My mom had an uncanny sense of how best to encourage me—especially when I was stuck with something. 
 
And what I was mostly stuck with when I was young was school. I didn't do well in school, and I felt embarrassed and ashamed about it.   
 
I also felt anxiety about "not doing what I was supposed to do." 
 
At the fancy school I went to, the pressure was just too much. The other kids all did what they were supposed to, and kept up with the lessons in class. Whereas, I spent almost every day in the Principal’s office because I hadn't done my homework and daydreamed constantly in class. 
 
The teachers tried to be supportive, but they couldn't figure out why I was struggling. "Ernest is a bright boy, but he doesn't apply himself," is what pretty much every report card said. 
 
Mom would read the report cards and sigh.   
 
She didn't criticize me or make me feel bad. She knew it was worse than me just "not applying myself." 
 
My dad, however, was disappointed, stern, and reprimanding. Every report card resulted in an anxiety-producing lecture. He didn't offer to help me. He just told me I should do what was expected. 
 
When I was about nine years old mom decided to put me in a new school. My dad flipped out and took it personally.   
 
He wanted me to succeed at the fancy school, and now I had failed. And this reflected poorly on him. 
 
Of course, he was furious at my mom. But he couldn't vent to her so he vented to me. 
 
I transferred to school where the standards were more relaxed (to put it mildly). I made friends there and the teachers were nice. And I was able to keep up for the most part. 
 
But I still spent most of my class time staring out the window, daydreaming. And my report cards reflected this. 
 
Mom wasn't so much disappointed as concerned. I sensed she was constantly working on the right way to help me. One day, she asked me what I liked most about school. I told her I liked going to the library and reading books. 
 
She no doubt knew that already. Because she'd seen the books I brought home to read. And she knew that I was introverted. 
 
So one Saturday she told me, "let's go walk over to that bookstore down the street by Tulane." And we did. It was a couple of blocks away in a tiny house. 
 
We entered and she let me go off on my own while she pretended to browse. Then after she saw me hovering over one stack of books, she came over and stood behind me. 
 
She told me to pick out a few books if I wanted. The ones I really wanted were the Charlie Brown comic books, but I was afraid to say that. 
 
My dad had seen me with a comic book once and got really mad. He said that comic books were for babies.   
 
Mom could sense I wanted the Charlie Brown books, so she picked one up and started looking at it. Then she pointed to one of the cartoons that she found interesting. 
 
She asked me if I wanted to buy this book. I nodded sheepishly.   
 
She suggested that I get a few more so I'd have them ready to read after I finished this one. So I gathered up some more and felt a surge of joy as I did. 
 
When we got to the counter to pay she told the owner that she wanted to open up a charge account. The owner said of course and gave her a form to fill out. 
 
Then she told the owner that I had her permission to come in and buy any book I wanted and put it on the charge account. The woman nodded disapprovingly. 
 
I felt like she thought I was being indulged or spoiled. I knew that none of my friends' parents would let them charge anything, even at a bookstore. She probably knew that too. 
 
And those other kids were the ones getting good grades and doing "what they were supposed to" in school. If their parents were going to let them buy books on a charge account I doubt they would have let them buy Peanuts comic books. 
 
But mom didn't care what other parents believed or did. She relied on her intuition. And her intuition was almost always right. 
 
It turned out that I wasn't interested in reading only comic books. That was just one thing I cared about.

What I really cared about was exploring interesting ideas. And I felt like there were lots of interesting ideas to explore (hence, the incessant daydreaming). 
 
Every chance I got, I'd go to that little bookstore and let my curiosity swell.  
 
I discovered books that were way above my age range. But I'd buy them anyway and read them, and most of the time it was pure magic. I couldn't believe how lucky I was.  
 
I got to explore the magic world of books and no one asked me to write a report or explain what I had learned. My dad had no idea that I was doing this, and I knew he'd disapprove if I did.  
 
So it was a secret that only my mom and I knew about.  
 
And while it didn't lead to me getting good grades in school (at least not right away)... 

It helped me discover that the best way to learn things is to just follow your curiosity.