On Shaming Our Kids

Yesterday, a meme came across my facebook feed.  I won't share it here, because I don't want so participate in the shaming it imparted. It was yet another instance of a parent punishing a child by making them hold up a sign on which was written (presumably in the child's own hand) the child's offenses and that the child was being forced to sell an ipod so the proceeds could be donated to a charity for the prevention of bullying.

The friend who posted the meme thought it was fitting punishment.  Usually, I just hide those postings in my feed; recently I've begun hiding the person who posted them from my feed.  This friend, tho, is special. She's my favorite cousin.  She's much younger, only a few months older than my firstborn. She doesn't have any children of her own, and she grew up in a home where shaming and punishment were the preferred parenting method.  I know some of her stories; I felt compelled to say something.  Something positive and helpful, and to speak out against the damage I know shame does, especially to children.

I commented that I don't believe punishment is the best way to parent. I'm pretty sure this was no surprise to my cousin; she knows I'm not the kind of mother we had (our moms are sisters). 

If a parent feels some sort of penalty is really needed -- and really I just can't justify it -- then please, not shaming.  It may feel very gratifying -- in the moment, and in light of our culture's current rush to punish and shame seemingly for every misstep -- to be able to tell people you made your child sell their important-to-them item and give the proceeds to the charity.  It may even help to alleviate your own embarrassment and shame about your child's choices and actions. But will it really stop a child from bullying? Probably not. It will stop them from getting caught. It will push their behavior underground, or maybe delay it until they become an adult and can bully others without being punished by their parents. Until someday they are parents, and the handiest tool in their parenting toolbox is to shame your dear, sweet grandchild.

As expected (really, if no one replies, I'd have to wonder if my words made a difference) I was asked what I would do if my child bullied others, given my opinions on punishing children.  I replied that shaming people -- even people who have bullied others -- is bullying. It's no better than hitting your child as punishment for hitting other children. I'd have to ask my child and myself why my child did what he did. Why is he so unhappy with himself that being mean to others was even a choice he'd make. I'd ask my child what he was thinking, why he said what he did, how he thinks the other person feels. We'd talk about ways to make this better, to genuinely apologize to the people he'd hurt, and how to move forward.  How to be the loving person I know he wants to be; the loving person we all really want to be.
 
But before children become teenagers so unhappy they hurt others as a way to feel more secure about themselves, or as a way of lashing out and spreading their own pain around, there are better ways than shame and punishment.  Instead, we can use kindness. We can be truly present, gently helping our children navigate the world of friends and peers in kind ways, paying attention to the smaller details of smaller people learning to find their way in a big world. 

As parents, we've made it a conscious way of life to be kind -- to our children, to each other, to people our children see us interact with; to be always present and helping our children find positive ways to meet their needs.  Shaming isn't kind.
I admit it wasn't easy finding better ways to respond to my children.  I  grew up in home where shame, punishment, demands for obedience, were the order of the day.  We were publicly shamed, hit, grounded, had our personal belonging taken away from, even destroyed before our eyes.  All in the name of making us better people.  While I hope I'm a better person, a better mother, wife, and friend, I know that's not the result of the treatment I received as a child.  I'm the person I am despite the shame, punishment, and mistreatment I survived.

When I became a Mom, I was 22, badly married, and very unhappy. I was overwhelmed and didn't have any good tools to raise a child.  I had been given a toolbox filled with hammers made of anger, embarassment, and control -- desperate tools not fit for any task as awesome as raising people.  I made some missteps, and wasn't always as kind as I aspired to be, as kind as I hope I've become in my more recent years as a Mom.

I found my way because what I knew what had been done to me wasn't right. Society, tho, is full of voices telling me those tools that felt wrong were essential; that it's necessary to respond strongly to our children, and to ignore their feelings (and often our own) telling us that we're being unkind. That means I'm called to be a voice calling for kindness, a voice exposing the damage shame and punishment do to our children, and to society as a whole.

In my experience (I've been at this Mom gig for 29 years now) children do what they see others do. A child who bullies and is mean to others has been on the receiving end of meanness and maybe abuse. At a minimum, he has parents who turn a blind eye to younger missteps with friends and playmates, a parent who for whatever reason doesn't give helpful and kind advice, or maybe who gives no help at all, when the child is young and still learning the most basic social behaviors.  Often, parents don't know how else to respond to their child; they have a parenting toolbox full of hammers and shame; they feel compelled to come up with a visible quick solution so they feel less embarrassed in front of the other parents.
 

Parents who shame or punish children have children who have been on the receiving end of shame and humiliation. The children have seen firsthand that shaming or embarrassing or excluding someone has an effect - it freezes them out, shuts them up, makes them go away, and stop seeking your attention. They've seen it's a very effective tool for exerting one's power and perceived superiority over people. Or they've been mocked, insulted, denigrated and learned that it's okay to do the same to other people. Shaming and humiliating people who bully others only perpetuates the meanness. It's the authority figures becoming bullies. 

We can do better. We have to do better -- our children are counting on us.
 

Finding Joy

A couple of days ago, this came across my facebook feed. 

"If you give your kids the impression you believe people who do X are heartless monsters or unthinking drones, they're not going to be as willing to be honest with you if they want to try something on your X list. You won't seem trustworthy or safe to them. That's true whether X is food or religion or technology or clothing or language or politics or any other "lifestyle" issue."

Those words come from Meredith Novak, an unschooling Mom I know online, and they really spoke to me. 
The idea behind it being that prejudice about anything 'other' -- people, hobbies, music, tv shows, video games, religion, whether or not one is vegetarian, their choice of dress -- is toxic to the kind of relationship I want with my children.  Prejudice gets in the way of joy and trust; it completely derails curiosity and growth. It leads to disdain and unkindness, to hurt feelings and to smaller worlds.

It's a topic that's been big for me lately, the whole idea of disdain and the unkindness it spreads.  I see it in so many interactions between parents and children. As those children grow, the disdain and prejudice show in their freindships, in how they turn down opportunities to try new things, in how their world stays very small.  It shows up as frustration, as fear to try new things, as sneering when someone else suggests a new interest they'd like to share.  It kills enthusiasm and robs children of any sense of safety and acceptance for who they are. 

That's not to say it's always been that clear for me. I carried my own prejudices into my parenting years. I truly believed that people who watched certain tv shows were small-minded and mean, and likely not very smart.  I couldn't reconcile how people I knew to be intelligent and thoughtful could enjoy shows like Family Guy; I didn't think it was acceptable for children to watch The Simpsons.  My oldest son wasn't allowed to watch the Simpsons.  I'm very glad he found his way to them on his own, and was able to make up in some measure for those years I wrestled with my prejudices. 

It was uncomfortable at first to consider that maybe all my prejudices were mistaken. But they were. When we embraced unschooling and relaxed the limits on things like tv (that really was the biggie for us, for some reason) we found that our boys loved to watch all the shows we found really offensive.  How could it be that these thoughtful, kind, generous, smart boys of ours really wanted to watch those shows? What did that say about them as people? What did it say about us as parents? Where had we failed them? (okay, that last is mostly tongue in cheek) I worried that they were becoming people I wouldn't be able to like. 

That was insanity. Really. They were the same sweet, kind, smart boys they'd always been.  And the shows were funny sometimes, the writing is clever and contemporary and really calls viewers to think about some pretty big issues.  They're also filled with historical and cultural references. I started out just being nearby, explaining why a particular joke was funny, talking about the relevance of the underlying attitudes about sex or politics or drug use or race relations. 

Pretty soon, I was looking around my life, and I realized I'd been missing opportunities to try new things, to grow as a person. I saw that I had sometimes been unkind or disdainful to people who believed things I didn't believe to be true.  I'd always thought of myself as pretty open-minded, so this was a revelation to me.

In the years since, I've watched people reject all sorts of passions embraced by their children or their partners. I've seen people refuse to enjoy a loved one's interest, refuse to serve meat to a husband or child. I've seen adults dismiss and laugh in ways that I found hurtful, even when I wasn't the target of their disdain. I've seen teenagers sneer at the very genuine passions of others, dismissing as uncool or beneath them some really cool new experiences.  I've watched as those prejudices made the world smaller for friends, partners, children, and for the people who limit themselves to only what is already on the approved list for what's good and right and desirable.

Where it comes around to joy is this -- when you make the world a small place, with a short list of what's acceptable, what's good and right and the way people and things are 'supposed to be,' you reject joy and passion and love and wonder.  Prejudice and disdain are poisons; they may present as the rules to live by, ways to keep our children and ourselves safe and on the right path. But really, all they do is make our world smaller. 
 
Joy can't thrive in a small box; wonder dies where it's not safe to be curious; children wither and grow warped where it's not safe to try new things, to become someone different on the outside (or on the inside).

When your child, or your partner, or you, want to try something you've been told is bad or will make you a bad person, or is stupid or silly or somehow beneath you, re-think that prejudice.  Choose joy. It often shows up in the most unexpected places.  And you'll never know where it is if you refuse to consider new opportunities.

On Valentine's Day

Valentines Day is here.  It's not a big holiday around here, at least not in a gifts and roses and dinner date kind of way.  No big elaborate celebrations for us, because that's just not who we are.  It does make me pause to think about what love means to me, and what it is about Gary that makes me love him as I do.  

Twenty-six years together. Wow, that's a long time! More than half my lifetime.  And what it is about him that I love so much?  It's the little things, the big things, the way he still loves me, even when I'm pretty sure I'm not all that easy to like sometimes. The way he takes care of me, and lets me take care of him.That he still smiles whenever he catches my eye, and every single time he smiles at me, I melt. 

It's in the easy way we spend time together; the old jokes and stories we both know and share. Days spent together at the track; nights in the garage talking as he worked on a car.  Country drives and quiet dinners together, talking about anything that comes up, remembering together our story, and adding new chapters as the years go by.

It's in those beautiful children we're raising together.  Oh my goodness, they are amazing and in so many ways they are just like Gary -- helpful, kind, generous, thoughtful, quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) going about being who they are. 

Will, who gets me in ways that no one else does, who had my heart before Gary came along.  He's like Gary in ways that can't be chalked up to genetics, but come from growing with us as we found our way.  

Andy, who pretty regularly unloads the dishwasher for me, and jumps right up to help with anything I ask for. Who is quick to offer to drive to pick up Dan so I can rest at home, who carries groceries in and trash out.  Strong as the bear we nickname him for, and oh so sweet and gentle.  His patience and tenderness while removing splinters from little girls' hands on park days has me in complete awe. Just like Gary, who handles all splinters at our house, because his patience in those moments is endless.

Dan, who last night when I broke a mug, came to help me pick up the pieces.  When I thought I had all the pieces, he reached past me to pick up a piece I'd missed, then he scooped and pinched up the tiny pieces I'd also missed. He did this very matter of fact and quietly, just like Gary would.  His hands so much like Gary's (Dan's just hit a phase where every little thing about him reflects Gary), helping out because Gary wasn't home and I needed help.
 
From the love we share, which is so much more than I ever expected to have in my life, which just flows outward to make our days lovely and our life sweet. This love makes our home a soft place to land for us all. 

Being married to Gary is so much more wonderful than I knew was possible. Growing up I'd not seen any happy marriages, at least not close up enough to imagine anyone could be this happy, that it could feel and look this easy.  When I met Gary's parents (who will celebrate 60 yrs in August, and who have been my parents for 18+ years now) I began to get a glimpse of what marriage could be like.  They give us something to aspire to, and along the way their support and love for us, their acceptance and genuine love for me (even tho I will never be what they expected) astound me.

Not only is Gary is smart, funny, and cute, he is absolutely the kindest, sweetest, most compassionate person I've ever known.  To which he says "you need to meet more people, Babe."  Did I mention he's modest, too?  

Really, life and love can be this good? It's not just about marrying the right person, it's about becoming the right people, together.  And it's still such a surprise to me, even 26 yrs later. 

Happy or good? How about both?

Lately, I've received compliments about my children, and what *good* boys they are.  It always makes me feel a little uncomfortable, being given praise for something that wasn't even my goal.  It's not that I don't like that our boys are good people, or that I don't appreciate that they are typically kind, generous, patient, friendly, and so on.  But never did I consider it my *job* as a Mom to turn them into good people. I just assumed that they'd be good people.  Always, my goal has been to help them become happy people, peaceful people and, someday, loving gentle men.  Really, my first goal is that they be happy -- that we all be happy.  Because I value happiness. I also happen to believe that happy people ARE good people.  It's happiness that gives us that *filled up full place* from which we can share goodness.

Part of why I feel awkward receiving such compliments is that I feel like I didn't really DO all that much to turn them into nice people.  At least not much in the traditional sense.  We don't punish our kids; we don't insist that they do something now; there are no set bedtimes or arbitrary rules just for kids. We've never required them to say thank you or please; there are no *magic* words here.

When Andy told me someone asked him how he *became so obedient*, my first thought was that I abhor the very idea of obedience for either children or adults. Obedient people worry me, because the word obedience implies not only that one does what one is told, but that she or he does it even when -- especially when -- it goes against his or her own instincts. If the only reason one has for being honest, friendly or helpful is fear of punishment for not being obedient, where is that person's innate sense of what's loving?  What inner sense, aside from fear of punishment, guides him?  Certainly someone whose only reason for being good is because his parents require obedience (to whom? God? the parents? the law of the land?) isn't a good resource in those moments when there's no rule book, when a situation or a relationship calls for creative solutions.  And for me life is all about relationships and creative solutions.

I grew up hearing that happiness and pleasure weren't acceptable goals. Doing what made one happy was *hedonism* (one of my Dad's favorite slurs to throw around then).  For the record, hedonism is defined as "the doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the highest good".  I always wanted to ask why a desire to be happy was bad, but it was clear that just asking that question would have exposed me as a bad person.  Why does our culture elevate obedience and goodness above happiness? Do people really believe that happiness and goodness are mutually exclusive?  Or do some people believe that obedience will bring us happiness? You know, once we make our peace with being obedient to rules that make no sense to us.

I remember hearing often that parents need to teach children to be good, the idea being that letting children have too much of what makes them happy spoils them, and they'll turn out to be selfish, bad people.  Or maybe more accurately, that if people aren't forced to be obedient, they'll never learn to be good.  I believe that we all start out good, and what our society so often desires from children (and from adults, too) is not obedience, but cooperation, consideration, compassion.  Because we've been conditioned to think that cooperation is unnatural, we believe that obedience is the path to cooperation. Experience tells me that happy people are naturally cooperative; children whose needs are met have the emotional space to cooperate, to think of the feelings of other people, to share.  Children whose needs are met become adults who know how to get their needs met, which is more likely to make for happy adults whose cups are full enough to be considerate, compassionate and cooperative themselves.

When I became an adult, and later a Mom, being happy topped my list of goals.  I wanted to be a happy person, to have happy children who would become happy (and maybe undamaged?) adults.  Often, when  people learn that we let our children do what they want, eat what they want (or not eat what they don't want), sleep when and where they want, that I carried them when they were tired (long after they could walk), that I bring them food when they're hungry (rather than making them wait until mealtime or insisting they come to the table), there are admonitions --  that they'll be spoiled, and think only of themselves; that they won't learn how to do for themselves or others.

Happy people are kind, patient, gentle, generous and cooperative.  I think happy people are all those things because being happy is easy, it's not exhausting, doesn't demand extra time or energy.  Being told you must do all the things on some list IS exhausting. When someone makes a list that implies you'd not figure this out on your own.  Exhausted people, with unmet needs, don't have the energy to reach out to others, to be kind or to care what anyone else is doing, how they feel or what they need.  Tired, stressed people are too busy trying to be sure they're "good enough" to have anything to share with anyone else.

Often, in children, happiness and cooperation look like obedience or a sign of a good upbringing.  Really, it's just the result of being happy people who live consensually, who are heard and honored and whose needs are consistently met. If that happiness results in them being good children, that's bonus in my book.

Games for learning or fun?

The subject of games and gaming has been in my thoughts and conversations often over the past few months. Which games benefit kids; which ones can 'make learning fun'?

When people first find unschooling, a common theme presented is that we learn through games or that unschooling is about finding ways to *make learning fun* .  I get that saying we have fun learning is to counter the idea that we spend our days forcing our kids to learn a curriculum around the kitchen table. I understand the appeal of games as learning tools to make the point that learning need not be drudgery, that even when it looks like all we do is play all day, learning really is happening.  Sometimes, it's tempting to make that argument to convince others -- extended family, in-laws, friends who kids attend school, neighbors, etc -- that we really are responsible parents.

Today I was part of a conversation about learning games; someone asked about 'fun games to help learn grammar'.  At first I groaned, because I'm a lover of words and a lifelong grammar geek.  Around our house, words are fun, whether we're making puns (Gary is the master of bad puns!) playing with double entendres, singing songs, or telling stories or bawdy jokes.  The very idea that one would need a game to make grammar fun is laughable!

I understand how people get confused about the topic, though.  Anyone who went to school got the idea that some particular subject was both essential and no fun to learn.  For me it was math.  Really, though, that makes learning much more complicated than it needs to be, and we risk sucking the fun out of playing games.  Games are designed to be fun. When learning happens to happen along the way to enjoying or becoming good at a game, that's a bonus.  I say when not if, because you will learn something, even if it's not about the actual game -- we're big story tellers while games are played and many own childhood memories, as well as my kids' current stories, are shared over games.

Learning as the purpose of a game? I think that's just plain dishonest.The idea of *games that teach (insert subject here)* has always bothered me. When we do that we're separating out certain parts of life into subject matter, and assuming that one or another is hard to learn, so it's necessary to *make it fun*.  We're saying that this particular subject is not only hard to learn, but it's no fun at all, so we need to invent a *game* to sneak some learning into our kids.  We're saying that we don't trust our child will embrace learning something new.  Usually, that's a sign that what we think our child needs to learn isn't truly necessary to his life.  After all, if you're enjoying the way you spend your days, and you hit a point where you need more knowledge to continue your enjoyment, why wouldn't you want to learn that?

Several years ago, when Andy was 8 and Dan 4, I bought a couple of Mad Libs books, before a road trip thinking it would make a fun ice-breaker for the cousins (my sister's kids were 12 & 7 then).

We were at my sister's when I asked if anyone wanted to play Mad Libs with me, because I LOVE Mad Libs. Andy asked, "what's Mad Libs?" Before I could answer, my sister said "it's a game that helps you learn parts of speech." Gee, thanks. I could feel the fun being sucked out of the room. And with it my kid's trust. It was no surprise to me when no one wanted to play Mad Libs.

It was several years before I found anyone who would play Mad Libs with me. Andy had no interest in playing a *game* created to teach him something. We are people who love words, and we're grammar geeks, so words are fun in every other part of our life, but he wasn't going to play that game.

About a year ago, Dan discovered the Mad Libs books, and his best friend's Mom also had some around, so the kids played those. Now we play Mad Libs every so often, and even Andy joins and has fun.  It makes me sad to think we missed 3 yrs of Mad Libs fun. Sadder, though, is that for some time after that day, Andy was suspicious of any new game I tried to introduce, worried that each one was just a pretext for some kind of learning I thought he needed.

Life is fun! It's also messy, complicated, easy, challenging, confusing, and brilliant, in so many ways. Along the way, while living a full life, we learn whatever we need to know to navigate the life we make. If grammar or math or chemistry or history is necessary, and a person finds it's not just absorbed without effort, then be honest about making the effort to learn what you need to know to have the life you want.

If something comes naturally, then just let it flow and along the way other necessary learning will follow, just like a big sticky ball of knowledge -- often wrapped up with exciting trivia from our full day-to-day lives. It's dishonest to construct or choose a game specifically to teach a child a particular skill that you or someone else think a child needs to know.  Be honest, be real, play games for the fun of it.

What About.....

College? Math? Science? Algebra? their future?

The longer we're at this unschooling life, and the older our boys are, the more I hear these questions. The questions come from extended family, or folks new to unschooling, and sometimes from those who choose to use a curriculum (or several) to homeschool their child because they wanted him or her to get more education, to be better prepared for "the real world"; essentially so their child can be ahead of the game.

Honestly, I've never understood the desire for a child to be 'ahead of the game', or the appeal of a child scoring above grade level in a test, for example, or having the best grades in his class.  Is there some kind of race no one told me about? Is there proof that the faster a person learns something, the better he'll be at it; that somehow knowing everything a year, or two, or several, before his peers will guarantee success in life? 

I've always thought it more likely that information crammed in at a faster rate is more likely to be forgotten at a faster rate.  That's absolutely how my brain works. Well, unless I'm learning something I consider valuable, something I can use today and tomorrow and the next day. When I'm learning something that matters to me and improves the quality of my actual life today -- not just the potential quality of my life in some far-off future day -- I can pick it up like wildfire and remember all I need to know. 

Learning something that might someday help me to be more successful -- to take on more work -- in a topic that really doesn't interest me? I can cram enough info into my head to answer enough questions to pass a test and get the piece of paper showing I learned the material. After all, I did manage to graduate high school, and I can assure you that what I learned in Algebra and Applied Chemistry was learned in just that fashion.  Do I remember enough of those subjects to pass a test today? No way!  I would look like a complete idiot on a high school Chem exam today.  That's because in my day-to-day life, the curriculum of that Chemistry class is useless.

People ask me "how do your children learn math?" (or science, or whatever subject it is they've been told is both essential and hard to learn -- usually something they themselves didn't take to quickly or well. Hence the fear.)  My first instinct is to ask them how much of that subject they use in daily life. If their grasp of that subject is good, then they don't need to worry their child won't learn it.  If their grasp of the subject isn't as good as they've been told it should be, it's likely because they don't need that subject in the depth schools attempt to teach. They've forgotten (or never really learned it) because it has no value in their life today.

Higher math isn't a big deal for many people in their everyday lives. And really, it's not even something we as parents worry about. Our boys can do all the math they need for day to day life. If and when they need to know more math, we're sure they will learn what they need. We will be there to help them find the right classes, the right books, to help with homework if they want our help. Most importantly, we give them our confidence and trust that they can learn whatever it is they need to know.  Our reason for that confidence is that, so far, we've all managed to learn whatever we need to know to have the life we want; so far they've learned all they need to know (and along the way, their learning has taught us a lot, too!)

People spend our whole life learning new things; at least we should expect to learn new things for most of our lives. So why all the rush to have children learn everything they'll ever need in the space of 18 or 24 years? Does a child walk any better because he learned at 9 months instead of 17 months? Does someone read better as an adult if he learned to read at 4 than if he learned to read at 8 or 12?  Does a person become good at math only if he started learning math at all the 'right' points in childhood? Does someone become a good writer of great novels only if he learned to write well in high school, or college?

For me, the real core of unschooling is trusting, coming to know in your bones, that you, your child --- that people everywhere -- don't need to know everything, and we certainly don't need to learn those things on the same schedule.  What we do need is the confidence that we can learn whatever we need, to handle whatever life throws our way.  Our children need the confidence that they can learn anything they need to learn, when that learning will support the life they want.

So often, people have this idea that somehow all these subjects taught in school, often the same subjects we struggled with ourselves, must be *important* and our children must learn them now, or at least on the same schedule as all the other children.  Many people have the idea that homeschooling should make children better educated, that they should be better prepared for college, academically advanced. I think, too, that we risk making our child's educational success very important in validating the choices we make, and whether or not we're good parents.

It's not that it's less important to me that our kids be successful, just that I define success differently. I also have different ideas about what kind of education is important for a person to have. I define success as happy and capable, strong and confident.  I think lifelong learning is more important than completing an education. 

I'm not raising my children to win the race for learning in 25 years so they can spend the next 50 years resting on their laurels. I am instead supporting, enjoying and instilling confidence in them that they can learn whatever, succeed at whatever they love, do whatever makes them happy and whole, no matter what life throws their way.

What makes him Dad?

I had only one item on my list of what kind of Dad I wanted for my children. I wanted my children to know they are loved.  That's it. Just to know their Dad loves them.

I wanted to hear my children's Dad say "I love you" to them, sincerely and often. For them to hear him say it to me. To hear it myself. Really, I thought just hearing him say that would be enough.  That somehow it would fill all the holes in my own inner little girl, while preventing holes in my children. A Dad who could say that, and mean it, with no embarrassment, and no agenda; I was sure that was answer enough.

Then, that was all I knew to ask for.  It was the one absence that I felt most defined my own childhood.

Gary, though, does so much more than just make the boys feel loved.  No wait, that's not exactly true.  He does so much more of the things that show how much he loves them.  

I've come to know that loving your child isn't just saying the words, as important and healing as it has been for me to hear those words fill our home.

Being the Dad I want for my children is the countless thousands of little things, the every day moments that fill our home with Dad-love.  It's 17+ years of greetings and partings, of enthusiasm at what the boys love and are doing, at who they are. 

It's the simple hellos, the fixing what's broken, the showing how to do what needs to be done, the watching them as they show off what they've learned to do. 

It's reading Garfield comics together at bed time, or any other time.  It's watching bad tv together. It's Dan helping as Gary works on the car, It's hearing Andy say Ohio-gozai-mas (good morning in Japanese) in the very same way Gary says it when he calls his own Dad and it's morning where his Dad is. 

It's seeing Gary here as Will's Dad, after years of wondering if I'd be able to give Will a Dad. 

I feel it when the boys do something for me, take care of me in some way, and do it just as they've seen Gary do for me. It's seeing the boys become younger versions of Gary in ways small and large, because he is who they want to be.  

It's the moments when one of the boys asks me to tell our story, when I share a moment  from our time together before they came along, or when they were younger and didn't have context for the stories that define who we are. 

It's the love that now fills my story, my children's stories.  It's patience, and tender loving care when one of the boys is sick (I'm not good at puking kids, and I'm useless from midnight to daylight, unless the problem can be solved with breastfeeding, which we're now long past).  

We see and feel it when Gary stops whatever he's currently doing to watch Andy's new yo yo trick, or admire a new lego model, or hear Dan's latest story of what happened while he was playing with his friends.

It's those moments when a problem arises, when I'm not home, but Gary is, and he handles it.  And I feel comfortable knowing he's going to be able to handle it.  

It's not being alone in this journey as a parent. I don't mean just physically not alone, I mean really trusting that Gary's got this one.

It's also those moments when Gary finds himself stretched to his limits, when he doesn't know what to do in a given situation, and we figure out together what do to next. In the moments when we hope we've done it right, when we trust each other, and we trust the other's love for our child

And, yes, it's also in hearing him say "I love you" to my children, when really saying it is just confirmation of what I see my boys already know deep in their bones.