I recently came across something I tore out of an Ann Landers advice column in 1988. I was two years out of college and it was a good time for me to be inspired. I put it aside never knowing 30 years later, I’d desperately be searching for it. It was about rejection and I recommend grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting this out for safekeeping! It goes like this …
Don’t be afraid to fail, You’ve failed many times, although you don’t remember. You fell the first time you tried to walk. You almost drowned the first time you tried to swim. Did you hit the ball the first time you tried to swing a bat? Heavy hitters, the ones who hit the most home runs, strike out a lot. R.H. Macy failed seven times before his store in New York caught on. English novelist John Creasey got 753 rejection slips before he published 564 books. Babe Ruth struck out 1330 times but he also hit 714 home runs. Don’t worry about failure. Worry about the chances you miss when you don’t try.
I was searching for it because I sat with my third grade son as he opened his first letter of rejection. You’ve probably suffered a broken heart once or twice — the kind where you lose 10 pounds from the tears you shed and wonder how you’ll go on living. Or maybe you’ve been the target of mean girls who didn’t want you at their lunch table. You probably cried, didn’t answer your phone, hid in your room under your covers and thought life was over. And it felt like it was.
But the truth is, you never truly know the pain of rejection until it happens to your kid.
It was a beautiful fall day. My 9-year-old son had been working for weeks on the song and monologue he’d perform at auditions for his school’s drama group. He chose a Frankie Valli tune (because he could identify with hitting the high notes) and a bit from the movie City Slickers … the part where Billy Crystal goes into his son’s class to talk about his career and realizes he hates his job, life goes way too fast, and decides to join his just-as-fed-up friends and head out to the wild, wild West.
After the auditions, my son was joyful and proud and counted down the days until he’d receive that letter revealing whether he’d made the cut.
This was that day. My enthusiastic son would be getting off that school bus with a letter in his backpack that he was instructed not to open until he was in the presence of a parent. On this day, that parent was me … and I was so glad.
My son came barreling out of the bus with a huge grin on his face. The letter was not in his backpack but in his hand. He waved it in my face and begged, “Please, please Mom, can I open it right now while we walk home?” Of course, I was just as excited as he was and told him to tear that baby open.
Lesson #1: Prep your child for disappointment! This was my first run at this and I didn’t even think about readying my son for rejection.
I watched as he opened the letter and that huge grin turn into deep heartbreak. I was so unprepared. He ran into the house in silence, bolted up to his bedroom and buried his face under the pillows as he cried hysterically. I didn’t have much time to read a chapter from a rules of rejection parent self-help book or even call my mom. I had to take action right then and there and didn’t have the first clue as to what to do. They don’t teach you this stuff in your pre-natal classes!
At this point his despair turned to anger.
Lesson #2: Prepare yourself for damage to your heart (and to your home)!
“I just want to punch something,” he said through a face full of tears. Ok, I thought, and handed him a pillow. He punched for about two seconds and then demanded “something hard like a wall!” Oh, I knew that wasn’t good. And then came “I just want to punch my window!” Oh no, I thought to myself, now he’s gone completely crazy!
That’s when my first smart idea came to mind and I handed him a magazine. “Here,” I said, “Rip this up. I promise it’ll make you feel so much better.” He liked that idea and then began finding every magazine in the house to tear into little bits. It started to look like a shredder was set loose, covering the house in confetti. The good thing was, it gave me time to research rejection.
Lesson #3: Arm yourself with knowledge in advance!
Sadly, the best I could do at the time was find Robert DeNiro’s commencement speech to the 2015 graduation class of NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. It’s an amazing speech and one to keep in your back pocket, but watch it without your children present! The language might be OK for a 21-year-old, but for a 9-year-old, not so much. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way. So now my child was angry, sad, and full of a new vocabulary to express those feelings!
That’s when a second idea popped into my head — a list I once read, long before I had children, of extremely successful people who had repeatedly faced rejection. I had cut it out and held onto it forever. Or at least, I thought I had, until there I was Googling it again!
I learned that Katy Perry was dropped from three labels before she found success and that Stephen King’s famous thriller novel “Carrie” had been rejected 30 times before it was published. And perhaps most importantly, Thomas Edison failed 10,000 times before inventing the light bulb. So, there you go! Finally, my son was feeling a little better. Some hugs, kisses, reassurance and time helped heal him.
Fast forward a year, and home came the envelope again.
This time we were both ready. He opened it slowly as my heart beat out of my chest. I crossed my fingers, prayed, and closed my eyes. Please, I thought, don’t put us through this again. He opened the letter. He handed it to me without reading it. From the look in my eyes, he knew.
This time, instead of burying his tear-covered face in his pillow, he looked at me and said, “Mom, I want to go out get some frozen yogurt and then I want us to take this letter and burn it like a bad memory.”
So the two of us went to the kitchen sink with matches in hand and burned the letter. And while he felt the pain of rejection once again, he also felt the success of being able to handle it better.
My now 10-year-old was developing something no one can take away: grit. And the younger you learn it, the better off you will be — and hopefully, you will never give up … because it’s the chances you might miss, if you don’t try.
This is the post excerpt.
On my son’s 9th birthday he hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter with legs dangling. When did he get so tall and so strong, I thought to myself. It was the same counter that houses the drawer he used to crawl into when he was just a year old and looking for Cheerios.
“Mom?” he said, the way he starts every thought he has or question on his mind, “where do you think I’ll go to college?” Just then I felt a pang in my stomach, like he’d thrown a left hook right into my less than perfect gut. It was an emotional left hook. I looked at him and realized, we are halfway there. Halfway to the day (or weeks) I’ll cry my eyes out as my beautiful boy begins a natural stage of his life. A right of passage. When did that happen?
The funny thing is I never really knew if I wanted kids. I wasn’t the one in the group who had a real maternal instinct. I really had no biological clock or even real desire to settle down and get married. Even as my posse of playmates migrated toward marriage, I was fine living my life on my watch. I had a career, I traveled, I worked out – something I didn’t realize would be considered a luxury one day – and I had a full life … Or so I thought.
Even though I had a niece and nephew I was very close to, my mother tried convincing me to have a child of my own. She really didn’t care if I did it the conventional way, by getting a husband first. That never really mattered to her. She understood why I loved my life the way it was and having gotten married at 18, she envied how I lived. But when it came to children, “Just think about it” she would say, “I don’t want you to miss out on the most incredible love you’ll ever know.”
Then I met my husband. I was 39 when we were engaged and 40 when we got married. My husband had a son and so now I did as well. That was good enough for me. We were a family. But my mother’s words played over in my head. My husband was all for another child and so I thought why not give it a shot. Maybe what was holding me back was the fear of not being a good parent. I thought I would put it in the hands of the universe. If it was meant to be, it will happen for us. If it doesn’t, well, we’ll see the world.
A few months later, at my birthday dinner, my husband ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio. It was the wine we drank on our first date. It arrived to the table and the smell of it sickened me! The next day at work, I felt like the flu was coming on. My girlfriend insisted I go get a pregnancy test at the drug store downstairs. It was there in the ladies room at work, the blue line stared up at me. I was shocked by the news I was pregnant. Shocked.
Nine months later – or really 10 – somehow they keep that a secret from you – James MacKenzie Chris Mathisen came screaming into the world and racing into my heart. How have 9 years gone by so fast? All those long sleepless nights, thousands of dirty diaper changes, head in the plate meals, temper tantrums, potty training, baths in the sink, turned to baths in the tub turned to showers all alone … It all went by when I blinked.
Now my little boy was asking about colleges. And in a blink, he’ll be standing in a cap and gown. Trace Adkins sings a song called “You’re Gonna Miss This” and thankfully, I learned about it a few years ago. It changed the way I look at time – the good stuff and the tough stuff, because I am gonna miss all of it – because at the end of the day, it’s all good.
My mom was right.