I believe that book reports are a true test of parental ambition. Sure it’s supposed to be the student’s book report, but then we’ve also overheard teachers dissing those slacker parents who aren’t actively involved in their kid’s school work. “You can always tell,” they’ll sigh, with a hint of disdain for the clumsy project before them.

And what parent can’t resist helping? A dab of glue there, a few facts thrown in here… nothing over-the-top, like the suspiciously polished display created by the kid with a scrapbook-obsessed professional marketing mom.

Yet I found myself nagging DJ about his book report.  A lot. Not just to start it, but to do it right. To dig deeper into the book’s meaning. And finally, to finish the damn thing. In the end, it felt as much like it was my book report as it was his, at least in terms of emotional investment.

I wondered if I should step back. Let him fail if necessary. After all, he’s in 5th grade and it was just a book report, not a freakin’ entrance exam. But then what would that say about me, as a parent?

Have you ever sat back and allowed your kid to fail? In hindsight, was it the right thing to do?