"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.
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