published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend, February 11, 2011
Valentine’s Day is around the corner. Hopefully you’re a great planner and have everything lined up. Otherwise, you can show your sweetheart, with a few clicks, that wonderful gizmo you are ordering on Valentine’s Day itself. Disclaimer: this is not the recommended method.
There are so many forms and degrees of love, but I’ve decided to go with a tougher topic. I know you’ve grown accustomed to some hardcore, hard-nosed journalism here every week, so I don’t want to disappoint you, especially before the big day, V-Day. Valentine’s Day is all about love, but that can come in as many varieties as there are types of chocolates, flavored coffees, or kids’ cereal. Let’s be decisive and restrict ourselves to one kind: tough love.
Tough love is so called because it is not pleasant to receive, and is equally unpleasant to mete out to your beloved child. Life, I believe is built on a very pay-now or pay-later system. Either way, you’re going to have to pay, so the only decision is whether to put it off for later or to deal with it head-on. While I am a confirmed and avowed procrastinator in most things, when it comes to my children, I prefer the pay now method.
About a month ago, our doorbell rang in the early hours of the night. A father was desperately trying to collect the last hundred dollars to bail out his child from jail. Ordinarily I don’t have much cash on hand – I know, I know, I REALLY need to put together an emergency kit, with cash in it, for crises like these – but oddly enough, I had taken exactly that amount of extra cash out of the bank that very day.
I know the man who was at my door. He promised to return the money in two days as soon as he got paid. My husband says I’m gullible, and while it’s true, I had no expectations of ever seeing that cash again. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to lend things? So far, my expectations have not been disappointed. Neither have I, to be honest. Certainly, I haven’t skipped any meals or opted out of filling the gas tank because of it.
I’m more amenable to this type of solicitation than people pitching pesticide programs on my doorstep. This distraught dad offered me his cell phone number. I said no. I trust him. Obviously, he knows where we live. That’s good enough. I have no attachment to that cash. If it never comes back, it’s okay.
I’m going to tread carefully, because I might hurt some people’s feelings, specifically, three. Considering that might account for a significant chunk of my readership, I’ll try to target only those thirty toes.
I’m also going to guard myself because I have children of my own. We never know what life holds for us around the corner, and we don’t really have the power to control any being other than ourselves, no matter how necessary it might feel. Forget about controlling others; sometimes we can barely control ourselves: Infancy, toddler-hood, early childhood, the ‘tweens, the teens years, young adulthood, midlife, and old age seem to stand out as phases of life that pose such difficulty.
Tomorrow my child might shame me. Then you can toss out my advice along with the paper. Until then, please allow me to pontificate.
Bringing up children is all about carefully watching that bubbling pot. You have to keep adjusting the temperature, stirring things up a bit, and occasionally suffering a burn or two. You can’t turn off the heat, though, or it will just sit there, bored and stagnating. At times you have to sweeten things; other times require bitter herbs. Should you adopt a hands-off philosophy (let the pot do the cooking), you will enjoy brief, carefree moments followed by the risk of having a big, scorched, mess. At overflow, the mess tends to be more public than pleasant.
I don’t know all the details of this parenting fiasco. Granted, some children are harder to rein in than others. There is the occasional child who proves immune to parental guidance and correction. Did this child bypass time-outs in the formative years? Did s/he exempt the exam on the section that says certain actions have negative consequences? Or was this child genetically hard-wired to inflict headaches and heartaches upon the parents? I don’t know. I doubt many people do. The Nurture versus Nature battle rages on.
Was it all those summers when the child was technically old enough to be left alone all day, and was, that might have played a role in this degenerate behavior? Was it the result of marital problems in the parents? Was it lack of spiritual counsel and moral guidance? Was it the influence of peers that outweighed the influence of parenting? The questions can be fired more rapidly than the answers.
Next week, we’ll tackle the other twenty toes. It’s an incredulous thought, but I suspect that neither party mentioned reads this column. Do me a favor. Just this once, don’t tip them off.
Valentine’s Day is around the corner. Hopefully you’re a great planner and have everything lined up. Otherwise, you can show your sweetheart, with a few clicks, that wonderful gizmo you are ordering on Valentine’s Day itself. Disclaimer: this is not the recommended method.
There are so many forms and degrees of love, but I’ve decided to go with a tougher topic. I know you’ve grown accustomed to some hardcore, hard-nosed journalism here every week, so I don’t want to disappoint you, especially before the big day, V-Day. Valentine’s Day is all about love, but that can come in as many varieties as there are types of chocolates, flavored coffees, or kids’ cereal. Let’s be decisive and restrict ourselves to one kind: tough love.
Tough love is so called because it is not pleasant to receive, and is equally unpleasant to mete out to your beloved child. Life, I believe is built on a very pay-now or pay-later system. Either way, you’re going to have to pay, so the only decision is whether to put it off for later or to deal with it head-on. While I am a confirmed and avowed procrastinator in most things, when it comes to my children, I prefer the pay now method.
About a month ago, our doorbell rang in the early hours of the night. A father was desperately trying to collect the last hundred dollars to bail out his child from jail. Ordinarily I don’t have much cash on hand – I know, I know, I REALLY need to put together an emergency kit, with cash in it, for crises like these – but oddly enough, I had taken exactly that amount of extra cash out of the bank that very day.
I know the man who was at my door. He promised to return the money in two days as soon as he got paid. My husband says I’m gullible, and while it’s true, I had no expectations of ever seeing that cash again. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to lend things? So far, my expectations have not been disappointed. Neither have I, to be honest. Certainly, I haven’t skipped any meals or opted out of filling the gas tank because of it.
I’m more amenable to this type of solicitation than people pitching pesticide programs on my doorstep. This distraught dad offered me his cell phone number. I said no. I trust him. Obviously, he knows where we live. That’s good enough. I have no attachment to that cash. If it never comes back, it’s okay.
I’m going to tread carefully, because I might hurt some people’s feelings, specifically, three. Considering that might account for a significant chunk of my readership, I’ll try to target only those thirty toes.
I’m also going to guard myself because I have children of my own. We never know what life holds for us around the corner, and we don’t really have the power to control any being other than ourselves, no matter how necessary it might feel. Forget about controlling others; sometimes we can barely control ourselves: Infancy, toddler-hood, early childhood, the ‘tweens, the teens years, young adulthood, midlife, and old age seem to stand out as phases of life that pose such difficulty.
Tomorrow my child might shame me. Then you can toss out my advice along with the paper. Until then, please allow me to pontificate.
Bringing up children is all about carefully watching that bubbling pot. You have to keep adjusting the temperature, stirring things up a bit, and occasionally suffering a burn or two. You can’t turn off the heat, though, or it will just sit there, bored and stagnating. At times you have to sweeten things; other times require bitter herbs. Should you adopt a hands-off philosophy (let the pot do the cooking), you will enjoy brief, carefree moments followed by the risk of having a big, scorched, mess. At overflow, the mess tends to be more public than pleasant.
I don’t know all the details of this parenting fiasco. Granted, some children are harder to rein in than others. There is the occasional child who proves immune to parental guidance and correction. Did this child bypass time-outs in the formative years? Did s/he exempt the exam on the section that says certain actions have negative consequences? Or was this child genetically hard-wired to inflict headaches and heartaches upon the parents? I don’t know. I doubt many people do. The Nurture versus Nature battle rages on.
Was it all those summers when the child was technically old enough to be left alone all day, and was, that might have played a role in this degenerate behavior? Was it the result of marital problems in the parents? Was it lack of spiritual counsel and moral guidance? Was it the influence of peers that outweighed the influence of parenting? The questions can be fired more rapidly than the answers.
Next week, we’ll tackle the other twenty toes. It’s an incredulous thought, but I suspect that neither party mentioned reads this column. Do me a favor. Just this once, don’t tip them off.
Love the analogy to the bubbling pot. My children make choices, some that work and some that don't. Their choices don't make me a good or bad parent. I can only choose how to support them, and if they keep making poor choices it may mean I'm not making the best choices in that regard. Hard won realization by the parent of two young adults.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Patrick. It's always good to get advice from one who has "been there!"
ReplyDelete