The “Mmf” Gene (and what to do about it).

The nature vs. nurture debate ended for me pretty soon after the birth of my second child.

Totally different from the moment they entered the world, my two daughters are case in point that who you are, in large part, is a genetic crapshoot and has largely nothing to do with the parenting you receive -- unless you are chained to radiators and beaten with brooms on a regular basis. You know what I mean.

This is illustrated in my daughters by the simple difference in their answer to a question asked millions of times each day across the planet:

"How was school today?" I ask.

Daughter #1 answers. "Mmf."  (I learn over time this is a vague approximation of the word "fine," but really means something like: "Leave me alone and get me a snack.”)

"Well, what did you do?," I grasp, knowing 99 out of a 100 times the answer will be:

"Nothin'."

So now, Daughter # 2, same scenario:

"How was school today?"

"Good! We got extra recess today, but then had to come in 'cause Joe was throwing snow balls at people"

"Why did he do that, sweetie?"

"I think he was mad at some of the kids because he felt like they weren't including him."

"That's too bad. What did you learn about?"

"How clouds work and adding big numbers...and did you know that there were Indians in Minnesota?"

Need I say more?

Neither daughter has more or less intellectual curiosity than the other. Number 1 simply keeps to her own counsel a bit more. Which isn’t a bad trait, but knowing when to share a teeny bit more sometimes is helpful out there in the big bad world. So here's where parenting can make a difference, I think:

Many days my questioning of #1 ended with: "Mmf." Some days with: "Nothin’.” But on my best days, I would push her further: "Tell me one thing that happened today, good or bad." Sometimes I'd get: "Lunch was yucky"; sometimes: "We learned about long division";  or: "I made a clay chicken in art."

The content of those little nuggets weren’t what was important. More, it was that as I dug deeper until she told me one thing that happened at school, whether it was good, bad or innocuous, I think she got the message that her life, school experience and academic performance were important to us.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not a perfect parent by any stretch of the imagination, nor am I a hovering helicopter-type parent (I don’t have that gene). But I think those extra few minutes a day asking may have actually made her realize that she should pay attention for a small part of the day because dang it if Mom wasn’t going to expect her to tell her something about just what went on.

Now when I ask, I get a: “Fine,” sometimes followed – unprompted – by a: “I have to give a speech next week about my life, and I have no idea what to say.”

Well, I think, a bit of gold. I’ll ask my next question and at the very least she’ll have a fighting chance of figuring out what to say. And know that when she does, somebody will care about it.