THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, April 21, 1996 TAG: 9604210052
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Elizabeth Simpson
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
I have a daughter, and these are some of the things she can do:
She can hop on one foot all the way across the room.
She can tell a cardinal from a robin.
She can climb the crepe myrtle tree in the front yard.
She can show you the two spaces where her front teeth used to be.
And last, but not least, she can tell you how old she is.
Five.
Please don't forget that last one, because she is proud of that, and reminds her sister daily that she will always be two years older.
Remember a time when just being 5 was enough?
My daughter's achievements may not have seemed much to a girl like Jessica Dubroff, who was two years older.
When Jessica was 4, after all, she had her own paper route. By the time she was 7, she had learned to fly a plane. Embarked on a journey to break a world record. Been interviewed on national television.
A family friend described her as ``7 going on 20.''
Eight would have been nice.
Now that her plane has gone down, the rest of us are left to pick through the wreckage of her death for lessons.
They are not hard to find.
Jessica's death has taught us we can put our children in danger by letting them pursue dreams that are too high, too soon. Or dreams that aren't worth chasing in the first place.
In some of the last photographs taken of Jessica, she's wearing a hat that says ``Women Fly.'' But I don't see a woman; I see a little girl. Sitting in what for all the world looks like a child's booster seat. In an airplane outfitted with extenders so her tiny feet could reach the pedals.
She looks like a kid playing in a place where she shouldn't even be.
Jessica's death also taught us it's easy to confuse our children's ambitions with those of our own.
Jessica's father said his daughter ``dragged'' his ex-wife and him into the flying lessons. Yet he was the one who suggested the record-breaking idea. And the one lining up the media interviews. And the one who must have had a say in taking off in stormy weather.
Looking at Jessica's parents, it's pretty easy for the rest of us to say, ``I never woulda let my kid do that.''
But that oversimplifies the most important lesson Jessica taught us: That we can push our children too hard. We can force them to grow up too fast.
And that happens all the time, all around us, without anyone even shaking their head.
Parents can take the fun right out of childhood if they push too hard, whether it's on the baseball field, the ice rink, the dance studio or even in the classroom.
We walk a thin line between wanting our children to succeed and wanting them to have time to simply be. Between nurturing a sense of adventure and tethering them to safety. Between making sure they're ambitious and making sure they know that the true test of character isn't being first or best or fastest or youngest.
We constantly struggle to find ways of telling our children to do their best without being the best. Of being winners without taking home the trophy.
My daughter is already a little wary of the American drive to be at the top of the heap.
When we sat down to play Monopoly the other day she said, ``Let's not do the winning part this time.''
And this time, we won't. by CNB