Cycle

As a kid I've had many mentors, owing to the fact that I've started like some gifted child who can handle fractional division while fighting with my yaya for control over the TV channels. In gradeschool I remember being coached by the best teachers in town during quiz bees and spelling bees. In high school I was a Math Olympian, with an equally talented math mentor always pushing harder. In college I presided over the Honor Society, with the school's best and brightest alumni behind me. Even in grad school, when I took four Math courses under the same professor simply because I enjoyed his math (he returned the favor by offering me a job at his firm). Always there is someone behind me, someone I knew to be better and more experienced than I am at that point.

I remember glimpses of greatness and honor and pride. I remember other coaches whispering my name with a tone of defeat, as if my being in the same contest as their wards is as good as losing. I remember perfect scores, and how I was the only one able to do it ever. There was even a time a new teacher tried and retried several exams to the detriment of the class average, only to find out that the only way to get me to not make a perfect score is to cheat the class into taking an exam on a topic that was never in the syllabus.

I also remember times when I dropped the ball intentionally, mostly to spite my parents or a new coach whose style I really never liked (anyone who would criticize my watching more TV than studying will surely get this treatment). I've learned that the threat of losing face is strong motivation to make them (read: allow me more TV time).

In general, however, I enjoyed my childhood because I got away from doing things I hated at that time, like doing practical shop or tending a school garden. Being labeled tamad by my mother as I avoided chores by pretending to be solving a math problem on a weekend was common compliment. Of course she knew then, that the time I spent studying for anything is just a fraction of the time I waste watching TV or reading comic books, but she let me be anyway.

It comes to me now, that while I was heavily mentored in academics, I was left alone to learn about the basics of life and living, of relationships and loving. I learned mostly by doing, and by the advice of well-meaning friends whose counsel I seek in these matters. Now past 30, I realize that the student in me has become a mentor, too. And therein lies my issue - how am I supposed to be a mentor in matters of life when I have only my own experiences to guide me? Aren't I supposed to have a mentor in this, too?

The good thing, though, is that in the process I learn more about myself, and that the dilemma is always about how far to go without spoiling the experience, and how tight a leash without stiffling it.