Do geeky parents beget geeky children?

Because my husband and I are transferring our boys to a different school, I realized they would need some new clothes. The boys’ previous school required uniforms. There was predictability and safety in the orderly school attire. I could simply set out their khaki or navy pants and white or maroon polo shirts the evening before, to ward off the mad dash in the morning. I didn’t buy as many casual pants or shirts for the boys because 5 days out of the week, they had fixed outfits to wear.

I decided to buy some new clothes for the boys and started with online shopping at Gymboree. While I was scrolling down different screens, my husband dryly hinted that perhaps 8 year olds weren’t wearing Gymboree anymore. My mind scanned through my boys’ wardrobes – there was a lot of Hanna Anderson and LL Bean shirts and pants, but frankly my finger was not on the pulse of grade school fashion. I tried to recall what my 6 and 8 year old male patients wore to the office (they typically were in a gown for their physicals) so I really had no idea.

So as I am wont to do in matters of fashion (or lack thereof), I decided to wing it. I went to Target to buy their new school supplies and perused the racks for boys’ clothing. Maybe superheroes and Angry Birds and Star Wars shirts were still trendy for the grade school set? I also went to Old Navy and purchased many different graphic tees. But frankly, I really don’t have a good idea what would be cool or acceptable for that age range and I know my boys really didn’t care either.

This disinterest in clothing spurred me to wonder whether my geeky attitude is rubbing off on my children. I know when I was in grade school I was always one year behind in Northeast Ohio fashion trends. The year everyone was wearing Tretorns I was running around in Kmart shoes. The next year I would be proudly wearing shiny new Tretorns whilst everyone moved onto Keds! Although I ran cross country in Junior High and played mediocre JV tennis in high school, I primarily focused on academics and extracurricular activities that would get me into an Ivy League college. I was in the trifecta of Science Olympiad, Math Club and Asian Students Society for goodness sakes! I loved my geeky clubs – Vice-President of the Volunteer Club, Co-Editor of the school newspaper, and Secretary of the National Honor Society.  Since I did well in school and loved to read, I was undoubtedly labelled as a bookworm or a geek.

Almost 20 years later, I observe my boys and notice quite a bit of myself in them. My oldest son loves to read – he has read all 7 Harry Potter books in second grade and reread them at the beginning of this year. He has blown through all the Roald Dahl books last year and all the Percy Jackson books series this year. He taught himself how to play chess in the beginning of third grade and can best some adults. Although he can run 5 miles, has a black belt in Taekwondo, loves swim team and can do 200 push ups and 200 sit ups in 20 minutes, he would much prefer to play Legos or play video games or read. He will only play basketball or football under extreme coercion. My second son loves Legos as well and loves to draw. He is sensitive and sees the world with different shades of lenses. He loves to educate me with his math facts. I see a little bit of my dorky traits in both of them and certainly so much sweetness and innocence as well. After careful reflection, I am quietly thrilled that my boys are bright bookworms and love math and science. I adore their personalities and curiosities. I laugh when they quiz each other in math problems at the dinner table. I like the bit of awkwardness in them, it will build character and shape them into creative talented adults. I hope their geeky traits steer them in the right path of hard work, strong morals, quiet conviction. If I can breed children who will become productive members of society, bring on the geek any and every day.

Sibling rivalry

The dynamics between my children have endlessly fascinated me. I love observing the interactions between them. I giggle behind my hand while listening to their serious or absurd discussions about Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Elf on the Shelf. I try not to interject while they discuss the best way to manipulate their somewhat strict mother into letting them play their DS or forgoing piano practice. And I contemplate plucking out every strand of my black but greying hair when they fight over virtually everything.

This interest in sibling exchanges most likely stems from the intense rivalry I had with my twin brother. We have been staunch buddies since an early age and each other’s nemesis since even earlier. My mother commonly would remind us that we started fighting at 9 months of age. He would say “Jie Jie (big sister in Mandarin, albeit by 3 minutes), bye-bye!” He would turn his head away and I would start wailing and kicking. I would retaliate and say, “Di Di (little brother), bye-bye!” Over the years we would find anything and everything to disagree on. On our way to preschool every morning, we would drive by a Ponderosa restaurant in the process of being constructed. Every single day, we would wage battles over who would be the lucky kid to sit on the passenger side of the back seat so we would have a pristine and unobstructed view. Whilst the sulking kid behind the driver side would frantically crane his/her head, the other would try to block the view of such glorious 1970’s building construction with his or her arms. The rivalry probably worsened in high school and the fights become more complex and meaningful.

Our loyalty to each other also grew as well. In high school during a precalculus class, my classmate became angry because I was selected by the teacher to present a trigonometry problem instead of him. This classmate struck back by saying, “Why don’t you go back to China where you belong!” I never understood the venom behind his words, it really was just a math problem! However, this particular classmate made me cry several times during junior high and high school. When my brother heard this story, he was livid. As the valedictorian of our class, he could basically chose any university to which he applied. He purposely applied to Duke University without serious intention of ever going, just to block this classmate’s dream of attending the school. My brother was accepted, the ignorant classmate was rejected. My brother went to Harvard instead. I don’t think I realized the extent of my brother’s loyalty at that time. I heard the story several years later. When my brother and I parted ways during college, it was then that we started truly appreciating each other.

Because my brother and I did bicker over the most diminutive, paltry issues, I certainly received my comeuppance when I had my four feisty children. There could be indefatigable altercations when the four of them are together. My children’s fights can be over a toy, a desired chair or spot on the couch to repose, a thoughtless exchanged comment, a hurt feeling or body part, copying a picture or idea. Before the rhubarb reaches a boiling point, I have tried counting out sharing times, splitting kids up in separate corners of the house, and simply leaving them alone to figure out their own skirmishes.

Despite the daily havoc in my household and its subsequent effects on my sanity and greying hair, I have rationalized that the fracas is a good thing. My kids will be better prepared for the challenges and dissensions they encounter in school, extracurricular activities and work. I hope they won’t shy away from confrontation, but instead meet it head on. I hope they will try to resolve problems and  work things through, rather than shutting down or retreating or avoiding the  problems at hand. My husband and I are constantly introducing the mantra into our children’s impressionable minds, “Your brothers and sister will always be your best friends. Friends may come and go, but you should always count on your siblings forever.” Siblings live with your stinky morning breath, your laughter after a stellar report card, your tears after someone breaks your heart. I hope my children continue to be each other’s closest confidantes, as my brother is one of mine almost 38 years later.

Toddler and preschooler idiosyncrasies

“Sometimes,’ said Pooh, ‘the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”
― A.A. Milne

This quote is so quintessentially true about the love and joy instilled by children. Children are such little gigantic souls, brimming with energy, spices and emotions. They can be such a ray of sunshine to a doleful humdrum day. They can surprise you with their bliss or lift your spirits with their hope. A child’s smile can turn a stressful workday into such an inconsequential thing.

Conversely, they can also puzzle me with their litany of idiosyncrasies. When I became a new mother of a toddler, I was frankly unprepared for the many flavors of frustration, anger, and downright grumpiness that a bambino can unleash! The myriad of quirks displayed by little ones can be bamboozling to the unsuspecting parent. For instance, no amount of medical training ever prepared me for the terror of post-nap crankiness! Certainly this is not a medical terminology, but all four of my kids experienced it with the force of a hurricane during their toddler and preschool years. At times, it could be so torrential that I would much rather skip the nap than face the post-nap sequelae.

I also was initially unschooled by the concept of “redo’s” or “repeats.” Sometimes, when my toddler or preschooler was unsatisfied with the way events played out, they would frequently demand a “redo.” This meant several reproductions of original events until deemed satisfactory to my 2 or 3 year old at that time. When I first started parenting 8.5 years ago, I used to try my best to dissuade such replays to occur, thinking that I would be setting a pattern for bad behavior if I was lenient. However, with more experience and waning sanity, I learned to better choose my battles. Perhaps my little one needed to feel a sense of control in a world where someone bigger was always in charge. Perhaps they needed to assert their overflowing independence. Perhaps they needed to establish a place in our larger busy household.

Today, it is simply easier to advise my 3 older boys line up behind my current 2 year old so she could be the first to go through a door, get in the car, leave the house. The boys don’t mind appeasing this bossy little lady and we candidly do not have the time for a 30 minute temper tantrum before Taekwondo or rushing to the school bus stop! For a 3 month period, my 2 year old also demanded to be the sole person in our household to turn off the light to every room we exit. She currently needs me to stand in a specific spot every morning after brushing her teeth and curly Q hair so she can look in the mirror, fluff her hair and say, “Pretty!” She needs me to sit in a particular seat at the dinner table and recite a precise phrase after reading certain Pinkalicious books and sing her bedtime songs in a categorical order. If the ABC song comes before Itsy, Bitsy Spider, I will be on the receiving end of her self-riteous anger.  I think she feels comfort and reassurance in order and decorum according to her 2 year old standards. As a mother, I need to sacrifice a slice of my own autonomy to placate her sour & salty quirks. I am constantly improvising and redirecting. Last night I had to bust out the “Santa Clause is coming to Town” song to curtail an impending tantrum and resort to scatologic   humor to evaporate those tearful oak brown eyes. She had rewarded me with a giggle, ” You are so, so funny, Mommy!”

Honestly, it can be difficult to differentiate between what is typical for the idiosyncratic 2 or 3 year old, and what is pathological or developmentally abnormal. The navigation of this period can be overwhelming for many parents, especially a neophyte but also for a well-seasoned mother. When in doubt, it is always important to ask the child’s pediatrician.

The choices we make for our children

As parents, we are bestowed the most mammoth responsibility when we give birth to a baby or adopt a child. We are essentially assuming the charge of another soul’s life. We are entrusted by God to take care of the most innocent of creatures, a helpless infant or an unquestioning child. This duty can be a glorious role or an albatross to the inexperienced parent. And despite all the years of babysitting, teaching kids piano lessons, mentoring young children and PEDIATRICS residency, nothing can fully prepare a first-time parent for the enormity of parenthood, most certainly including myself.

One of my greatest fears is the consequences of the active and passive decisions I make for my children. These decisions sometimes can seem like a kaleidoscope. To decide one plan may lead to an entirely different result. Sometimes my choices are knotty: to decide to reward when it is better to discipline, to love in lieu of admonishment, to advocate instead of discourage.

I have wondered if a wrong decision I have made will shape my child’s personality in an irreparable way. This week we decided to change schools for our two older boys. We are transferring them from a safe, dependable, loving school to an untried but equally excellent school that may provide better opportunities and challenges for our boys. Will this change in schools alter the previous destiny plotted out for them? Will my oldest son never encounter that teacher who would have inspired him to be a scientist or physician or writer? Will my younger son meet a friend at his new school that will be the buttress of loyalty for a lifetime?

In my careful reflection, I realize I may never truly know the true effects of the choices I make for my children and the outcome determined simply by chance. I also acknowledge this decision can be Lilliputian compared to the prodigious decisions made by parents who have a critically ill child.  Many parents of cancer patients may need to pore through numerous clinical trials and ultimately decide on a course of medical treatment that may determine the earthly fate of their child. The strength and resilience of those parents are my true paradigms. Fundamentally, I think any devoted parent’s penultimate goal is to thirst for the happiness and health of their precious beloved children.

Misbehaving outside the home

As a pediatrician, I feel more than a little bit of pressure for my four young children to behave outside our home. I certainly understand there are challenging stages of development, emotional lability and stresses that all children will face and all parents will encounter, pediatricians and their kids notwithstanding. However, it still does not dispel my discomfort when one of my children starts misbehaving. And frankly with four children, the possibilities and permutations are pretty much in the favor of misbehavior. I always feel it such a negative testimony to my professional skills and parenting when my children are getting in trouble at school, acting unruly or partaking in an all-out temper tantrum. From my perspective, who in their right mind would want to see a pediatrician whose children are poorly behaved?

On the other hand, being in the midst of temper tantrums, time outs, 123 Magic, behavior charts and school conferences also allows me to relate to my patients’ parents. I truly believe the practice of medicine is partially a science, but mostly an art. There are many ways to approach childhood development, behavior and discipline. Hands-on experience being in the trenches of parenthood can be invaluable to my practice, right?

This is a perfect segue into a portrait of my four spirited and opinionated children. My children have inherited their parents’ strong personalities, so they do come by it honestly. They tend to be the loudest kids in any given setting. For example, while I was waiting outside my two preschoolers’ nature center class last week, I could hear the cacophony of their laughter or complaints. I could hear my 3rd son singing Christmas songs before Thanksgiving and my daughter belting out a “days of the week” ditty. In those instances, I may smile and chalk this all up to their zealous effervescence. Conversely, I may also hear the wailing of my son because he was not able to finish his art project and had such difficulty with transitions. Most parents probably have felt this way sometime in the past, that their children are encountering bumpy tortuous paths while other kids are effortlessly sailing along.

My two older boys are pretty spicy as well. At a birthday party two summers ago, they met and introduced themselves to everyone at the party (adults and children non discriminating), and showed them the contents of their sticky blue ice-cream filled mouths! At another party, my oldest introduced himself to an adult stranger with virtual ease. He enthusiastically chirped, “We four are the McIntyre kids!” He then proceeded to introduce his siblings. Both my grade school boys love to talk, disregard paying attention and following directions in the classroom, and get overexcited and overstimulated easily. I can probably never hope to see an outstanding conduct grade on their report card!

Even though I have the benefit of education and experience to recognize that many prickly childhood behaviors are pesky stages of development that shall pass, it certainly still is just as achey to parent through it. I also feel sympathy for my four children. When they misbehave, they certainly are not exerting any bad intentions. They are children and all children will misbehave. It is actually good to misbehave. In making poor choices, they have the opportunity to learn from past wrongdoings. It is also challenging for my children to be held to a higher standard by myself and possibly the public. Ultimately, I realize it is perfectly fine for children to misbehave. The true reflection of parenting skills is how a parent reacts and responds to such misbehavior.

Mother of 4 and Pediatrician

My personal statement for residency application (2000) is a little snapshot and introduction of who I was before the whirlwind of medical practice and 4 children. This blog will paint a mural of who I have become 12 years later.

Quite frequently, I am a gourmet chef, or at the very least a sous-chef, sautéing, dicing, braising, and boiling; a molecular biologist turned cuisine technician, pipeting aliquots of broths and catalyzing dishes with rosemary, allspice, savory and tarragon.  I capitalize on my undergraduate days working in a molecular biology lab at Cornell, practicing sterile technique and converting Western and Southern blots into risotto with portabella mushrooms and chocolate soufflés. Whether cooking a five-course meal or purifying an antibody, the timing, organization and detail is crucial. I rise to the task and plan methodically, anticipating baking and incubations as well as any unforeseen burning. I imagine my fondness for cooking arises from my Chinese culture, in which, like many other cultures, cooking represents more than simple oral alimentation. Dishes are an extension of love, loyalty and pride. When I cook, I manifest my emotions. Through a medium outside of words, I express the tenderness and commitment I hold for my guests through individually wrapped dumplings or Cornish hens filled with raspberry stuffing.

Other days I am the quiet girl curled up like a lock of hair in a cubbyhole at the used bookstore, breathing in the musty perfume of words gracefully quilted together. I savor the writings of John Irving, Frank McCourt, Ayn Rand and Amy Tan. Their sentences waltz on each page and challenge the synapses in my mind. Through novels I am introduced to cultures and traditions and learn about hardships as well as about the plasticity of the human spirit. I become acquainted with philosophies I may embrace or decline. Books unearth my primitive cravings to discover and study. Novels shake the complacency of the prosaic and help me gain perspective of what has been and what I could be.

From time to time, I am a journalist and poet. No longer the audience of texts, I am the pied piper of words. In college, the Cornell Daily Sun was my forum. The university newspaper is entirely student-run, conveying news to Ithaca and surrounding communities.  As a news reporter, I wrote about right-wing conservatives who touted white supremacy, interviewed Carl Sagan during his last days battling bone marrow cancer, and presented stories about the fresh-faced collegiate who dreamed about changing the world. My writing is not limited to the scope of journalism. Through poetry I create.  A pencil, a pond or the color purple can be actors in my verse, impersonating grand messages or simply reflecting a hiccup of silliness.  Composing poetry soothes my frustrations and stress.  When faced with a long-time diabetic grieving over the loss of her legs or with a toddler hooked up to drips and a vent, poetry serves as my catharsis. It is my therapy for the heavy load that health care workers may carry.

Regretfully not as often as I would like, I am a musician. A piano player bereft of long fingers, my dwarfish digits still fly over piano keys like a Cessna and draw smiles from my parents and my friends. As a little girl I would diligently practice pieces for my piano teacher and for the competitions that would ensue. As a high school student, I would play the accompaniment for the school concert choir and the Cleveland Singing Angels. During college summers, I taught five to seven-year olds the basics of the treble and bass clef and the wonder of the sounds they would create. But now as an adult, I play the piano for myself. To perform the inventions of Bach, the sonatas of Mozart and ragtime of Scott Joplin are more gratifying today because I have learned to appreciate the gift of sight, sound and touch that not every individual has the ability to enjoy.

A newly gained role, I am a fiancée. To Patrick McIntyre, a fourth year medical student in my class, I have pledged my loyalty. When we met during the first Medical College of Ohio orientation party, we spoke of our interests in many of the topics I shared with you today. We became fast friends our first year and together battled through our basic sciences, refusing to meet our Waterloo. He was by my side during anatomy and pathology and will be by my side during internship and residency.

But when someone inquires, “Who are you really…?” I won’t hem or haw to choose between the characters in my play of life. Unequivocally, I am a medical student, an aspiring pediatrician and internist.  When I have earned the long white coat, I will never stop listening to my patients, communicating to the parents, holding a little hand or a wizened hand, and helping the nurses. I am enthusiasm, energy and dedication amalgamated into a future intern. This is the role I have been working toward my entire life. In my therapeutic plan, I intend to use the timing and organization of cooking, the accuracy of journalism, the creativity of poetry, the magic of music, and the commitment of love to care for my patients.