Childhood Innocence and Whimsy

The other morning #2 was trotting around asking us for a couple words. She would read the last word but otherwise didn’t explain what we were doing. After a couple rounds, she wandered off to her room for a few minutes. When she returned, she handed this to me:

#2 tries her hand at poetry.

Snuggl Pink Bear.
with marshmallow. Singing all night. Stars
twinkle in the sky, happy Animals
asleep in Barns. Little Piggies rolling in
mud Laughing.

I look at this and marvel at how wonderful childhood is with its unalloyed optimism and joy and whimsy. How do we preserve their innocence without impeding their maturation?

Parent-Teacher Conferences

Today was parent-teacher conference day with #1’s homeroom teacher. I’ve been to 15 of these now for #1 (and another 9 for #2). And although I have tried always to be involved in his school—I frequently help out or have chaperoned field trips or talked to the class about what I do—I still make a point of of attending parent-teacher conferences. On the one hand, parent-teacher conferences help me understand the school’s broader curricular goals and how he is progressing toward those goals: what he is learning; how he is learning; what challenges he might be confronting. On the other hand, parent-teacher conferences give me a glimpse of a #1 that I don’t see: what he’s like around his peers and in other social settings; how he behaves in public. There’s another reason I attend parent-teacher conferences, a reason that seems to get lost in the shuffle (or, for so many parents and teachers trying to carve out a few minutes from an otherwise frenetic dash through the day): I go to parent-teacher conferences because it means a lot #1.

Yesterday I mentioned to #1 that I was looking forward the parent-teacher conference. My comment was a sort of warning—our conference was before school, so we would have to be efficient in the morning and leave earlier than normal. He looked up and asked hopefully: “Is mom going?” He seemed to deflate when I said, “No. She has to go to work.”

—“Why doesn’t she go to my teacher conferences?”
—“She trusts you and me. You’re a good kid and good student. I don’t think she feels a need to check in on you.”
—“But she never goes to mine. I wish she would.”^[1]

His lament reminded me how important it is to kids that parents show a real interest in their education, in what they do every day, i.e., in what we make them do every day. Parent-teacher conferences are about more than just establishing lines of communication or building working relationships between parents and teachers. Parent-teacher conferences also bolster relationships between parents and children.

Parent-teacher conferences are stressful a lot of work for everybody. Parents have to adjust schedules, often have to find childcare for a younger sibling, and have to make special trips to school, where they hope won’t be kept waiting while other conferences run long. And then there’s the worry that they’ll find out darling Tobias or little Beatrix is a terror or failing or …. Teachers have to prepare for conferences, adding to their otherwise already full day’s work, and then have to take time that they could be prepping for class, helping students who need a little extra, or grading. And then there’s the concern that some parent is going to erupt because their perfect child couldn’t possibly be failing, or be disruptive, or be an unrepentant pain in the ass. For different reasons, parents and teachers can be anxious about these conferences.

Parents who want to improve the experience can find useful advice. Grete DeAngelo offers some nice tips for parents (reposted at Huff Post (because isn’t everything these days reposted at Huff Post?) and Topical Teaching). Lisa Heffernan at the WaPo compiled her own list for parents: Learn from my mistakes. Beth Van Amburgh offers some general tips that are handy for both teachers and parents.

With all this focus on parents and teachers, on classroom performance and behavior, it is easy to lose sight of the people standing at the center of this educational, social, and by middle school hormonal maelstrom. It is easy to forget that for kids, school is incredibly important and daunting and at times disorienting. They are not experts at negotiating the dynamic and shifting relationships. Nor are they as jaded as we often think. They are kids who still look to their parents for guidance, affirmation, and approval. They want to see that we care.

This morning #1 and I walked into school. As he led me to his class, he pointed out various things hanging in the halls—art work, projects, assignments—and shared comments about some of the other classrooms and teacher. Then he returned to the cafeteria while we met with his teacher.^[2] When I left, #1 walked me to my car and peppered me with questions: How did it go? Did I like his teacher? Did I see the class turtle? Did I see the fish? Did we talk about their science project? Did the teacher show me the poster they made? Did …? Did …? Did …?

The next chance you (especially you dads, since mothers typically bear the burden of school-related events) get, go to a parent-teacher conference. It‘s an easy way to show your child that you care.

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1. Two points here. First, The Mother has attended #1’s parent-teacher conferences, though not as frequently as I have. Second, part of the issue is the fact that The Mother more frequently attends #2’s parent-teacher conferences.  ↩

2. Yes, we. I encouraged The Mother to attend the conference because it would mean a lot to #1. She met me there so she could go directly to work afterward.  ↩

We Could All Use a Compliment

Yesterday’s post was about compliments. I suggested that we parents should be more generous in giving compliments and that, pace the fathers-offended-by-compliments movement, we fathers should be more gracious in accepting them. Today, I want to reinforce that suggestion, drawing on a couple Pew Research reports, “Modern Parenthood” and “After Decades of Decline, A Rise in Stay-at-Home Mothers.”

Despite recent increases in stay-at-home dads, moms still make up the majority of stay-at-home parents: 6% of fathers stay-at-home compared to 29% of mothers. And since 1999, the share of stay-at-home moms has been increasing. Mothers still vastly outnumber the fathers as stay-at-home parents.

Percentage of stay-at-home mothers, from Pew report on Modern Parenthood

Fathers have begun taking on more housework^[1] and childcare tasks.^[2] Nonetheless, mothers still shoulder the bulk of childcare and housework. And despite the increases in the amount of time fathers spend on childcare, mothers spend more now than they did 50 years ago. Today, mothers still spend nearly twice as much time as fathers do on housework and childcare.

Time use for mothers and fathers, from Pew report on parental labor.

Let’s recognize and praise all the work mothers do. Too much of their labor remains invisible to our society, not because we can’t see it but because we have chosen to dismiss it as unimportant because a woman does it. An honest compliment now and then—and by “now and then” I mean regularly—is the least we can do. Let’s also continue to recognize the efforts today’s fathers are making to be more involved parents.^[3] Not because their labor is more important or any more praiseworthy, it isn’t, but because an honest compliment now and then—and by “now and then” I mean now and then, let’s not get carried away—is the least we can do.

Next time you see a parent being a good parent, smile and say something nice. And the next time somebody compliments your efforts, smile and say thank you.

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1. We might worry about the category “housework.” Pew seems to adopt the categories used by the American Time Use Survey, which seems to exclude certain exterior activities from “housework.” Is mowing the lawn “housework?” Is raking leaves? I’ve wondered about this in my Pew Study on Parental Labor  ↩

2. The numbers don’t actually show that fathers are taking on more housework and childcare tasks. They simply indicate that fathers are spending more time at these two activities. Perhaps fathers are really slow at cleaning and cooking and bathing the progeny and so are not doing any more, just taking longer to do the same set of tasks.  ↩

3. We fathers need to be careful here lest we sound like the 1980s’ dad who wanted praise for taking out the garbage or replacing the empty toilet paper roll. We risk sound like little kids jumping up and down wanting praise and affirmation for the least little thing. Oh, look at me, I take care of my kid. Aren’t I special? No, I mean, I am special.  ↩

How To Earn “Major Dad Points”

On the way to school this morning, #2 and I stopped to pick up breakfast. We parked, tumbled out of the car, locked hands, and skipped into the shop, hoping to chase down a couple bagels. We held the door for a young woman who, leaving, smiled at me, and said:

That was great. You get major dad points for that.

Thank you. I appreciate the compliment and the endorsement of my skipping despite, no doubt, the fact that I must have looked like a lanky, spasmodic gorilla.^[1] Her compliment underscores how easy it is for dads to get compliments. Organize the class party, receive praise. Skip into the bagel shop, get points. Fathers can get credit simply by not injuring their progeny.

These compliments irk a number of fathers because they presume some Y-chromosome-linked deficiency or some cultural vestige from our neanderthal past both of which prevent men from being competent dads.^[2] Fathers who are upset by such compliments urge people to stop making them. The act of complimenting a father for relatively insignificant or quotidian parenting reinforces the cultural stereotype of the failing father. Previously I seemed to come to a similar conclusion.

My real point in that previous post was ambiguous. I want to clarify my thoughts here. Rather than ask people to stop complimenting fathers when they are engaged, caring parents, let’s recognize and compliment mothers for being engaged, caring parents.

Being a parent is tough. None of us are parents because we want compliments. Still, we all could use a little recognition and a kind word now and then (or daily, for that matter). Let’s be generous with our praise and in our acceptance of others’. Let‘s strive to repay the compliments we receive by passing them on to other parents who, like each of us, is struggling to do right by our children.

So, to the young woman who was kind and generous to me: Thank you for noticing. Thank you for saying something. I, in turn, will compliment a parent I see tomorrow. Hell, I’ll live on the edge and compliment two parents.

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1. Let me clear, I am not graceful. And at well north of 6 feet, I am hard to miss, arms and legs akimbo. The shocked looks of the people sitting just inside the shop were totally justified.  ↩

2. I wonder if fathers are equally upset when such compliments come from women or from men, from mothers or from fathers. What is the source of this unease?  ↩

Inspire Their Minds

Verizon has a great new commercial, “Inspire Her Mind,” that reminds parents to consider how their commonplaces discourage girls from studying the science.

Verizon commercial warns parents about the impact of their words.

We see a girl at various moments exploring the natural world and hear parental voices stifling that exploration. The commercial concludes with Sam looking at a science fair poster, putting on lipgloss, and turning away with her two friends.^[1] A voiceover reminds us:

Our words can have a huge impact. Isn’t it time we told her she’s pretty brilliant too? Encourage her love of science and technology, and inspire her to change the world.

Constant diligence is required to root out the many ways we discourage women from pursuing sciences.

But why do we only worry about inspiring girls (and children more broadly) to study science? Why don’t we also try to inspire them to study literature or philosophy or history? There is nothing special about “science” or the “huge impact” our words have in steering girls away from or toward certain subjects. We should expend equal effort to guard against the ways we track girls into or out of all pursuits.

Let’s stop trying to inspire girls to study science and try, instead, to encourage and embolden girls to study anything and everything that inspires them.

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1. A quick nitpick: Why does the commercial end by contrasting lipgloss with science? Is there something that prevents women from applying lipgloss and studying science? What stereotype of science and scientist is reinforced here? Why should people who care about their appearance not also care about science? And, as My Brighter Career points out, there’s lots of science in lipgloss.  ↩

Running Late? Just Park it Anywhere.

Trying to get everybody out the door in the morning is a pain. Some days the progeny seem possessed by the dilatory demons, or the sartorial gods conspire against us. Some days things just go all pear-shaped. We all run late now and then—we should be considerate of those around us when that happens.

There’s another class of parents who run chronically late, as in daily. In most other contexts, these parents are often nice people and lively conversationalists. But in the morning, when they’ve arrived late to school, they’re unpleasant and unhappy. They careen through the drop-off circle and bark at their little darlings to jump out of the car as they slow to the posted speed limit. Or they skid to a halt in the middle of the parking lot in a shower of gravel and dust, leap from the car, and hound, push, prod, and propel their offspring into class with threats like “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late.”^[1]

No really, just park anywhere.

Seriously, when you arrive late, just embrace your tardiness. Park like a normal person. Talk to your child about the upcoming day as you stroll into school. Stop by the office to let them know your child is late but not absent. Walk your child to class. Kiss your child goodbye. Then walk back to your car and drive to work.

And remember, no matter where you park or how many people you inconvenience, your child is still late to school (and you’ll probably be late too).

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1. Yes, I have heard parents say this as they shove or drag little Tobias or little Beatrix into school. Perhaps what the parent means is: “Hurry up so I don’t have to speed to get to work on time” or “Hurry up so I’m not late” or “Hurry up so I can meet my friends for coffee.” If that’s the case, then say so. With some regularity, however, I see the same parent standing around chatting with other parents after depositing their little loved ones at class. If what you mean is “Hurry so you are no too late,” just say that. But really, once you are late, just enjoy being a few minutes late (vide supra).  ↩

Stop Making Excuses and Apologize

Seth Godin’s recent post, Might as well burn that bridge…,^[1] highlights the importance of apologizing when you have wronged somebody, which we all do on a regular basis. While his advice is intended more for marking and business relationships, it is equally applicable to familiar relationships. Two points seem relevant:

• The person you have hurt doesn’t “want an excuse, a clever comeback….”
• “Here are some of the magic words that might help:”
  • “I”
  • “sorry”
  • “thank you”

Progeny don’t care about your adult excuses. They just want to hear: “I’m Sorry.” Similarly, partners don’t want to know how or why you misunderstood or misinterpreted them^[2] or how well intentioned you were, they just want to an honest apology.

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1. with an unfortunately long title.  ↩

2. To be sure, people often do not say what they mean and then seem to get mad at you for not divining what they meant. But at that moment, they certainly don’t want to know how they were misleading or how their half-articulated ideas were confusing. And perhaps they weren’t babbling in half-articulated thoughts.  ↩

I’m Sorry (redux)

Being a good father, for me, is inextricably bound up with being a considerate, responsible adult. That means, taking credit and accepting responsibility for my actions.^[1] Coincidentally, on the radio just now:

There comes a time in every man’s life when he’s got to
Look over his misdemeanors, misgivings, misfortunes and
Miss Whatever her name is ha ha
I’m sorry I’m sorry
Yeah and say you’re sorry, so I say, I’m sorry.

Just as it’s important to apologize to the progeny, it is equally important to apologize to The Mother, honestly and without qualification. No making excuses. No justifying actions. No explaining intent. So, taking my cue from the Hothouse Flowers:

I am sorry for frustrating you last night.
I needlessly and unhelpfully complicated the situation and misunderstood what you were trying to accomplish. I should have shut up and stayed out of the way.
I’m sorry.

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1. That saying about the pavement on the road to Hell applies here—intentions are irrelevant, especially when I’ve offended somebody.  ↩

The Difference Between With and For

Two recent episodes prompted me to think about how parents can confuse doing something for children and doing something with children.

Episode 1:
#1, #2, and I were playing UNO at the local bagel shop. A couple tables over a mother sat across from a father and young daughter. At one point, the mother said: “What do you mean? I do all sorts of things for you.” She then cataloged the many things she does for the daughter: takes her to school and playdates, makes her lunch, takes her to the mall, ….

I don’t know what prompted this response, but I’m going to go out a on limb here and say the daughter accused the mother of not playing with her or not spending enough time with her or not doing enough something with her. Whatever the charge, I think many of us can sympathize with the mother’s reply. Some version of this scene occurs regularly.

Episode 2:
On a whim one recent afternoon #1, #2, and I made gingerbread cookies. Out of the blue yesterday, #1 hugged me and said: “Thanks for making cookies with us.”

In our harried, chaotic, over-scheduled adult worlds it is easy to equate doing for children and doing with them. Taking a child to a “playdate”^[1] is, after all, doing something together. So too is taking a child shopping at the mall. But making cookies with children is, I think, qualitatively different. Just as playing with them is, whether sliding down a slide together or kicking a ball or playing hide-and-seek or coloring or whatever.

We have all suffered accusations of not spending enough time with them. We often defend ourselves, entirely justifiably from our adult perspective, e.g., Arguing with a six-year-old. In defending ourselves, however, we lose sight of an important difference between doing things with our children and doing things for them. Our children, by contrast, make a clear distinction between doing something for them and doing something with them.

Children would rather we did things with them.

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1. A term I don’t like and a social encounter that I find awkward at best: The Dreaded “Playdate”  ↩

It’s all about tone

Once we have distinguished between “I can’t. I don’t have…” and “I won’t. I don’t want to…,” we might also think about how we reply to our progeny’s request for attention, both the words we use and the tone in our voice. Do we sound like we are acquiescing, that we are shouldering some parental burden? Or do we sound like we care and we want to see whatever it is the progeny are trying to show us? Do we respond with an eager (or at least engaged) “show me” or with a beleaguered “okay”? We need not be ebullient, exuberant, or giddy. But if we accept our progeny’s invitation, we should be gracious about it. We should probably be happy that they want to share some little corner of their lives with us.^[1] Don’t make them feel put upon.

This morning at breakfast, a mother and daughter were sitting across from each other. The daughter wanted to show the mother something—her doll’s clothing, or shoes, or something. The mother sighed, “Okay, show me.” The daughter sort of deflated into her chair. It was clear the mother didn’t really want to see whatever it was the daughter had wanted to show her. The mother asked: “Were you going to show me something?” “Never mind,” the daughter mumbled.

We can’t simply yield to their requests for attention. We have to care, at least a little. And we have to show that we care both in our words and our tone.

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1. It is an invitation, sort of a juvenile version of “the pleasure of your company is requested” or “please join me as I share this important part of my life with you.” We should be flattered, at least a little, that they care about us enough to share, as we generally are when invited to an adult function. And we should be generous when we accept that invitation, just as we are when we accept an invitation to an adult function. All too soon our progeny will find other people who are interested in the furniture of their lives. We needn’t hasten the process.  ↩