The Imposter Syndrome

For a paper I was writing last year I came across the work of P.R. Clance and M.A. O'Toole (1988) about the "Imposter Syndrome."  They were addressing professors who, often because they are stretched too thin, feel as if they are feigning expertise in something they know very little about.  Having experienced this myself (34 different graduate classes in 8 years), I know too well the effects of the imposter syndrome in my "day job."  As a great deal of research indicates, faculty who experience the imposter syndrome as less effective as teachers.  They have to reconcile doubts about the subject matter, they often do not challenge students enough. and they do not provide the best sorts of feedback to ensure optimal individual and collective growth in classes.  

But what if we are imposters in our work with our own children?  How do we navigate - ideally, logistically, and relationally, those things that we do not "know" if we want our children to know them (feel free to use this as a spring board for all kinds of epistemological debates on the nature of knowing)?  For example, both Rick and I really want the girls to learn foreign language.  We are starting with French and hope to add Spanish as soon as we come across several hundred extra dollars to get the Spanish Rosetta Stone.  Now, short of vague recollections of Spanish instruction from junior high ("Senorita Adair, Chicle en la boca?   En la basura!"), a few profane words I recall from some of my middle schoolers in Gainesville years back, and what Dora teaches, I don't know Spanish.  Neither does Rick.  Neither of us know French either.  So, are we wrong to attempt to "teach" a foreign language we do not know ourselves?

At least at this point we're thinking, "O.K., they are four and five.  This is mostly a matter of exposure."  With that, we found "Hooked on French" (don't laugh - it was on sale at Borders) and we started with Audrey.  By virtue of it being computerized instruction, she loves it.  Both Rick and I take turns sitting with her and learning the modules as well.  So far I've learned to count to ten in French.  Rick has moved on to the next module or two, so I'll have to go in and catch up in between.  

At this point we're desperately trying to be playful with it all.  Learning should be fun, and this is something that we don't have to know - we want to learn it.  Every once and a while (like while on the train going downtown) we challenge Audrey to count the stations left in French.  We just try to be sensitive to any signs of frustration or general annoyance.  

What was exciting, however, was a scene that unfolded earlier this week.  I took Audrey to a coffee shop and we were playing math games with two large die and some Unifix cubes - counting by twos and adding up the dots on the die. All of a sudden, she took it upon herself to start counting in French instead of English and beamed because she could do it.  Of course, we had a bit of a problem when both die turned up with sixes - and we realized we didn't know how to say 12 in French.  I don't know what was more of an "aha" - how much fun it was for Audrey to "apply" what she was learning in a new context of her own choosing or the simultaneous realization that we both shared in something we didn't know.  And I'm not quite sure which of those two factors motivated the smile on her face the most.  

So, do we do wrong if we are imposters with our children?  I think the same factors play out at home that play out in the university classroom.  Not knowing something becomes the biggest problem when you act as if you know it.  You're only an imposter if you fake it.  In contrast, being transparent about one's limitations introduces a level of humility in the teaching relationship.  Granted, a little humility goes a long way and trying to "teach" something you don't know can have serious consequences overall.  But at least at this point I'm thinking that going on that journey together - at least as far as foreign language for fun goes - is going to be o.k.