Today, we're celebrating your 13th Birthday, and I'll go ahead and use the cliche' "It seems like yesterday", because it really does seem like just yesterday, that I held you in my arms for the first time, and all it took that first time was you grasping and clutching my finger with your little hand, to soothe and comfort you and to stop you from crying. And it wasn't long afterward, that I would come home from work, take you into my arms, and marvel at the look of wonder in your eyes as you were transfixed with my daily ritual of singing Bob Marley's "Two little birds": "Don't worry...about a thing...Because every little thing...is going to be alright."
And it's true. Every little thing is going to be alright. I began to really believe that then, and I've only become more convinced of that every day since that day. And that's one of the truths of life that I hope to pass on to you. It's a big responsibility, but one I've gladly undertaken, and it's also one of the many promises that I made when I first held you in my arms that day in the hospital. I was both excited by your arrival, to the point of being in awe, and also scared by it. I was in awe, because I held a miracle in my arms, and I had never thought up to that point that I would actually become a father. And it was like being born all over, with an opportunity to create and nurture a better version of myself. And not in the sense of trying to live vicariously through you in any way, or planning a detailed future for you. But in the sense that I could guide, teach, inspire, and love you, and nurture you in ways that I hadn't experienced, so that you would have the opportunity to realize a world of possibilities, and be best prepared to create life and happiness as you wish. And yet, for all the same reasons that I was in awe and excited, I was also scared. Because all of that was not only a tremendous privilege for me, but a tremendous responsibility as well. I really wasn't sure if I was up to the task. For it would require me to think outside of myself in a way that I never really quite had before. It meant I could be nearly as self-centered as I had been up to that point. It meant that I couldn't be nearly as self-centered as I had been up to that point.
But then, that's the way life works. It presents us with challenges that require us to become more than we are at the present time. Challenges that force us to become more in order to do more. Challenges that require us to become the kind of person it takes to successfully meet those challenges. And fear often comes along with the territory. Because we are venturing into an unknown realm, into unfamiliar territory. But every new journey begins with a first, unfamiliar step. A step that we hadn't taken previously. And yet, every new race that is won, every journey that is successfully fulfilled, is always accomplished with a first step that hadn't previously been taken.
And in my quest to give you the opportunities to develop into the best quality person you can be, I in turn, became a much better person. Because I had to in order to become the kind of person who could carry out the privilege and responsibility of being a good parent. And I had always wanted to become better than I was, for reaching my full potential was something I had always aspired to. But your arrival definitely gave the matter a great sense of urgency and importance. Because I would no longer be doing it for myself alone. And I am grateful for that.
I've been blessed with the acquired understanding that everything that I've ever experienced, both good and bad, was for a purpose. And I've been blessed with many opportunities to share my lessons and acquired perspective with others, so that all the trials, tests, and experiences have not been for naught. And I've been blessed in many instances to positively impact, guide, teach, encourage, influence, and in some cases, inspire others. But no greater opportunity or privilege has existed like the opportunity I have to do those things for you. And no opportunity means more to me.
And yet, as big a task as I had before me, and still have before me, you've certainly made it easier in some ways. You possess a sensitivity and compassion for the feelings of others, that comes much more naturally for you than it did for me. And you also often display a work ethic as well as respect for your fellow human beings that I didn't develop until I was several years older than you. While I've been very proud of your accomplishments in school, of which there have been plenty, I think I was even more proud of how you recovered so incredibly well when you were struggling a bit with your academics earlier this year. That recovery, that ability to bounce back said even more about your developing character. And the way I've seen you interact with others, like when you were around 6 years old, and I'd see you aiding smaller children you had just encountered, either with tying their shoe so that they wouldn't fall, or helping them climb into a bounce house, all the while other children your age and older were too pre-occupied with their own activity to help these small children...You made my heart smile so much. And it's still smiling even as I remember it and write it down, and the beaming smile on my face is keeping it company.
It's funny, because while I very much miss those days of playing hide and seek with you, playing the "Big Bad Wolf and the 3 Little pigs" in the playhouses that they used to have outside of "Toys r' us", playing "Spiderman" in the park every weekend, and you holding my hand while we walked in public...I understand that I can't both have that and watch you grow into the woman that I also hoped and knew you could become. I can't have my cake and eat it too. But I can wish...
And that's one of the other ways that I've grown, both as a person and as a parent. I've come to understand and accept that I can't both protect you and prepare you for the world. I can't shield you from the world. But I can prepare you to successfully deal with it on your own terms. I can't make you happy or ensure that you will have a happy life. But I can give you the tools, knowledge, lessons, encouragement, love, and support, so that you can better create those things for yourself and have the confidence and faith that you can. And I wouldn't be doing you justice by providing a safety net for you when you fall. Yet I know that as a parent that inclination is always there. But I can point out some of the potholes along the path of life. And if you should trip and fall, and there will be times that you will, I'll always be there to help you pick yourself up and encourage you to keep on traveling, to keep moving forward.
It's a new chapter in you life, and it won't be the only one. And as with most new journeys, it will involve both a mixture of excitement and fear. But will get through it together. Like the song say, "...Every little thing...is going to be alright."
Love,
Dad
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Daddy's little girl
Like most adults, I have several roles that I play in life, but since the day that my daughter was born, the most pivotal, challenging, and most of all rewarding one, has been that of Daddy. I've been called many names before, some unfit to print here (thanks, mom), but the one that I've enjoyed hearing most is "Daddy". And at times, it seems as if my daughter is determined to be the only one that will ever call me that. There have been a few exceptions, but I'm determined to keep this post rated "PG", so I'll just gloss over those.
But then, it hasn't always been that way. I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!" I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And that it was used. But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. I then asked my daughter "What? What is it?" She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old. It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.) "Look at what?" I asked. "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?" "She's PRETTY Dad!" I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is. But why are you telling me this?" She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"
I was both shocked and relieved. Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women? For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country. I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive. She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese. And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me. Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.
Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior. I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years. And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense. One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life. And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public. One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club. I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective. Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line. And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand. As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes. I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."
So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.
That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive. Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles. Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom. I did, and slightly sooner than expected. Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity. So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad! You took a long time!!!" As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor. Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter. In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in. Probably.
But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke. But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old. A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?" Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.
And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?' The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion. I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said. And I was a little surprised at such a reaction. I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira. Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!" And probably mailed by their mothers...
And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv." My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me. I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!" probably wouldn't have been out of the question. My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies. I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others. At least not any time soon. So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what. And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.
And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her. And that's how it should be. A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together. She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?" To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins. Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up. You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner." My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."
My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be. She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together. She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world. And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life. And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to. I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.
Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat. We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older. We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away. But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.
But then, it hasn't always been that way. I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!" I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And that it was used. But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. I then asked my daughter "What? What is it?" She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old. It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.) "Look at what?" I asked. "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?" "She's PRETTY Dad!" I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is. But why are you telling me this?" She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"
I was both shocked and relieved. Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women? For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country. I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive. She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese. And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me. Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.
Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior. I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years. And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense. One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life. And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public. One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club. I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective. Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line. And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand. As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes. I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."
So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.
That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive. Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles. Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom. I did, and slightly sooner than expected. Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity. So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad! You took a long time!!!" As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor. Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter. In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in. Probably.
But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke. But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old. A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?" Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.
And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?' The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion. I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said. And I was a little surprised at such a reaction. I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira. Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!" And probably mailed by their mothers...
And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv." My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me. I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!" probably wouldn't have been out of the question. My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies. I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others. At least not any time soon. So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what. And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.
And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her. And that's how it should be. A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together. She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?" To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins. Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up. You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner." My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."
My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be. She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together. She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world. And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life. And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to. I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.
Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat. We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older. We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away. But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
"A Noble Cause" or... "And the motherf..."
"And the motherf*#%er that's left over, you put over there, and that's called a motherf*#@en remainder!" That's how my quick tempered stepfather was explaining to me how to do fractions, on that weeknight so many years ago. This was only one of two occasions that I could ever remember him taking any interest in how I was doing at school, and for me, those were two occasions to many. When it came to patience, he never gave Mother Theresa a run for her money to begin with, but he was probably even more pissed off at the thought that he probably shouldn't have had to explain the math to me to begin with.
I had always been a good student, particularly in math, so by all accounts, I shouldn't have had a problem with the schoolwork. Even though the teacher had explained it in class, at home that evening, it was like I was hearing it for the first time. Obviously, it was the first time that I had heard it explained THAT way. Maybe if my 3rd teacher had used the "f" word a little more often in class, I wouldn't have had to lose so much sleeptime that night because I was trying to complete my homework. Maybe that's what's wrong with education these days... there's just not enough educators dropping "f-bombs". Maybe that's what was missing in the proposal for "no child left behind". When my Stepfather taught me how to make scrambled eggs, he said, "First, you beat the shit out of the eggs, then, you pour a little bit of milk into those bastards, and you beat the shit out of them again!" Simple enough. I never went hungry. And I got a "2 for 1" lesson one Friday night when I was about 11. My stepfather stopped by the house around 4 pm, just long enough to tell me to bake some chicken for the family dinner, before he went off to drink with his buddies. However, the only instruction on baking chicken that I had ever come across before then, was when I was flipping channels on the tv one day, and I came across a cooking channel. However, I never heard Julia Child say to "Cook the son-of-a-bitch in the oven at 400...", so I was a little lost in the woods.
So I called my mom at her work around 4:30 pm, which she wasn't too thrilled about, to ask her for some instruction. She became upset, and told me not to do anything, and that she would make dinner when she got home around 6 pm. Hey, she didn't have to tell me twice, I just left the kitchen and went to watch a little bit of the Benny Hill show on tv.
Now 6:30 rolls around, and my stepfather comes into the house, drunk as usual on a Friday Night, and he sees my mom preparing dinner. So I get called out "onto the carpet" so to speak, and he's cursing at me for not preparing Dinner. "Didn't I f#**ing tell you to cook that f%**ing chicken?! After a long day at work, why does your mom have to come home and cooking fu**ing dinner?!! " This, and several other choice words were used for a few minutes, and then I explained that I didn't know how to bake the chicken, and that when I asked my mom for instruction, that she got mad and said not to do anything, and that she'd cook when she got home. That I actually wasn't at fault this time kind of took the wind out of his sails, and for one of the few times that I could remember, my stepfather looked flustered, and became speechless for a moment. And also for one of the few times that I could remember, he looked like he felt guilty for his outburst. He then went on to explain how to cook the f'n chicken, which was lesson number one, then went on to say, as if channeling the spirit of Mr.Rogers (well, if Mr. Rogers was smelling strongly of Alchohol and had gang tattoos on his forearms) : "From now on, if I tell you to do something, and later, your mom tells you to do the opposite, you tell her, 'Fuck you!' AND... if your mom tells you to do something, and I later tell you to do something else, you say 'Fuck you! My stepdad told me to do something else!"
So that night, I learned to bake chicken, and I also learned... well, I'm not quite sure what the second lesson was. It might've had something to do with the importance of good communication, but back then, I think that I was trying to rationalize that it was ok to use the "f" word when addressing your parents in certain situations. But I knew that the "drunken speech from a bad parent" clause, would probably kill my defense in the household courtroom.
The most important thing that all of those experiences, and so many more taught me, was that I really wanted to use a very different communication style if I ever had kids of my own. And thankfully, that has never been a problem for me. I don't mean "thankfully, I've never had kids", I mean, I'm thankful that I've escaped the pitfall that some people unfortunately fall into, which is to become the kind of parent that their parents were. I know that was true of my parents, that they repeated the cycle. I can understand how that would be hard not to do, because our environment, and our genetics as well, can exert a strong influence over us. But I've found, that even more important than our experiences and environment, is how we RESPOND to them. And that even if some of those experiences and environment negatively impact our environment, it's never too late to turn that around. Although how we start off in the race is important, how we finish the race is even more important.
Being a parent is without a doubt, the toughest, yet potentially, most rewarding career anyone can have. It doesn't mean that it's a career for everyone, or that it's wrong to not want that as one of one's careers. And we all know of some parents whose example presents a strong arguement for government enforced birth control. Mere survival of a family, particularly in the type of social and economical climates that currently exist, can be a challenge in itself. But what elevates the role and status of being a parent from being a big responsiblity to one of a most noble calling, is the daily effort to do more than just have our children to SURVIVE. It's the daily effort, in spite of whatever negative influences we may have encountered while growing up, or the daily pressures that we may face, or the struggles with our own imperfections, to discover and implement methods that will provide our children with the necessary skills and tools to THRIVE as well-adjusted human beings.
Although I've got to say, that when it comes to raising my daughter, she's made it relatively easy thusfar. She's a hard worker, very conscientious, and very respectful. Very different from what I was at her age. And thus, I was very surprised, and a little dismayed, when I was sent an email yesterday, showing that her grades weren't quite as good as I was used to seeing. She had an "A" and a "B" thrown in there among her grades, but her mother and I are used to that being the norm, not the exception. The facts that she was recently doing extra credit work for those two classes, plus her inability to "remember" what her recent report card looked like, were starting to paint a clear picture. Although she's far removed from "delinquent" status, my daughter was becoming a little distracted with socializing in class. Plus, now that she's in Jr. High, the workload has increased dramatically, and I think that she was surprised by that, and is having a little trouble adjusting. In spite of that, I made her aware that she still has to bear personal responsibility. I've helped her realize that what was once considered "above and beyond" in regards to her efforts, now have to be considered a minimum requirement if she hopes to do well in school. That was a lesson that first became evident to me back when I was trying to learn those motherf'n fractions back in the 3rd grade. I was in a combine 3rd and 4th grade classroom, because I was considered academically "advanced" for my age. However, I was even more advanced at being disruptive and getting into trouble. The fact that most of my schoolwork was quite easy for me, resulting in my finishing it quickly and thus having more time for acting out, just instilled in me the false confidence that doing well in class would never be a problem for me. But when the teacher introduced something new during math time, my overconfidence caused me to fail to pay attention during the instruction, resulting in confusion for me, and eventually leading to my stepfather's colorful instruction session.
Fortunately for my daughter, my previous experiences and lessons weren't limited to the need to step up in school as we get older and are presented with more challenges, but also included the lesson that what we say to our children is important, and more importantly, so is how we say it. My daughter never had to worry about me going Kung Fu Panda on her, or Samuel L. Jackson delivering a "death speech" in Pulp Fiction. The knowledge that her parents were a little disappointed in her grades and efforts, although not in HER, was enough to motivate her to vow to do better. Hearing of her father's experiences when he was in school (although they were appropriately censured just a bit for content), hearing of his reasons for wanting her to do well, and how education helps to give her options, and how good work habits can be transferred to any area or goal in life, and that it's possible to completely turn around a bad start, made an uncomfortable situation more bearable for her. And that, among other things, confirmed for her that she is supported and loved.
And those, I feel, are more important than any lessons that she'll ever learn in school.
I had always been a good student, particularly in math, so by all accounts, I shouldn't have had a problem with the schoolwork. Even though the teacher had explained it in class, at home that evening, it was like I was hearing it for the first time. Obviously, it was the first time that I had heard it explained THAT way. Maybe if my 3rd teacher had used the "f" word a little more often in class, I wouldn't have had to lose so much sleeptime that night because I was trying to complete my homework. Maybe that's what's wrong with education these days... there's just not enough educators dropping "f-bombs". Maybe that's what was missing in the proposal for "no child left behind". When my Stepfather taught me how to make scrambled eggs, he said, "First, you beat the shit out of the eggs, then, you pour a little bit of milk into those bastards, and you beat the shit out of them again!" Simple enough. I never went hungry. And I got a "2 for 1" lesson one Friday night when I was about 11. My stepfather stopped by the house around 4 pm, just long enough to tell me to bake some chicken for the family dinner, before he went off to drink with his buddies. However, the only instruction on baking chicken that I had ever come across before then, was when I was flipping channels on the tv one day, and I came across a cooking channel. However, I never heard Julia Child say to "Cook the son-of-a-bitch in the oven at 400...", so I was a little lost in the woods.
So I called my mom at her work around 4:30 pm, which she wasn't too thrilled about, to ask her for some instruction. She became upset, and told me not to do anything, and that she would make dinner when she got home around 6 pm. Hey, she didn't have to tell me twice, I just left the kitchen and went to watch a little bit of the Benny Hill show on tv.
Now 6:30 rolls around, and my stepfather comes into the house, drunk as usual on a Friday Night, and he sees my mom preparing dinner. So I get called out "onto the carpet" so to speak, and he's cursing at me for not preparing Dinner. "Didn't I f#**ing tell you to cook that f%**ing chicken?! After a long day at work, why does your mom have to come home and cooking fu**ing dinner?!! " This, and several other choice words were used for a few minutes, and then I explained that I didn't know how to bake the chicken, and that when I asked my mom for instruction, that she got mad and said not to do anything, and that she'd cook when she got home. That I actually wasn't at fault this time kind of took the wind out of his sails, and for one of the few times that I could remember, my stepfather looked flustered, and became speechless for a moment. And also for one of the few times that I could remember, he looked like he felt guilty for his outburst. He then went on to explain how to cook the f'n chicken, which was lesson number one, then went on to say, as if channeling the spirit of Mr.Rogers (well, if Mr. Rogers was smelling strongly of Alchohol and had gang tattoos on his forearms) : "From now on, if I tell you to do something, and later, your mom tells you to do the opposite, you tell her, 'Fuck you!' AND... if your mom tells you to do something, and I later tell you to do something else, you say 'Fuck you! My stepdad told me to do something else!"
So that night, I learned to bake chicken, and I also learned... well, I'm not quite sure what the second lesson was. It might've had something to do with the importance of good communication, but back then, I think that I was trying to rationalize that it was ok to use the "f" word when addressing your parents in certain situations. But I knew that the "drunken speech from a bad parent" clause, would probably kill my defense in the household courtroom.
The most important thing that all of those experiences, and so many more taught me, was that I really wanted to use a very different communication style if I ever had kids of my own. And thankfully, that has never been a problem for me. I don't mean "thankfully, I've never had kids", I mean, I'm thankful that I've escaped the pitfall that some people unfortunately fall into, which is to become the kind of parent that their parents were. I know that was true of my parents, that they repeated the cycle. I can understand how that would be hard not to do, because our environment, and our genetics as well, can exert a strong influence over us. But I've found, that even more important than our experiences and environment, is how we RESPOND to them. And that even if some of those experiences and environment negatively impact our environment, it's never too late to turn that around. Although how we start off in the race is important, how we finish the race is even more important.
Being a parent is without a doubt, the toughest, yet potentially, most rewarding career anyone can have. It doesn't mean that it's a career for everyone, or that it's wrong to not want that as one of one's careers. And we all know of some parents whose example presents a strong arguement for government enforced birth control. Mere survival of a family, particularly in the type of social and economical climates that currently exist, can be a challenge in itself. But what elevates the role and status of being a parent from being a big responsiblity to one of a most noble calling, is the daily effort to do more than just have our children to SURVIVE. It's the daily effort, in spite of whatever negative influences we may have encountered while growing up, or the daily pressures that we may face, or the struggles with our own imperfections, to discover and implement methods that will provide our children with the necessary skills and tools to THRIVE as well-adjusted human beings.
Although I've got to say, that when it comes to raising my daughter, she's made it relatively easy thusfar. She's a hard worker, very conscientious, and very respectful. Very different from what I was at her age. And thus, I was very surprised, and a little dismayed, when I was sent an email yesterday, showing that her grades weren't quite as good as I was used to seeing. She had an "A" and a "B" thrown in there among her grades, but her mother and I are used to that being the norm, not the exception. The facts that she was recently doing extra credit work for those two classes, plus her inability to "remember" what her recent report card looked like, were starting to paint a clear picture. Although she's far removed from "delinquent" status, my daughter was becoming a little distracted with socializing in class. Plus, now that she's in Jr. High, the workload has increased dramatically, and I think that she was surprised by that, and is having a little trouble adjusting. In spite of that, I made her aware that she still has to bear personal responsibility. I've helped her realize that what was once considered "above and beyond" in regards to her efforts, now have to be considered a minimum requirement if she hopes to do well in school. That was a lesson that first became evident to me back when I was trying to learn those motherf'n fractions back in the 3rd grade. I was in a combine 3rd and 4th grade classroom, because I was considered academically "advanced" for my age. However, I was even more advanced at being disruptive and getting into trouble. The fact that most of my schoolwork was quite easy for me, resulting in my finishing it quickly and thus having more time for acting out, just instilled in me the false confidence that doing well in class would never be a problem for me. But when the teacher introduced something new during math time, my overconfidence caused me to fail to pay attention during the instruction, resulting in confusion for me, and eventually leading to my stepfather's colorful instruction session.
Fortunately for my daughter, my previous experiences and lessons weren't limited to the need to step up in school as we get older and are presented with more challenges, but also included the lesson that what we say to our children is important, and more importantly, so is how we say it. My daughter never had to worry about me going Kung Fu Panda on her, or Samuel L. Jackson delivering a "death speech" in Pulp Fiction. The knowledge that her parents were a little disappointed in her grades and efforts, although not in HER, was enough to motivate her to vow to do better. Hearing of her father's experiences when he was in school (although they were appropriately censured just a bit for content), hearing of his reasons for wanting her to do well, and how education helps to give her options, and how good work habits can be transferred to any area or goal in life, and that it's possible to completely turn around a bad start, made an uncomfortable situation more bearable for her. And that, among other things, confirmed for her that she is supported and loved.
And those, I feel, are more important than any lessons that she'll ever learn in school.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)