkey,” he said.
In the twitch of a donkey’s tail, Midas’s ears grew tall and furry, a visible shame and humiliation to the king. To hide his embarrassment, the king took to wearing hats with tall wings on either side (his ears could fit inside, you see), and nobody but his barber knew the secret.
The barber, however, found that keeping the secret was more than he could stand. He must tell someone! In desperation, he ran to a meadow and dug a hole in the ground. Then he whispered into the hole, “King Midas has the ears of a donkey!” and filled it in with dirt again, breathing a sigh of relief.
Very soon, however, a bed of reeds sprang up in the meadow. Every time the wind passed through them they rustled and whispered together, “King Midas has the ears of a donkey!” Anyone nearby could plainly hear it, and soon enough the secret was spread far and wide. Destroyed by shame, King Midas ran to the wilderness to live alone, and there he lived out his days.
I’ve counseled the Lovely K. to say, “No thanks!” if someone offers to share a secret. But quite often, secrets are thrust upon us. They are always an unwelcome burden, one we are not allowed to put down without permission, one that gets heavier and heavier over time.
The intimacy and bonding of whispered conversation can be a treasure, but kids need courage to step outside that delicious whisper circle when somebody glances around, grins, and says, “Guess what I heard?”

The Brave Little Parrot

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Another story about the courage to ask for help comes to us from India, and is another Jataka tale. This is a story that that acclaimed storyteller, Rafe Martin, has retold in a number of books, and it is called, The Brave Little Parrot.
In this story, a parrot sees a fire break out in the forest. She begins to fly to safety, but then realizes that the other animals will not be able to flee unless they are warned. The parrot flies around, screeching the alarm, but it’s not enough. In desperation, she flies to the river and soaks her feathers in water. Then, returning to the fire, she sprinkles water on the flames – psst psst psst – but the droplets are futile to quench this blaze. Yet again and again the parrot returns to the river, soaks her feathers, and flies back to do her best. She is choking on smoke, and her feathers are becoming singed. She cannot keep this up much longer.


Up above, the gods are watching with some amusement. What a foolish bird! they laugh. She really thinks she can put out this raging fire? One of them comes down in the shape of an eagle and approaches the bird, saying, This is a futile errand, silly parrot! Fly away and save your life while you still can.
Still shaking water from her feathers in her valiant attempt to put out the fire, the parrot screeches at the god, I don’t need your advice, I NEED YOUR HELP!
Humbled, the eagle cries with remorse and pity; the god’s tears rain down onto the forest fire, putting it out at last.
What I love about this story is how easy it is for me to recognize the patronizing smugness of the god in myself, and the courage and determination of the parrot in my daughter. So often our kids throw themselves heart and soul into a project that has no meaning – or no meaning that we adults can see – or into a project that is doomed to failure. Our logical, adult brains see what lies ahead (the tide is coming in, the inflexible laws of physics are against us, the baby bird is too young to survive out of the nest etc.) I don’t think that will work, we say, as if offering permission to lay down a burden, and also trying to fend off the disappointment that will surely come. We lower the cone of protection, as if that will magically keep failure away. Somehow we overlook that by making perseverance a virtue only for the tasks that seem important to us, we risk making it unimportant for our kids. Emotional courage prepares us for disappointments, however, and helps us to acknowledge them as part of the full spectrum of emotions. Without the opportunity to experience disappointment and defeat, how can we hope to build our emotional courage muscles?
Besides, there is dignity in defeat if you have given your best. If you know that you have done everything in your power, then although there is sure to be disappointment or even grief, there can be no regret. There is a line in the movie, “The Last of the Mohicans,” that I have never forgotten (and it might be in the book, too, but I never could get through it). When the British finally surrender their fort after a brutal and lengthy siege, the French general says to Colonel Munro, “You have done all that is required for the honor of your prince.”
“All that is required,” and “everything in our power” is what courage allows us to try. Sometimes “everything” includes calling for help. Our own emotional courage is put to the test when we are willing to answer that call and fight the incoming tide arm in arm with our child, knowing that we will lose.

Courage Book Review – The Dangerous Book for Boys

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The Dangerous Book for BoysWhen The Dangerous Book for Boys  came out a few years ago, it caused quite a stir, buddying up to Harry Potter on the bestseller lists.  With a deliberately old-fashioned typeface, style and layout the book evokes a time (real or imagined) when boys typically learned how to tie knots, and carried pocketknives, and spent many independent hours doing boy stuff outdoors.  It’s something like the Boy Scout handbook, but with a better designer and a sense of humor.  The response from the public has been phenomenal.
What makes this book interesting from a Lion’s Whiskers perspective is that it’s about knowing how to do things – make marbled paper or catch and identify a fish or build a tree house or play poker.  What an eclectic suite of skills and knowledge can give to a boy (or a girl) is a stronger internal locus of control.   The more things you know how to do, the more self-reliant you become and the fewer situations provoke fear or anxiety.  The more you feel competent to control what happens to you or around you (internal locus of control) the better.   Sometimes courage is simply knowing what to do.  Sometimes social courage means being able to toss out the names of a few of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World to make an impression.  Sometimes physical courage involves knowing which common insects bite and which ones are harmless.  Sometimes moral courage gets a boost from having read the Gettysburg Address a few times.
Of the 70+ brief chapters, only a very few (how to make a bow and arrow, for example) touch on anything remotely dangerous, unless looked at by an anxious helicopter parent.  But if you are the sort of parent who thinks learning how to make a water bomb or a go-cart or how to build a battery is dangerous, then you probably aren’t reading this blog.   
The Pocket Dangerous Book for Boys: Things to DoWhat I suggest is that taken as a whole, this collection of skills, techniques, stories and bits of information might make the world look and feel less dangerous to a boy.  Building a strong interior locus of control – that’s what this is a handbook for.  Also available: The Pocket Dangerous Book for Boys: Things to Do for boys who like to keep it handy while they’re up in a treehouse.