Why you should tell your kids when they suck at something

AUSTRALIA it’s time we stop lying to our youth or we are going to end up with a generation of entitled, narcissistic jerks, writes Em Rusciano.

Em Rusciano with her gorgeous youngest daughter Odie.

AUSTRALIA it’s time we stop lying to our youth or we are going to end up with a generation of entitled, narcissistic dickheads; unprepared for life’s many challenges.

What I’m saying is: I don’t think you should tell your kids they’re good at something that they’re clearly rubbish at.

Go on, I’ll wait for you to start formulating your angry comments. I have only one request, when you’re launching the change.org petition to have my kids removed from my care, can you please use this photo.

Fierce.

We need to stop making congratulatory statements that fail to reflect their true ability, or in some cases lack of any ability. There’s a difference between praising your spawn for TRYING and congratulating them for a subpar, lacklustre, embarrassing to the family name, performance.

I was at my youngest child’s’ end of term assembly this week. She’s a member of the school rock band and they performed Beat It by Michael Jackson. About eight small people were on stage ranging from 9 to 12 years old and to quote the great man himself: it was BAD.

Imagine the Children of the Corn crossed with zombie sloths and your Grandmother when she’s asleep (or if she is no longer with us, that works too) and you’ll start to appreciate the level of engagement I’m talking about on stage.

Finally when it was over, another parent turned to me and said: “That was fantastic, they’re so talented.”

NO WELL MEANING WOMAN! NO, IN THAT PARTICULAR INSTANCE THEY WERE S**THOUSE!

Something in me snapped. I know that she was being kind and that she knew my daughter was involved in the monstrosity we’d all just endured, but enough was enough.

“No it wasn’t, it was rubbish. Michael Jackson would’ve been turning in his grave,” I squawked at her.(Assuming MJ is actually dead, of which I am dubious. But that’s a whole other column).

The lady recoiled as I may have delivered the line in a slightly passionate manner (read: yelled it), she smiled and slowly walked away from me with both hands raised, as I imagine you would treat a bear should you stumble upon one in the wild.

I waited for Odie to appear to ask her what had happened. The thing is, my kid is capable of epic DIY rock eisteddfods. She has prior form, excellent prior form.

We’re talking about someone who as a 3-year-old choreographed an entire routine to Lady Gaga’s Just Dance. Complete with a costume she’d fashioned herself using tinfoil, sparkly pipe cleaners and black eyeliner, she also managed to coerce the dog into being a backing dancer.

She can perform the Single Ladies routine move perfect in nine inch heels. She’s of my loins for God’s sake! (Please refer to the change.org photo for context if you’re not across my work.)

These two are clearly cut from the same cloth.

She appeared from backstage and ran over to me, I gave her a hug and we locked eyes. I squinted mine a little and said:

“Talk to me about the Beat it situation.”

Odie: “What?”

Em: “Well, do you think it was the best thing you’ve ever done?”

Odie: “No, not the best but Mia’s Mum said we were good!”

Em: “Mia’s Mum LIED! Your singing was fine, I’m proud that you even had the balls to get on stage in front of 500 people but you didn’t acknowledge any of those people. You looked dead on the inside! I’ve seen you give better performances on the Wii at home.”

She pulled away from me, studied my face, saw that I was serious and then did a cartwheel because she is a 9-year-old girl and they pull that move out anywhere at any time. She then came back over, sat on my lap and said:

Odie: “Yeah … We got told to stand still. I wanted to dance, but we were told to focus on the singing. Next time I think I am going to just dance anyway. I was bored on stage and I was singing.”

Em: “Good. Because that was REALLY crap.”

Odie: “Yes Mum I get it!”

Em: “OK, the drummer was good though, and the guitarist but you …”

Odie: “MUM!”

Em: “I love you.”

Odie: *Eye roll.

SEE! See, you guys. She didn’t fall apart, she’s now going to try and be better! That’s a bloody win in my book. I don’t get them often but when I do I like to celebrate it and tell everyone. That’s pretty much the only reason I write this weekly column, let’s be real.

What a little legend.

Em Rusciano is a comedian, writer, singer and regular news.com.au columnist. You can follow her on Facebook.

Originally published as Why you should tell your kids when they suck at something