I found myself staring at him in wonder and bewilderment, when my seven year-old son announced last week, “I’m not wearing sweats to soccer practice. They make me look fat!” Hmmm. The boy is anything but fat! This insight into my son’s delicate psyche, however, induced a revelation on the nature and genesis of self-esteem. Self-esteem appears to be completely unrelated to one’s character, talents or abilities, often hinging upon, instead, outside opinions and inner criticisms. I’m uncertain as to why this continues to surprise, I do remember my own youthful insecurities, long since outgrown (ha!).
Crises of self-worth remembered from my childhood are one reason why I constantly reinforce to my children, both through action and through word, that they are loved, unconditionally. Artistic temperament has its detriments, and my eldest, requires constant praise and support to counteract his inner voices and the imagined slights of others. But a mother’s praise rings hollow indeed, when the world’s favor is the prize to a child. Don’t parents have to think everything their kids do is terrific, anyway? How do we teach our children to love and merit themselves? How do we teach them to be honest and kind in their assessments of self and of others?
Karen Cushman’s marvelous novel for young readers, "The Midwife’s Apprentice" takes long steps toward pointing children in the proper direction. Set in the Middle Ages, with dialogue written in the vernacular, Cushman’s story chronicles the coming of age of Brat, a young orphan girl living day-to-day, moment-to-moment seeking only to survive.
Winner of the 1996 Newbery Award, "The Midwife's Apprentice" was also an ABA Pick of the Lists, School Library Journal Best Books of the Year pick for 1995, and an American Library Association 1996 Notable Children's Book and 1996 Best Book for Young Adults.
After enduring a cold night slumbering fitfully in a dung heap, Brat is given work to do for the village midwife, in exchange for a spot on the cottage floor and a few meager bites of food. The midwife, Jane, takes a liking to Brat, whom she calls Beetle, and keeps her on as her helper/apprentice.
Jane is a harsh taskmistress as well as a practical midwife. She protects her practice, and thus her standing in the village hierarchy, by keeping Beetle much in the dark about midwifery, using her primarily to perform menial related tasks. As time passes, and Beetle is freed from the daily struggle simply to survive, her young mind burgeons with curiosity, freedom and a newborn sense of identity. Beetle’s first friendship, with the village cat, also a much-maligned stray, emboldens her to take other steps toward independence.
