Cooked Goose

Sometimes I walk into our kids’ bathroom and think, “We are not animals!” The place gets pretty tore up. There is this dried, food/toothpaste blend spit streak in the sink – residue left from a hurried, careless brushing, and even a worse rinsing. Have you seen this? It’s nasty. There are damp towels balled up. Yesterday’s clothing strewn about. Sometimes, I have to run and stop my wife at the door. Spread myself across the threshold, “No! You don’t want to see what’s in there.” They can be messy. It is one of many maddening things about our kids.

Years back, on one of these occasions, upon discovering something my kid had done or failed to do, when the first thought to cross my mind was, “You don’t get it,” just as this thought was strutting across my mind with its accompanying air of justified superiority, another thought flew in and knocked this thought on its ass. The thought went something like this, “Now, tell me, what exactly were you like at eleven?”

Let’s see, hmm … I was listening to Prince and the Revolution, stealing baseball cards, getting straight C’s, souping up my BMX bike, and cussing like a sailor. I had no concept of cleanliness, Godliness, or any other form of “liness” for that matter. My heroes were Bruce Lee and Clint Eastwood. And my number one goal in life was to learn to break dance.

Hmm… right.

Remember, he is seven. She’s eleven. Remember how long it took you to, as we say, Get it. Remember that you have over them the benefit of twenty, thirty+ years of experience, hindsight and development. Remember that a good deal of the things they do to drive you nuts is them acting their age.

It was an important realization for me: Say “yes” as much as possible. Obviously, you can’t say “yes” to everything … maybe not even to most things. So, upon my realization came the dilemma, How to swing this? How do I say “yes” when I really need to say “no”? Here’s a tip: Timing. 

As I’ve mentioned, I have two beautiful daughters. Beautiful. They’re … they’re the most precious things … for lack of words to adequately express it. And they’ve made me dislike every young man/boy on earth. Other than my son, that’s it. They are all … well, they’re, they’re all potentially guilty. You know what I mean. They’re not to be trusted. Okay? And I don’t like them.

The older of my two daughters is turning thirteen here in a few short months. And with this auspicious turning of the page, the talk of “dating” has surfaced. Now, I can’t say the word “date” in connection with my daughter without feeling an urge to kick something. But let’s face it, in reality I want her to date. Of course I want her to date. Eventually marry. The key here is timing. What doesn’t work at thirteen is great at twenty-five. What? Twenty-five’s too late to start dating?

Okay, so when she looks up at me with those big, pretty fourteen year old eyes, and asks, “Daddy, can I go on a date?” I’ll say, “Yes. Yes you can. But not now.”

When I’m bent, at least half the time the problem lies with me. Sure, something real initiates the bending: some slight, a misunderstanding, plans gone awry. And because it’s real, I’ll tell myself that it’s their fault. Yeah, them. If they didn’t do this or that … My wife. My kids. Those people … yeah, them over there. If they understood … or if they would just listen. If people would cooperate and get with my program … you know, my idea of what my life ought to be then I wouldn’t be so bent. You know what? I take that back. It’s not “half the time” it’s most of the time. My problem.

Those real things cut something deep inside. A deep disappointment held, taut in fragile skin. Like a balloon filled, stretched thin with black paint. One little something and the spilling out. The bleed of black that darkens the eyes until hope that is already a distant blur shaken by the heat rising from the blacktop of reality vanishes on the horizon. That something inside is inside me.

A few posts back I suggested you as a father need to say to your kids, “I’m sorry.” Tell them you were wrong. Admit your mistakes. If you do this each time you become aware of your fault, then you’ll likely do it often. Good. Now, you can do more. Look inside. When you say “sorry” for raising your voice, you can tell them that often you raise your voice because of other things going on in your life. You can tell them that you misunderstood because you can’t stand to be wrong. Tell them your fears. Share with them your weaknesses.

By saying “sorry” you will strip your mistakes of the power to harm your kids. By availing to them your frailty, you will become a safe place for them – someone to whom they get to extend forgiveness, with whom they get to empathize. And if they can do that … if my kids can see me as no different than themselves, then when I get over … each time I get over my problem, I can inspire them. “Hell, if Dad can laugh with all his problems then so can I.”

Last night, I was at the school “open house” for our youngest. She’s our third, so we’ve been to a few of these. They’re not such a big deal. We know her teacher, and are familiar with her work, so nothing new there. And with fifty people roaming a tiny classroom, there really isn’t much to do but to take a quick perusal and call it a night. Our older ones don’t even care about them anymore … could take it or leave it.

None of this matters though; nobody asked me what I thought. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t really matter what my daughter thinks either. In it of itself, I’m not sure how important last night was for her. That might be overstating it a bit, but for now what matters is what she perceives is the level of my interest in her. That there is what made last night’s “open house” a big deal.

I think the mistake we make is we evaluate primarily the thing itself. We cannot do this, evaluate the thing itself until we have established in their minds our priorities. With our three children, I’ve worked hard at being there … birthdays, holidays, award ceremonies, games, performances. When attending, I’ve worked at being attentive. Like I said, the work has taught me that whatever my kids do is more interesting than the most interesting thing others do. Once they have no doubt about your priorities, then some things will not be a big deal. Until then, attendance is mandatory.