Nature or Nurture?

One of my kids is a brilliant artist. I am awed because at eight, she draws WAY better than I do--no kidding. One of my kids is a violinist with perfect pitch, who is also a beautiful soprano. And one is unbelievably math oriented (which he did not get from me). As for the baby, who knows? Right now he is adept at climbing on things, which perhaps bodes well for him climbing Everest someday. Now, I am no stage mother, but I do help them pursue that which they love. Artist Child gets art lessons. Math Child gets lots of chess practice. Musician Child gets music lessons and an expensive violin. Nature? Somewhat. Nurture? That too.

Thinking back on my childhood, my parents loaded me down with books. I didn't watch a lot of TV--some, but not tons of it. I read. And read and read and read. My clever parents set a ridiculously early bedtime when it was still light out, but would say, "But if you read a book you can stay up an hour later." No brainer that I was going to read. But WHAT did I read? Well, there, too . . . they were clever. My father gifted me with an unabridged Sherlock Holmes book so thick it was like a dictionary, when I was still in elementary school. I read Tale of Two Cities while recovering from the yanking of my tonsils. I was pushed to read difficult books and read David Copperfield well before middle school. Nature? Somewhat. They knew my IQ. Nurture? A lot of that.

So now I ponder writing. I can think of two fabulous English teachers in school who encouraged me to write, and I remember writing always came very easily to me. If there was an essay exam, I always finished in a fraction of the time my peers took. However, I had my heart set on medical school. My father, however, wasn't keen on the idea of me giving up so many years of my life in pursuit of what is admittedly a difficult course to take. AND, he felt I wasn't as science-oriented as I needed to be. I remember asking him, "Well, then what should I study at college? What should I major in?" He replied, "If you ask me, concentrate on writing. That's what you're really good at." There were plenty of twists and turns along the way, but . . . here I am.

I wonder if at various crossroads, if the wrong words were spoken to me, or I was encouraged in science, if I might have done something different. Or was it my nature to always gravitate toward the written word? What if my parents had been so caught up in their own lives that they never noticed what I was good at, what I wanted to be? What if my fabulous ninth-grade English teacher had, instead of enthralling me with To Kill a Mockingbird, been sipping vodka from her coffee cup and not inspired me at all? What if I had given up upon my first rejection letter? What if my college professors in the journalism department had accepted crappy grammar and spelling? What if I had never met other writers who inspired me? What if . . . what if . . . ?

Nature or nurture? Thoughts?