The Spark: A Mother's Story of Nurturing Genius by Kristine Barnett Page A
Authors: Kristine Barnett
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the daycare kids had flourished as they’d grown older. Claire, for instance, moved on to art classes and a probable internship at a museum in Indianapolis. Elliott began building computers from scratch at age ten and spent high school “hackintoshing” in his parents’ garage, using PC parts to build hybrid machines that ran the Apple operating system. During an internship at a clinic in our community, he designed a piece of specialized medical equipment that is still used by the doctors there today. He did all this before leaving high school.
Over and over again, I noted how doing what they loved brought all of the children’s other skills up as well. Even as a very little girl, Lauren’s favorite thing to do was to “play house” while at daycare. She’d happily help me fold laundry or put the smaller babies down for their naps, but she wasn’t very interested in what might be considered more academic pursuits, such as reading or counting. Her mother continued to send her to me for after-school babysitting even as Lauren got older, and I began teaching her to make some of the pastries that Stephanie and I had learned to make in my grandmother’s kitchen. We spent hours together measuring and stirring, making more cookies and cakes than we could possibly eat.
Lauren’s mother had the idea to drop some of our extra treats off at a food pantry one day, but it was Lauren’s idea to begin volunteering there. Her mom was understandably worried that the hours of baking and serving in the soup kitchen would get in the way of Lauren’s schoolwork, but I felt confident that her other skills would naturally improve if she was encouraged to do what she loved, and her mother was convinced. By age eleven, Lauren was a fixture at the soup kitchen on weekends and had won a number of community service awards—allwhile maintaining straight A’s in school, as well as starring in school plays and in local theater productions.
Mostly, I think the approach was effective because it helped us to build crucial relationships with the children. Long before Little Light, eight-year-old Jenny joined my daycare for the summer. Her mom warned me over the phone that Jenny had trouble paying attention and doing what she was told to do. My daycare was, as usual, the solution of last resort, after two day camps had sent Jenny home.
That first day, Jenny and her mom arrived quite late. Her mom, visibly harried, started right in. “This morning, I sent her to her room to get her sneakers. Half an hour later, down she comes talking some nuttiness about elves and an enchanted ring—and she’s still not wearing any shoes! That’s why we’re late. She doesn’t ever listen.”
That morning, I let Jenny be, but when my daycare assistant was putting the smaller kids down for their nap, I asked Jenny to join me in the living room. Her mom had been very dismissive about Jenny’s storytelling abilities, and I didn’t blame her. It sounded as if it had been a frustrating morning. Still, I knew that this child had an incredibly fertile imagination and once she trusted me with her gift, there’d be no trouble getting her to listen or to be on time.
I showed her an illustration in an old children’s book I’d bought for a nickel at a yard sale. In a sun-dappled forest, a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair held an infant, both of them cradled in the roots of a massive, moss-covered tree. It was a beautiful picture, but more important, it cried out for an explanation. Who was this enigmatic woman, and what on earth was she doing with her baby in this ancient and magical place?
When I showed Jenny the picture, her whole face changed, and she instinctively reached out to touch the page. I handed her the book to hold and closed my eyes. “I wonder if you’d be interested in telling me a story about that lady,” I said.
We sat there for a while in silence, and then Jenny began to talk. I could feel her checking my face, trying to gauge
Over and over again, I noted how doing what they loved brought all of the children’s other skills up as well. Even as a very little girl, Lauren’s favorite thing to do was to “play house” while at daycare. She’d happily help me fold laundry or put the smaller babies down for their naps, but she wasn’t very interested in what might be considered more academic pursuits, such as reading or counting. Her mother continued to send her to me for after-school babysitting even as Lauren got older, and I began teaching her to make some of the pastries that Stephanie and I had learned to make in my grandmother’s kitchen. We spent hours together measuring and stirring, making more cookies and cakes than we could possibly eat.
Lauren’s mother had the idea to drop some of our extra treats off at a food pantry one day, but it was Lauren’s idea to begin volunteering there. Her mom was understandably worried that the hours of baking and serving in the soup kitchen would get in the way of Lauren’s schoolwork, but I felt confident that her other skills would naturally improve if she was encouraged to do what she loved, and her mother was convinced. By age eleven, Lauren was a fixture at the soup kitchen on weekends and had won a number of community service awards—allwhile maintaining straight A’s in school, as well as starring in school plays and in local theater productions.
Mostly, I think the approach was effective because it helped us to build crucial relationships with the children. Long before Little Light, eight-year-old Jenny joined my daycare for the summer. Her mom warned me over the phone that Jenny had trouble paying attention and doing what she was told to do. My daycare was, as usual, the solution of last resort, after two day camps had sent Jenny home.
That first day, Jenny and her mom arrived quite late. Her mom, visibly harried, started right in. “This morning, I sent her to her room to get her sneakers. Half an hour later, down she comes talking some nuttiness about elves and an enchanted ring—and she’s still not wearing any shoes! That’s why we’re late. She doesn’t ever listen.”
That morning, I let Jenny be, but when my daycare assistant was putting the smaller kids down for their nap, I asked Jenny to join me in the living room. Her mom had been very dismissive about Jenny’s storytelling abilities, and I didn’t blame her. It sounded as if it had been a frustrating morning. Still, I knew that this child had an incredibly fertile imagination and once she trusted me with her gift, there’d be no trouble getting her to listen or to be on time.
I showed her an illustration in an old children’s book I’d bought for a nickel at a yard sale. In a sun-dappled forest, a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair held an infant, both of them cradled in the roots of a massive, moss-covered tree. It was a beautiful picture, but more important, it cried out for an explanation. Who was this enigmatic woman, and what on earth was she doing with her baby in this ancient and magical place?
When I showed Jenny the picture, her whole face changed, and she instinctively reached out to touch the page. I handed her the book to hold and closed my eyes. “I wonder if you’d be interested in telling me a story about that lady,” I said.
We sat there for a while in silence, and then Jenny began to talk. I could feel her checking my face, trying to gauge
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