It's a new year!

Some years ago, I started a practice of choosing a theme for each year -- one word I could start with and return to throughout the year. Some past themes included Kindness and Joy, for example. I find that a theme works better than a list of resolutions, which typically end up being a bunch of rules I use to beat myself up when I fall short. It's an extension of having principles vs rules in our home.

This past year's theme was self-care, and I really did will with it -- I resolved some health questions, made a point of being kind to myself more often, set some boundaries in relationships with loved ones, found a therapist, and made some changes in my life. It was a good year. I'm keeping up with the self-care, as I do with all past themes, the idea being to make lifelong improvements.

I start my new years on my birthday. After all, these are my years. Why use someone else's calendar? That means I've been at this year's theme for almost 6 weeks now. I don't choose the theme as much as it chooses me. I write down words and ideas, starting in September, to narrow down a choice by Oct 26. Most years, when the first word comes to me, I dismiss it, thinking it somehow wrong, before I end up settling on it as a theme. It's an intuitive - or maybe counterintuitive - process. 

This year's theme is release. I chose it quickly, thinking it would be wonderful to let go of all the things that have held me back. I could let go of anger, pain, and sadness, throw out relationship tools I no longer need. Maybe get rid of the couple of hammers still hanging out in my personal toolbox. It'd be wonderful! Right? And yes, I'm letting go of some of those things, sifting thru the years, forgiving slights, striving to see people and events in a new light.

Last week, tho, a new thought popped into my head. While releasing means letting go of things we've outgrown or no longer need or want, tools that don't serve us well, people who aren't safe, it also means freeing things held inside too long. It means expressing the words and feelings I've kept inside in a lifetime of peacekeeping and caretaking. It means trying the things I was afraid for others to see. It means speaking my truth in ways I haven't before. It likely means being more outspoken than I've ever been and less diplomatic. Maybe taking more risks that people won't understand or accept me. Not that keeping my truth inside has helped many people understand me.

It my also mean people who liked me before -- or the person I've presented the past 53 years -- might find they don't like me so much after all. You know what?  I'm okay with that. If people fall away, I won't take it personally.

Just a heads up -- if you've found me only a little annoying, you may find I'm more so. And if you've wondered how I really feel about things, if you want to see me try some new things, and you'd like to see me maybe offend some folks I've not gotten around to yet, this could be fun! 

How tv saved me (TW: violence)

Recently, my therapist asked me in my childhood, what people or influences gave me hope, a sense of what was good in the world. My first thought was one favorite aunt and a favorite uncle. As we talked, I realized that while the aunt and uncle each gave me an unconditional love no one else offered, that tv -- of all things -- played a huge role in giving me hope as a girl.

There was no educational tv as we know it today. As kids, we watched some cartoons on Saturday morning, but mostly regular sit-coms and dramas -- The Andy Griffith Show, The Brady Bunch, Star Trek, and later Facts of Life or Different Strokes. Our parents didn't watch with us; it was clear they didn't feel a need to share that with us. Watching tv was our escape, our shared landscape of the world in a chaotic, often mean, house. What I recall most from those shows, and why I remembered it during therapy is this -- the people on tv shows were nice to their kids. No one hit their kids with a belt, grabbed them by the hair, or backhanded them across the mouth. No Brady kid was ever sent out to cut her own switch. Seeing stories where parents were kind to children, where they not only said "I love you" (I had one parent who did that) but treated the children like they were loved, showed me that somewhere people were nice, that life didn't have to be mean. I could see my parents were wrong; it wasn't necessary to hurt us to civilize us.

That knowlege, tho, was double-edged. It was good to know kindness existed, but also sad and confusing that we didn't enjoy that sort of kindness; that no matter how good I tried to be, how much I helped, how many chores I took on, how hard I tried to help my sister be good, too, we didn't live in a kind place. At least not reliably kind or soft. The result of those contrasts gave me determination. I was going to grow up someday and leave home, make my own family. Things would be different. I'd show them people could be kind. I knew that because I saw it on tv, where parents and kids laughed about small mistakes, no one belittled the kid's feelings, or dismissed them. Feelings were taken seriously; kids were comforted and helped.

I did grow up. I became a Mom. I didn't always get the whole tv watching thing right. I let people convince me that The Simpsons was bad and didn't let my son watch the show. And because he's my kid, he found ways around me. Several years later, I came to my senses and let everyone watch The Simpsons. I bought that child a viewer's guide to The Simpsons as a peace offering, an apology of sorts. Today, Will can identify every Simpsons episode by the opening sequence.

In the years since, our family has enjoyed so many tv shows. More shows than I can list, because I'm sure I'd miss someone's favorite. Some of them I was slow to embrace. Some I still can't watch, but the boys do. There are some shows I watch with Andy, some I watch with Dan. We love finding a new show we can share, and I love what I learn about the boys while watching tv with them. Another treat is seeing which shows the boys share with Gary, who enjoys watching some shows that just aren't for me.

I wasn't overstating to say that tv saved me. In fact, I probably wasn't giving tv the credit it was due all those years ago. Which is why I cringe every time I hear or see someone assert that tv is dangerous to kids and should be tightly controlled. I believe tv should be embraced, shared, discussed, laughed at, and remembered fondly for all the moments we spent together.

Better than Peace

For years, practically my whole life, I've wrestled with the idea of peace. It sounds like a perfectly good word and ideal. Doesn't it? And yet, for me, peace and peacefulness have always been disappointing concepts. I've found a better, more useful concept than peace, a joyful goal even. I'll get to that later. 

Peace, tho, is the starting point of today's musings. Peace was my goal for years. It's held up by people as a noble goal. World Peace we're told is lofty - and then we're told why it's unachievable. Peacefulness in relationships, families, between parents and neighbors and relatives is laudable, especially when peace is reached between two entities who were previously being unkind, or even hurtful, toward each other.

But is peace always a laudable goal? That has not been my experience. My entire childhood, all I ever wanted was peace, but peace came at a terrible price. Having peace meant I had no boundaries, that I promised people things that could only be accomplished by giving every moment I had, leaving me nothing for myself. Peace meant sacrificing privacy, silencing my own voice, ignoring my own needs. Once people learned I'd give anything -- really, anything -- for peace, I was taken advantage of, lied to, and given false hope of peace. I chased peace, I begged for peace, I plotted for peace. How could I make peace happen? How much more of myself could I give to others in pursuit of peace? I mean, if peace was the magic answer, someday I'd reach that goal and get some calm and space. Right? I just needed to keep trying, keep trading away bits of myself, keep working harder.

I began to suspect I'd been sold a bill of goods no one could deliver. Peace is a lie. Peace is expensive beyond its worth. Peace costs joy, justice, and personal comfort. Sometimes peace even seems to demand one's soul and well-being. Peace is a thief. Peace is a tool used by those who would control others with threats and terror and lies. Peace is an empty promise, used to convince others to do your bidding. All of those statements were my truth, my experience of what peace meant and what peace cost.

I began to see that peace, as a goal, requires an amount of privilege and power that always eluded me. Proposing peace, if only I could give up one thing, and one more thing, accommodate one more discomfort, defer one more need, was my undoing. Peace doesn't guarantee justice or fairness, or even that everyone's needs will be met. Peace simply promises a cessation of violence, a hope that maybe others will stop violating one's boundaries, health, and very soul. 

So, you see peace as a goal, especially when sold to me by people who didn't struggle as I did (as I do) often angered me, saddened me, and almost always reaching what looked like peace to others didn't bring me any inner peace. Peace always brought with it sadness and pain and a deep sense of lonely otherness that broke my heart.

Today, tho, I saw a post on facebook that so completely spoke to me. It was an epiphany for me -- peace isn't the lofty goal I'd always been led to believe! Peace is simply a cessation of violence; an absence of evil. Peace really isn't want I want for my life -- the price is too high. Peace doesn't necessarily give us joy or even meet our needs. The best peace can be is safer than conflict. Really, peace is a pretty low bar for my life. 

Anyway, on to the better, higher goal than peace, to my new goal and the word I'll be using in place of peace from now on -- harmony. Isn't that a lovely word? It feels good in my mouth, brings a smile to my face, and so much comfort to my heart.

Sure, harmony comes at a cost, too. Harmony requires that some compromises be made -- in timing and priority and patience. Harmony, tho, also means everyone's voice is heard, everyone's needs are considered and prioritized as a goal to be met. Harmony calls for everyone to work, play, laugh, cry, wait, and show up together. Harmony, when reached -- and that's a process, not a unilateral "shut up and be peaceful now" -- is so much better, stronger, and more joyous than peace. 

Is Unschooling Hands Off?

I've seen posts in which people share a common misunderstanding about the nature of radical unschooling. One Mom new to unschooling wrote, " My one Unschooling disclaimer is that for us, we do not embrace “Radical Unschooling”. It’s usually a secular belief that children are not to be told what to do ever… And other thoughts that I just don’t subscribe to."

Yes, radical unschooling is often a secular belief, tho some people who choose radical unschooling are also Christian, but I suppose that if one is adamant about not allowing any secular ideals into their family home, that radical unschooling likely won't be a good fit. However, the idea that children are not to be told what to do ever, isn't part of our radical unschooling home. We have boundaries, respect for each other, principles of safety and kindness and we give loads of guidance in how to navigate relationships, both at home and in our community outside our home.

I have known a few families who seem to practice the hands-off method cited by the people who seem to think unschooling is inconsistent with giving children valuable direction in how to get along in the world. I've met and heard stories about parents who profess they never tell a child what to do -- that radical unschooling means "learning from the world" or some such. While they might call themselves radical unschoolers, they are mistaken if they tell others that radical unschooling means parents never say no to a child, or don't help a child who has been unkind or disrespectful to other people to find better, more considerate ways to interact with others.

I understand how those misunderstandings happen, and the only way for those of us who want to help our children navigate the world in kind, thoughtful ways -- and who consider such guidance essential to unschooilng as a whole-life practice -- is for us to clarify this for folks who are new to or exploring unschooling. I'm confident that families who work to be present and helpful to their children are the majority in the radical unschooling community. Families who never tell a child what to do are the minority, tho sometimes they seem to be the most vocal and visible minority.

My boys have been through seasons where, on the surface, it looked like they only did or ate one thing -- only white foods (yes, really), only high-sugar junk foods, only played Grand Theft Auto. When they'd spend a whole week target-firing one pellet gun or another, or talked of nothing but knives, or motorcycles, or World of Warcraft. I had people tell me I needed to limit the games, control the food, refuse to by them pellet guns or knives; that indulging kids' whims in this way would make them violent, thoughtless, or unkind. I simply don't have it in me to tell someone I love that their feelings, passions, and aversions don't matter to me; that their needs don't matter because as the adult I know what's best for them. So I stood my ground. I watched my kids, I offered my own experiences, perspective, and insights. I shared resources and stories from other people. We talked about articles, tv shows, books, things I'd heard in school, things other people believe. We talked about how my kids felt, what other people thought and said about their choices, what folks worried about, what my kids and I did or did not worry about. Mostly we talk. A lot. Really a lot. People warn that eating a certain food or watching a specific tv show will affect a child's mood, and that their only choice was to limit those things. Our moods are affected by so many things -- how much sleep we got, if something hurts a bit today, the distractions of sounds, smells, scratchy clothes, how the floor feels under our feet today, and so much more. I got into any situation with my kids remembering that what I think is going on may be completely untrue. The only way I can really know is to be open to any combination of factors. If I go in convinced it's about what my kid ate, or because I let him watch a tv show or play a particular video game, I may completely miss what my kid really needs. As kids get older and can tell us what they're feeling it gets somewhat easier.
I'm 51, and I don't always know why I'm in a particular mood. I can hear Gary say something, nod my head, feel sympathy for him, know what I want to say, how I want to feel. Then when I open my mouth, what I say may be very different from what I was thinking. If that's true at my age, I can be sure my kids sometimes don't know why they feel or say as they do. In those moments, instead of thinking I know why he said or did that, and attributing it to the food he ate, or the video game he was playing, I listen and empathize. I offers options, usually including some that fit what I guess might be going on for my kid. In my better moments, I offer even the options I think are unlikely.

Imposing limits and controls based on fear, or on what others tell us to worry about seldom meets needs or brings any peace. And there's so much joy and wonder we'd have missed along the way.

Giving Your Kids Everything They Want

Recently in an online conversation that began with how shocking it is that some of us more experienced unschoolers (I've been at this for about 13 yrs - my boys are 29, 18, and 13) recommend not limiting tv, or food, don't require chores, etc, I read this: 

"However I know people who were given everything they wanted as children, never told no and oh my they turned out to be the most self absorbed entitled people I have ever meet. I don't want that for my children." [sic]

My entire life, I have heard the assertion that if you give kids what they want, simply because they want it, they'll become selfish. It was my mother's reason for being as restrictive as she was (and in some ways, she was pretty liberal) -- that people who always get their way are selfish. Mind you, she always got her way where we kids were concerned. Who was selfish? That was always the question I wisely kept to myself as a girl.

For me, the point is this -- "people who were given everyTHING they wanted". Contrast that to what I see when we more experienced folks talk about what we did and still do while our kids were eating what they wanted, watching what they wanted, playing the video games with dangerous reputations for violence or misogyny. We're not talking about setting the kids in front of the tv and going off to do our own thing. Every seasoned unschooler I've seen comment or reply to online questions shares examples of how we watched WITH our kids, and started conversations about what we see on tv. We explore foods our kids like, offer foods we love, talk about how food makes us feel, the bigger social and political contexts of what we read, play with, or consume (both food and media). We talk about how other people feel, and what they believe in contrast to what we believe. We ask our kids why they believe as they do; who or what informs their choices and values?

I recall Pam Sorooshian once posting - and I'm paraphrasing here, but I hope to get the gist of it -- that just as people warn that kids with who are never punished will end up in jail, there are surely lots of people in jail who had rules and limits and were denied things and told NO *because kids need to hear NO* (one of my Mom's biggies).

It seems to me that the reason parents most often set limits on what they will allow their children to have at home -- bad food, irreverent tv shows, violent video games, for example -- is fear. Usually it's a fear that their children will be harmed, either physically or emotionally and developmentally by untoward influences. I'm not sure how to calm all those fearful voices.

For me, the answer has been to figure out what matters to me. Do I want happy children? Will watching tv shows that make fun of others lead my children to be mean? Will playing video games with stolen cars or fights between medieval fantasy characters encourage them to be violent in person? Is sugar really a poison to all bodies and to be avoided by everyone?

I think usually what those people whose lives fell apart lack is presence from a parent who is willing to listen, reflect, model, and question everything in the goal of helping find out what that child needs, who he or she is, and why. To do that, though, you need to be willing to sit down to watch the tv shows, serve the food that maybe you don't like or think is junk, try things that maybe scare you or challenge your accepted notions. It's all about being with your kids, not about setting controls meant to keep them with you philosophically. Sometimes this also means finding ways to really listen and be with a child whose needs are different from the needs of the other people in the family, it often means stretching yourself in ways you never could have anticipated.

A Toolbox Full of Hammers

I've not read much on the Adrian Peterson story (the Ray Rice story pretty much depleted my reserves) but what I do see saddens me. People defending the actions of a man who abused his 4yo child; a DA stating that Peterson "exceeded the standards" for disciplining his child, as if there is an acceptable standard for hitting someone younger, smaller, and weaker than you; folks trotting out the old "I was spanked and I turned out fine" line.

I'm not the first to say it, and I hope to not be the last: If you think it's acceptable to hit anyone you profess to love - your partner, your child, or your parent - you did NOT turn out fine. You learned poor methods. The people who loved you shared the same parenting toolbox full of hammers they were given, and really you deserved better. So do your kids. We all do.

Online I read a perspective that professional athletes should be held to a higher standard. I'd like to see everyone held to a higher standard for kindness, especially as parents and partners.

That said, I do not think throwing anyone out of any profession in response to abuse allegations, or even a first conviction, is a good policy. The knowledge that if a partner, spouse, or parent is alleged to be an abuser it would cost that person their entire career -- and all your family income -- would be a deterrent for some victims; it would push abuse further underground. Mandatory counseling and parenting classes (because adults who hit other adults WILL hit children), follow up, legal compliance, supervised visitation for child abuse situations - absolutely. But ejecting someone from his or her career at the first allegation? No. Let's try helping them learn better ways first. I'm pretty sure everyone who hits a loved one was themselves hit by a loved one. It's a learned behavior. People can learn better ways. But only if we talk about it, only if they're given a second chance. I'm not saying no consequences, just a reasonable first response.

What About Tests?

Over the past few weeks, we've been reviewing a practice test for the Accuplacer test used by our local community college as part of Andy's exploration of what's next for him. We learned a few things. 

First, we are all grammar geeks, with no tolerance for typos, and poorly proofed sample exams. Really, if this practice test is indicative of the sort of education one receives in public school, our boys didn't miss anything important. Questions included "you bought a boat for $10,000. You have made 9 payments of $450 each. How much have you paid for the car?" And one that opened with Rome, and closed with London. Such bad proofreading. I do hope the actual test is clearer.

Second, the boys learned (I already knew) that tests are designed to trip you up. The questions and paragraphs to read (for the comprehension portion) are either confusing or mind-numbingly boring. Passing tests is about test-taking ability, and not necessarily an accurate measure of actual knowledge.

Third, Andy found math easier than he feared. The biggest challenge was his unfamiliarity with math notation. The concepts and how to make math work were logical, even where they were intentionally arcane.

All of which makes me question the value of said placement test.

Oh, and he took the tests cold, with no study or prep. If we needed proof, there's some that unschooling *works*. That's not why we unschool, tho. We do it because it makes us happy, and happiness is reason enough for me.

The Shame Button

Earlier today, on facebook, a friend shared a link to a blog post about the damage done when parents post shaming photos of their children.  It was a great blog post, and after reading it, I shared the link.  A bit later, when reading the comments where a friend shared the same link, I found that a friend had been "made aware that apparently she's all for *privately* humiliating and shaming and punishing her children. And she attributes this to the reason she has a great relationship with them today." 

That prompted me to read her site.  I don't find anything that specifically suggests privately shaming kids, tho I do see things that, to me, feel consistent with the sort of control of kids that makes me uncomfortable.  As a result,  I removed the link on my facebook wall. 

When parents use private humiliation, a practice often so accepted and subtle that it seems everyone promotes its use, kids end up hurt both today and in the long-term.  Private humiliation, whether as subtle as "I'm disappointed in you" or as obvious as telling your child s/he is stupid and careless, is shaming.  In my experience, it's some serious crazy-making.  Sure, you'll hear, from both experienced parents and parenting experts, that such guidance (control, abuse) is necessary for helping children to be come "good people", that keeping those comments private actually protects your relationship with your child. We've all heard the "praise in public, reprimand/criticize/scold in private" maxim.  Sure, we know that publicly criticizing people -- children or adults -- is a bad idea.  It creates divides, makes everyone look bad, and almost never leads to actual progress.  Rather it just motivates people to not get caught being wrong, to become sneaker in how they get by, so as not to be publicly humiliated.  It's not an effective method for helping a child learn expected behavior, especially when the standard for that behavior is an appearance of perfection set to make parents look good by having wonderfully packaged children.

Here's my experience with "private humiliation".

Parent who engage in private humiliation -- what an awful phrase those two words makes! -- create damaged kids.

When a parent praises their child in front of others, often using that praise for self-aggrandizement as a parent, then privately insults, shames, criticizes, minimizes, or otherwise shuts down their child's feelings, it creates a schism for the child. The child -- and all the children in that family -- are required to live two competing 'truths'; to be shame-filled privately, and also graciously accept public praise, all to create the the public image that makes it look like everything is good and right. Often, the parents inflate a child's accomplishments or ability for the purpose of making it appear the parents are doing a better-than-average job with the child.  This is the self-aggrandizement part of it. 

Where does that leave the child, tho?  The child knows that she isn't really as accomplished as the parent just told people she is.  She knows that if she's asked to demonstrate the skill the parent just publicized, she'll fail to do as well as expected.  She wonders if there's any way to point out that her parent just puffed up her credentials, if there's any gracious way to say "no, I'm not really that good."  It would be seen as some sort of false modesty, at best, which becomes more awkward.  

Why do parents feel a need to brag about how accomplished a child is?  Does the parent want credit for the child's work, or maybe just innate talent?  And how does that square up with the child's knowledge that her parent really feels she's not good enough at any number of other things? When all anyone hears publicly is praise -- which differs from genuine celebration of another's talents or accomplishments -- and privately hears criticism and is told she's just not trying hard enough, that she's "too smart to make that mistake".





It's enough to make a child question their very sense of what's true -- are they worthy of shame and so unlovable that lies must be presented? 

How far do we go to keep those lies secret, to hide our private shame?  When and how is it okay to share something that, for decades, felt like a personal failing, but we later find out is a very normal experience?  What's private and what's secret, and how do we ever learn to take ourselves less seriously, that we don't need to be perfect to be accepted? 

How do we ever share our truth without fearing others will find us completely unworthy? 

How do we become better parents in our own turn? 

Do we forgive our parents and move forward? Is it even fair to ask ourselves to forgive the people who treated this way? Is it possible to see the injured children our parents were, and acknowledge that they learned the shame tactics from damaged people who shamed them? 

Or is it an impossible situation to heal? Is everyone better served by cutting ties and starting anew? 





I don't have the answers to those questions. I'm still finding my own way out from a childhood of public over-praise and private shaming, of being exposed and minimized in unsafe ways and yet asked to keep private the ugly secrets of others. 

So, if/when someone suggests that privately shaming your child is a necessary evil that will bring good in the long term, don't believe that crap. It's a lie.

I'll post some positive ideas for how to handle those moments when our kids do things that make us feel embarrassed or ashamed as a parent, when our own shame/praise buttons are pushed.  Maybe tomorrow. 

Yes, they know life can be hard

I'm deep in another rant, so it must be time for another blog post!  Where to begin..... 

What is the compulsion people, especially adults talking to teens, have to rain on parades? 

A late-teenage kid says to an adult "Hey, I'm looking into this trade course program maybe, thinking I might like to do X with my life for a while." Then he shares some ideas bigger than he can't do right away, but very cool stuff he could do some day. Or maybe he'll try some classes, get out into the world, and find other cool stuff to do someday.  Mostly, it's just the excitement and possibilities he shares.  His own personal parade, to which he's invited someone he hopes might be excited for him.  

The adult, I assume with the intent of, I don't know, enlightening the kid (I'm trying to assume positive intent here) says something like, "Wait, once upon a time ago, you quit a similar activity you tried."  

Kid, who until this moment was excited about his plans, and now is wondering why the hell he said anything, and replies with something like "yeah, I didn't like that particular thing then, I think it was the instructions or something."  

Adult says "well, when you go to school and learn to do X, you'll have to follow directions..... It's hard to find a job you know, and you'll have to study it for a few years, before it gets any fun...." and so on and so forth.  Way to suck all the joy out of a room.  Gee, thanks.

You see, my almost-18 yo kid had pretty much that conversation recently with the parent of a friend.  Then he related it to me, and I could. just. SCREAM. 

I mean, really, a kid tells you what his current plans and hopes are, and you say things like "well, it's hard, and no fun, and you'll have to work really hard."  What the what?? 

First, my kid knows sometimes things are hard.  This is the same kid who devoted HUNDREDS of hours to advancing his favorite characters in World of Warcraft and other online or video games. It was hard work, lots of disappointment, doing things he didn't like, getting his virtual butt kicked over and over.  Along the way, he learned persistence, made friends, learned how the world of that game worked, did favors for others, took on responsibility for game duties, learned to mediate arguments between friends and fellow players, made I don't know how many re-starts, and still he's always willing to go through all that again, just to help a friend reach his or her own goals in the game. But, sure, discount all that because it happened in a video game, and was 'just for fun'.  

He also makes some stunningly amazing original creations using Legos and Bionicles.  After he meticulously follows all the instructions to build the set, he tears it all apart, and just as meticulously, using models he sees in his head, in beautiful detailed symmetry, creates the most amazing models.  Again, hours and hours of detailed work, driven by a picture in his mind.  This kid works hard and pays great attention to detail.

Second -- or maybe first, I don't which offended me or my kid more deeply -- my kid is not an idiot, nor is he lazy, and for the record, he is unbelievably self-disciplined.  He sets goals, makes his own schedule, and he gets stuff done.  He's also helpful, kind, and never rains on anyone else's parade. You will not find find ANYWHERE a more helpful, patient, tenacious helper in anything you set out to do than to ask my kid to help you.  

But really, why do adults feel the need to patronize kids, to point out the flaws and hard parts of their dreams, or even just their tentative steps into new adventures?  Do they think kids are clueless about how life works?  Do they really think it's encouraging to have your plans met only with reminders that you're young, naive, and inexperienced?  Do they imagine it's helpful to only offer up discouragement and doubt?  

Or maybe they just forgot what it's like to have a whole life ahead of you, a wide-open world, one you know is mostly equal parts hard and easy, mean and kind, scary and comfortable?

Instead, can we offer encouragement, excitement, enthusiasm?  

Lucky for us, my kid has one amazing adult friend who offers that perfect mix of encouragement, excitement, and enthusiasm - and he stays true to the fact that sometimes things are harder than they look, by sharing his own stories.  As a bonus, he brings all sorts of awesomeness into my family's life, and reminds my kid regularly just how awesome he is.  My kid also has friends, both adult and teenaged, who share his excitement in the world.  

I have to say, tho, the parade-pissers make it hard.

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.  

The Other Shoe

or as I've always called it 'too damn good syndrome'.  You know, that feeling that everything in your life is going so well, that any moment now it's bound to crash down around you?  Sometimes -- okay always -- it's some irrational fear that something awful has happened any time someone you love is late getting home, or just an overall panic that somewhere, something is going wrong in a way that will cascade into your life? 

Other times, it's that completely irrational fear that all the people who've told you they love you, who think they love you, don't really know you, because you've kept the darkest, ugliest parts of who you are some kind of deep, dark secret.  Well, you think you have anyway; usually the people who love us, already know those things about us. We only think we've kept the secret because they love us enough not to talk about our touchy spots.

I've had those irrational fears my entire life.  That kind of indefinable fear that when things are good, it's just the set up for a really good crash, as if the whole universe were plotting against me.  In the book, The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce, the author talks about this mindset, and says it's very common in children of divorce. I'd always thought it was some kind of worth issue I grappled with, an accumulation of all my fears that I'm not really someone people could love, not if they knew who I really am, how I really feel. 

I don't really know that it's fallout from my parents' divorce -- given how late in my childhood that came. More likely, it's fallout from their awful marriage.  Whatever the reason, I've come to see it's something we can absolutely hand down to our own kids.  If our attitude is one of pervasive distrust and fear of rejection, our kids pick up on that.  

I do know it's not a mindset Gary shares. He does expect things to work out most of the time.  He views my fears as superstition at times, I know.  And maybe they are.  I seem to have this contradictory idea that if I do everything right, touch all the stones, that's my only hope of a good outcome, of safety.  And yet, when everything is going right, I'm sometimes terrified that nothing I do will be enough, that it will all crash down in some confirmation that I was never really meant to be happy, that everything I touch is somehow tainted. 

I spent years, decades really, thinking I was unique in feeling like a fraud, in pretending things were fine and that disaster wasn't lurking around every corner.  Maybe I'm not. Maybe there are other people who feel those same fears, or people who used to feel that way and overcame it. 

I've been working diligently the past few years to free myself of this feeling.  One of the first things I learned is that I had made a career of hiding big parts of who I am. In a childhood where I was frequently told I was too sensitive, too soft, that life's "not like you think it is" I'd learned to survive by not sharing the things that made me weird or different. I did my best to escape notice, to laugh off the mistakes that I made without letting on that really I believed I needed to be perfect to be good enough.

I'm not convinced all this is the result of my parents' divorce, or even of their bad marriage.  I think it's more a sign of our culture's insanity around individuality, some kind of collective fear of being rejected, of not being good enough.  And I think it starts very early in life, when we begin to think we can "mold" our children to become what we want them to be, or to fit into the small bit of space we have available for them; when we want them to fill our need to feel loved, or to impress others.  

I'm beginning to move past that, to finally trust that I don't need to be perfect to have a right to relax into who I am.  It's taken me most of 50 years, tho, and it seems there must be an easier path to it.