Pressure cooker

In elementary school they used to pass out these weekly reader things - kind of like a kids newspaper - and all I remember from them is that more kids commit suicide in China than anywhere else in the world, and the reason is because they're under so much pressure to do well in school.

Today I was supposed to tutor the cutest little boy. He's half Chinese, half Indian. The mother kept me on the phone almost a half hour, basically telling me all about how terrible he is. Not in a mean way, but she seemed to think he is VERY behind and very badly behaved.

When I got there, he ran over to the door and gave me a huge, shit-eating grin. He's four. I took off my shoes, and said hi to the mother. All of a sudden she started yelling at the boy. Turn around and look down, and he's stepped into my shoes and is clomping around in them. I assure her it's okay but she insists it's not.

It's supposed to be for an hour. The mother suggests we sit down at the table. I'd been thinking the floor would be better but we sit down at the table. All three of us. My heart sinks. I whip out a piece of paper and ask the boy if he can write his name on it. The mother repeats my instructions and then tells me he doesn't listen. "Well, he hasn't really had a chance yet." She blinks at me surprised.

I say his name again, and ask him what letter his name starts with. He smiles at me and says, "Umm..." and the mother says his name sharply and then repeats my question. This mother is fucking up my flow! She is going to make this boy hate me.

After he slipped out of his chair to bring me his favorite toy at my request, I turned to the mother. "I hope you don't mind, but I tutor one on one. You're obviously welcome to be in the next room, or even the same room if you're more comfortable that way, but you keep throwing off the rhythm I keep trying to establish because he's not getting a chance to answer each time I ask something."

The mother started telling me she wants him paying attention, for him to learn. "I've been here for ten minutes already and asked him like four things and haven't gotten an answer to ANY of them. If you leave us, I bet I can get four answers out of him in less than five minutes."

Anger flashed across her face, and then it went quiet. "I want him to be successful in life." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Barely. "He is four. Being successful for a four year old means sharing nicely, and helping when someone drops something, and being read to and played with a lot."

We stood there staring at each other. He came running back with a fire truck and held it out to me. I crouched down and accepted the truck.

Me: Wow, awesome fire truck! Can you tell me what color it is?
Him: Wed!
Me: Yes, red! Do you know what letter the word red starts with?
Him: Rehhhhhhhh...?
Me: R, right! Can you think of another word that starts with an R?
Him: Robot!
Me: Yes, robot and red both start with R! What else can you think of?
Him: Ring!

He grabbed his mother's hand and we looked at her sparkly ring.
Me: Wow, sparkly.
Him: Ssssssss ... snake?
Me: Yup, snake. One more. What's another word that starts with S?
He looked down.
Him: Ssssssn .... sock?

I told him he'd done a great job and asked him to go put his truck back. The mother stood there quietly for a minute and then walked into the kitchen. I wanted her to be happy. To see that he's fine, that he can respond to questions. I wanted her to see what I saw in him. Wandering into the kitchen I saw the mother taking out money for me. Her son came running back to me holding something in his hand.

Him: Ssssssticker!

He is the most adorable kid. The mother handed me money and very stiffly said she'd see me next week. I wonder how long he'll be a happy kid before he wants to kill himself for not being good enough for his mother.