Strolling through The International Hall of Fame, filled with memorabilia of gifted and brilliant individuals, I ponder the irony of a commonality they share. Each was a "late bloomer," an unrecognized genius on the brink of bursting into an awesome bloom. I wonder how often these individuals were taunted as children for being different or peculiar? I wonder which ones received parental acceptance for who they were as unique, creative individuals-- which ones experienced parental rejection, undermining, or criticism for what they were not. 

As a rule, parents capable of accepting their own idiosyncrasies, shortcomings, and imperfections are, in turn, more tolerant and understanding of their children's flaws--and they are usually aware of their children's potential for excellence, regardless of what appears to be evidence to the contrary. On the other hand, parents consumed with their own quest to succeed (based upon criteria of one's social or professional status, wealth, material holdings, or pseudo-spirituality) or impress others are likely to be appalled and embarrassed if his offspring appears dull or engages in unconventional behavior. We must permit our children to individuate. They are not mere extensions of ourselves, and it is important that we refrain from projecting or imposing our personal desires onto them. 

 Einstein was undoubtedly haunted for years by the words of a teacher advising him to drop out of high school. "You'll never amount to anything, Einstein!" His parents already thought he was retarded; he spoke haltingly until he was nine years old and answered questions slowly after then. Do you suppose they hurled unkind words or predictions in his face? "You're just plain peculiar, Albert. You've got a mean streak in you, and you can't get along with anyone!" I hope not, for cruel verbal assaults, especially ones repeated over and again, by a parent leaves a child emotionally scarred for a lifetime. 

Gifted children are notoriously temperamental and high-strung; they also tend to be perceptive and sensitive to feelings and circumstances others often miss. From pictures I've seen, Einstein never even permitted his mother to teach him how to use a comb. It would be interesting to hear what Mr. and Mrs. Einstein would say about their bushy-haired son today after perusing the "E" section of the card catalogue in a modern day library. I wonder if they would say, "Albert knows that we never quit believing in him. We knew that one day his light would shine." Or, perhaps they'd drawl, "Well, well, well -- never thought we'd see the day that boy would amount to anything -- guess you just can't keep good genes down. Looks like we must've done a pretty good job of parenting in spite of what we had to work with." 

 When parents convey doubt in their child's ability, or cruelly attack the child's personhood, how can they possibly expect the child to come to them for comfort or guidance in times when they need it most? And when a child is unable to trust his parents with his emotions, as a child, it is unlikely he will do so as an adult. Yet, there are times, especially during the adolescent years, when our children may reject us no matter how hard we try reaching out to them. As painful as it is, at times we must step back and wait for our child to come to us -- a time which we may or may not ever experience. In the meanwhile, we have two choices:  we can mope around, become bitter, and lash out at the child for the suffering inflicted; or, after assuring our child that we'll always love (not disown or disinherit him) and be available for him, we move on with life knowing that we've done all we can do. 

I've often thought about finding the amaryllis in full bloom in the bottom of a messy, dark closet. How could that plant grow without any nurturing when the fern I lovingly watered, fed, provided sunlight for, repotted, sprayed for bugs, and cherished died? 

It is my conviction that God plants within each of us some gifted seed which will bud forth in the essence of time. It is important for us to help our children to recognize and develop their giftedness, but it is equally important that we, as parents, refrain from reliving our lives or attempting to enact our own unfulfilled dreams through our offspring during their early years or after they leave home. 

How can such a parent ever expect to have a relationship with a child he has repeatedly treated in such an egregious manner? Once a child is old enough to leave home, how can he ever be expected to desire spending time with such a hurtful individual again and risk more of the same? It is because of the prevalence of this type of situation that April is designated each year to address child abuse issues and to take steps to protect children emotionally or physically injured by parents or others. 

The next time your child does something border-line stupid, instead of yelling, "You're a blooming idiot" or "You need electric shock treatments," bite your tongue and fantasize: Maybe, just maybe, the child is a blooming genius! 

I have a collection of unusual clocks, but my favorite is a cuckoo clock I bought in the Black Forest of Germany. One might think its little bird is kooky, but he really doesn't give a darn what people think. He may be a cuckoo bird, but he's no moron. He comes out each hour to "cuckoo," then he goes back into his little house until it's time to come out the next hour and chirp again. I like the bird's spunky manner, and I look forward to his appearances. 

As Mother's Day is celebrated each year, perhaps we mothers should consider giving a gift to ourselves -- a gift of personal acceptance as a a parent who has done the very best she could do within her particular circumstances, good or bad. Most mothers, I know, go above-and-beyond the call of duty out of love for their children. As long as we know the type of mother we are and where we're coming from, what others might think is insignificant. 

Einstein and the amaryllis each bloomed in their own time, and each bloomed in an extraordinary way. When a seed is planted by God for fruition, nothing stops it. On the other hand, we can do everything in the world to provide TLC for our children, as I did with my fern, but sometimes things still go awry in spite of our best efforts. 

The next time you or your child feel like a failure, take a trip down that International Hall of Fame lined with late bloomers. And you'll notice the list is not complete; there is still room for your child--and for you!