Though proud of her son’s amazing feats, Fred’s mother (Jodie Foster) would prefer that he live a “normal” life unshaped by special classes for the gifted. Her desire to protect him from undue stress and adult concerns is laudable in theory—the problem is that his surprising awareness of the world’s problems causes him ulcers and nightmares. Unable to contribute to any tangible solutions because of his youth and low social position, his insights darken his mood as much as they enlighten his worldview. Mrs. Tate’s attempts to keep Fred tied to the carefree lifestyle and junk food diet on which she has thus far raised him only exacerbates matters. She prefers the flexibility that comes from embracing a consciously unplanned, haphazard life. Basically, she wants Fred to remain the child she herself remains inside.

Jane Grierson (Dianne Wiest) counters the efforts of her adversary by drafting Fred into a program for the nation’s most gifted youngsters, having convinced Fred’s mom that such an alternative course will feed his hunger for stimulation in a way home life cannot. Grierson errs too, however, in thinking that opportunities which nurture his mind will somehow also feed his profound desire for relational intimacy. She believes that turning loose his genius will free him in the way that matters most.

Neither authority figure quite realizes that the boy before them enjoys studying and playing equally, that his preferences fluctuate like anyone else’s, and that the best course of action might just involve asking him what he wants.

Now, I’m no advocate of forgoing restrictions and kicking discipline out o’ doors, nor of giving kids the freedom and funding to do whatever tickles their fantastic fancies. I do hold, however, that we often confuse our dreams with our children’s, and can easily, instinctively prescribe for them an educational, artistic, or vocational course for which they have no desire and even less facility.

What if we allowed our kids to alter their course every now and then—even when they had already proved their merit in a certain area? Isn’t their taking joy in what they do at least as important as achieving excellence? Let’s start practicing with our pre-teens the same kind of flexibility reality will demand from us once they’ve graduated high school.

Certain things obviously demand rigor and rules: learning to read well is a big one in our home right now, and teaching important concepts like respect and compassion will always require plenty of reiteration and active discussion. But what if instead of forcibly reshaping kids in every area of their lives to which we have access, we relied more on inspiration—if, instead of driving ideas into our kids like nails into wood, we tried to infect them with our passions for virtue and hard work? Getting our glee on and sharing our love of something—be it classic literature or contemporary comics, swimming or jogging, piano playing or singing—shows a child why something is worthwhile at the same time that it encourages its practice. The same goes for our love of God.

If we let go a bit and taught more through enthusiasm than regulation, perhaps it would become easier to trust our kids to make decisions informed more by abiding than ephemeral passions.

Their lives are not our own.