Sprout – This Builds Character

The Studio Ghibli 5K

From The Secret World of Arrietty. Tiny Arriety looks ahead with a determined face, standing in front of a patch of yellow and white flowers.

Sprout participated in the Girls on the Run program this school year, but they weren’t able to attend the 5K run at the end of the season.

I proposed that we do a 5K by ourselves, and as a reward for finishing it, treat ourselves to The Secret World of Arrietty in an actual theater (thank you Studio Ghibli Fest).

The Running Part

There was a time when Sprout would want to take a break after just starting to run. This is not that time.

We set ourselves a simple rule: Each time we pass a fire hydrant, we would switch between running or walking. Our goal was just to finish a 5K distance. The stretch goal was besting their time from the practice 5K (an hour and eight minutes).

We finished the 5K in 53 minutes. I’m proud of them. They’re proud of themself. And we both felt a big ol’ rush of endorphins for the rest of the day.

I knew something was going well with this program when they asked me one day, “Can I just go run around the block?” When they got back, they asked: “Can I do that again?”

The energy, the focus, the commitment. These are all things Sprout strengthened in the last few months.

There was another moment today that impressed me, too. Sprout tripped and took a tumble, landing on their knee and hand. It was a pretty hard (and loud) fall. But they took some time with me to assess how bad it actually was, calmed down, got back up, and said they wanted to keep going.

I didn’t need to push. They had a goal to finish this 5K and they wanted it badly enough that a fall that just weeks ago would’ve meant a piggyback ride home now was a minor obstacle.

Again, so damn proud.

The Movie Part

I knew this would be a movie Sprout would want to see. It’s their favorite Studio Ghibli movie so far. We’ve both only seen it on our TV at home.

I am a person who believes in the cinematic experience. Going into a dark room with a bunch of strangers and all staring at the same bright screen has for a long time felt holy to me. It’s a sacred space, and there are many films that are best seen in that context.

The Secret World of Arrietty is absolutely one of those films.

At one point, Sprout leaned over and mentioned how amazing the sound was, and we talked later about how it was both the quality of the sound system in the theater and the sound design of the film itself (like how the same objects would make different sounds depending on whether we were experiencing the moment in the POV of the Borrowers or the “Human Beans”).

We both knew this was a gorgeous film, but seeing it up on a giant screen really let all the details pop. You could see the care put in to every shot.

I loved being able to share this day with my kiddo.

It also makes me hopeful that the slop-fest of current AI/LLMs will pass (or at least the hype will clear away for less flashy, human-centered tools that could actually work as promised). You don’t get storytelling like this movie by plugging in some prompts to a plagiarism generator and waiting for it to render. You can’t fake this emotion.

The Secret World of Arrietty. Arrietty holds Sho's finger and cries as she tells him goodbye forever. — We saw the subtitled version in the theater, and the final lines from Sho were different than in the English dub. The English dub has this beautiful line, “Arrietty, my heart is strong now because you’re in it.” The subtitled version had a similar sentiment but lacked the poetry.

Kids know what they’re about

When I was four, I thought I would grow up to be a paleontologist. My preschool teachers were impressed I knew the word. My parents patiently bought me books on dinosaurs and sat through hours of regurgitating dinosaur facts at them. Everybody took it at face value that This Was What I Was All About. I saw this not just as a job I could do, but where I could see myself fitting in. This was the kind of person I was and what I should do.

I did not grow up to be a paleontologist. But that wasn’t important then. It hadn’t happened yet. I honestly believed my future was going to be spent assembling fossilized skeletons like giant, expensive lego sets.

I had a window of understanding into who I was and what I was about. That window grew as I got older, and I started accepting or rejecting different aspects of who I saw myself to be.

When Sprout first identified themselves as nonbinary to Dena and me, they added a rational disclaimer: “I don’t know if I’ll always feel like this, but this is how I feel right now.”

Part of growing up means embracing and exploring different identities.

So if you wouldn’t knee-jerk react to a kid with “You’re never going to be a paleontologist when you grow up,” why is it okay to tell them “You don’t actually know you’re nonbinary/trans?”

Mister Rogers said it best: kids are deeply serious about their inner lives.

Whether or not it’s “a phase” isn’t for other people to say. In a way, everything we see about ourselves is just a temporary phase, but some of those phases last for a long time. Even the discarded self-perceptions have value—They help move us forward in our understanding of who we are.

Listening to what Sprout has to say about themselves is bigger than a conversation about gender. It’s about showing them we take them seriously. We trust them to come to us when they have Big Things to talk about. We love them unconditionally and there’s nothing they can say or think or feel that will change that.

Because no matter how either of our children identify now or in the future, the one constant we want them both to feel is that they are loved, exactly as they are in this and every moment.

Parenting a they/them kiddo

I haven’t written much here about parenting a non-binary child. Part of that is the urge to roll out a long, all-encompassing post.

So instead of letting that stay a mental block, let me get the ball rolling with one recent anecdote.

Sprout went over to their gym teacher (with some backup from their BFF) and said that it makes them uncomfortable when the class gets divided into boys and girls to make teams or for different activities. Sprout wanted to make sure the teacher knew that they weren’t a boy or a girl, and dividing the class this way made it so they couldn’t fit in.

The gym teacher listened, and a compromise was made that Sprout would get to choose which group they did activities with each class.

I’m always proud when Sprout acts as their own advocate, but standing up to a teacher? That’s a bold move.

And right now, while they’re still young, the compromises and accommodations will be this easy.

A friend brought up the prospect of what’s going to happen once we get to middle school and locker rooms become part of the conversation. I said I wasn’t mentally prepared to think that far ahead.

But I know a few things about Sprout already. When they first shared their nonbinary identity with their mom and me, they said “I don’t feel like a girl or a boy. I don’t know if this is how I’ll always feel, but it’s how I feel right now.” We took them at their word, and continue to do so.

But I do know that they saw us as trusted people who they could come to with big, important things. And in seeing how they’ve approached sharing this identity and taking ownership of it, I know they have a lot of inner strength.

The potential problems they may have down the road could be completely different than anything we’re thinking about now, so why spend the energy on those fears?

Right now we have a child we love, who feels safe and respected with us, and who feels confident and proud of who they are. That’s where the focus needs to stay at the moment. That’s enough.

Context switching and parenting

Every day when both kids are home from school, I have two small humans competing for my attention.

One has homework questions they need help with, occasional anxieties to be confronted and calmed, and a desire to know what the plan is for the rest of the night. The other needs a snack (but doesn’t know what kind), wants to watch something (but doesn’t know what), and either wants to pretend to be a Star Wars character or ask me 50,000 rapid fire questions about Star Wars.

And I started thinking about how, exactly, I wind up so tired right before dinner every weekday. Which lead me to remembering about partial attention and context switching.

In the case of continuous partial attention, we’re motivated by a desire not to miss anything. We’re engaged in two activities that both demand cognition. We’re talking on the phone and driving. We’re writing an email and participating in a conference call. We’re carrying on a conversation at dinner and texting under the table on the Blackberry or iPhone.

Continuous partial attention also describes a state in which attention is on a priority or primary task, while, at the same time, scanning for other people, activities, or opportunities, and replacing the primary task with something that seems, in this next moment, more important. When we do this, we may have the feeling that our brains process multiple activities in parallel. Researchers say that while we can rapidly shift between activities, our brains process serially.

…

Continuous partial attention is an always on, anywhere, anytime, any place behavior that creates an artificial sense of crisis. We are always in high alert. We are demanding multiple cognitively complex actions from ourselves. We are reaching to keep a top priority in focus, while, at the same time, scanning the periphery to see if we are missing other opportunities. If we are, our very fickle attention shifts focus. What’s ringing? Who is it? How many emails? What’s on my list? What time is it in Bangalore?

In this state of always-on crisis, our adrenalized “fight or flight” mechanism kicks in. This is great when we’re being chased by tigers. How many of those 500 emails a day is a TIGER? How many are flies? Is everything an emergency?
Linda Stone, Beyond Simple Multi-Tasking: Continuous Partial Attention

Something that came up again and again when I was researching my book on this topic, is that switching your attention — even if only for a minute or two — can significantly impede your cognitive function for a long time to follow.

More bluntly: context switches gunk up your brain.
Cal Newport, Deep Habits: The Danger of Pseudo-Depth

I want to be there for my kids, and actively engaged with them in the moment. But they also both want 100% of my attention at the same time right after school.

It’s a concentrated burst of continuous partial attention that may not last long, but definitely triggers that fight or flight response in me. I usually need a few minutes at some point to clear the brain fog.

But maybe by putting a name to it and looking more closely at how it’s happening, I can start to navigate better solutions.

Don’t Apologize for Someone Else

Button hits.

Sprout never had a big issue with this. It’s another way the two of them are very different.

We’re still working on the best way to get Button to stop and take responsibility for hurting other people.

When apologizing to Sprout after hitting her, he patted her cheeks roughly. She didn’t like it.

I pulled him back. Sprout said it was okay.

“That’s just how he’s saying he’s sorry.”

We got through making sure Button tried apologizing in a gentle way. I stayed behind with Sprout.

I told her she doesn’t need to apologize for anyone else’s behavior.

I told her she doesn’t need to accept an apology if it doesn’t feel right.

I emphasized to her that she knows what feels like love to her.

She should never, ever make excuses for someone else’s behavior. Not to us, or herself.

That if it doesn’t feel like love to her, it doesn’t matter if someone else says it is.

It’s good that she wants to help us teach Milo how to behave. But while she helps, I don’t want her to think that helping her younger brother includes learning to treat herself or her feelings as less than.