Just a Bald Man . . . .

Gratitude

2011-11-23T07:03:00.000-08:00

This Christmas, we're getting guns.

Okay, that's a crappy lead in. But I once heard that in journalism school, they teach you to start with a short, provocative sentence to grip the reader, so I thought I'd give it a try.

Yes, we're getting guns. Simply put, I have one kid who wants to shoot targets, and another who wants to hunt. In some ways, we're preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse and need to be able to practice our double tap. In others, we're wondering what happens if the country declares bankruptcy, I lose my job, and we have to eat squirrels and rabbits and such. And yet another reason - if you've ever fired a weapon on a range at a target, you know how challenging and fun it can be. So, we're getting guns.

This past weekend, we toddled off to the gun store to see if we could find ones that the boys would be able to handle. The store was packed with people, and the line at the gun counter was several people deep. When it was our turn, young Levi behind the counter showed us several different types of rifles and pistols with great patience and humor and gentle pointers. Of course, we weren't actually buying the guns that day, just looking, which made the fact that he spent 30 minutes with us pretty amazing. When we were done, and Levi thanked us for coming by, I pulled out an old phrase that I thought I'd abandoned years ago:

"Guys, what do you say to Levi?"

The words almost made me throw up before they even came out. As a child, there were few things that rankled me more than receiving a gift or kindness from someone, and then having a well-meaning parent place a firm hand upon my shoulder and and say "Now, what do you say?" When I was very young, it seemed like an impossible quiz; it was clear that there was one right answer and about ten thousand wrong ones, so my chances of doing well were pretty slim. As I grew, and learned that the right answer was "thank you," I spat it out quickly and with as much honesty as I could muster so I could avoid the firm hand and gritted message.

With reflection, I'm pretty sure that I was thankful on many of the times I said "thank you," but also sure that I said it more often as a reflex than as a genuine sign of appreciation. Even today, I probably say "please" and "thank you" more than any adult I know. That's not a bad thing, obviously, as it really is a small kindness that is easy to give and can have great impact. But I do sometimes wonder if a life so liberally sprinkled with "thank yous" is really a life of gratitude, or simply a trained response to conditioning.

When it comes to my children, I know that they are grateful for many, many things - I can see it in their eyes and smiles, and hear it in their laughter. The truth is, they say "please" and "thank you" when they mean it, which is actually pretty regularly. Just knowing that they are grateful for many things led me to spend some time this morning considering what I am grateful for, right here, right now, in this time a space, in stream of consciousness mode.

I am grateful for friends who accept my quirks and moods and limitations, who sometimes get frustrated and shake their heads and yet still keep coming back for more - or allowing me to come back for more, more accurately.

I am grateful that I have a job, especially one that pays me fairly well and requires little of me outside of normal working hours.

I am grateful that I have a wife who lets me dream, deals with the procrastinations and half-filled ideas, still smiles at me even though she thinks I'm crazy.

I am grateful that I regularly come into contact with people whose own experiences and difficulties allow me to appreciate the blessings I have, and whose abiliy to handle their difficulties with grace and humility inspire me to do the same.

I am grateful for my step-mother, who cared for my father for several years before his recent death, bringing him love and comfort when he needed it most.

I am grateful for the time I was able to spend with my father, and for the realization that it wasn't enough, and for the changes that will help me make with my own children.

I am grateful that my father knew what he was doing, and was smarter than I realized.

I am grateful to the people who made "It's a Wonderful Life" and "Love, Actually."

I am grateful that, when I put on an old Veggie Tales video recently, both boys eventually came out to watch - and even asked me to rewind a part or two.

I am grateful that the heat comes on in my house when I turn it on, that the faucet works, that the bathtub drains, and that I have friends to call when none of that happens.

I am grateful that I can still cry a good cry when I need to, and still laugh a good laugh when I want to. Emotions are proof that we're paying attention.

I am grateful that my kids seem to still want me around.

I am grateful that other kids want me around, too.

I am grateful for the computer that I'm typing this on.

And I am grateful for literally thousands of other things right now, things that seem too trivial to mention but which help define me and the way I see the world. It's a good life, warts and all.

Myth Series #5: Kids are Obligated to ***

2011-11-17T17:30:00.001-08:00

When I started writing a few years ago, it was all light and fluffy and nice with an occasional pointed question thrown in. Over time, my writing become more pointed (and muuuuuuuch longer) as I started to get seriously emotionally attached to trying to help parents find different perspectives on what this whole parenting things was about. I gained a bunch of new readers, which was awesome. But I also gained a large number of vehement dissenters, which was decidedly less awesome. In the throes of a nasty-comment-induced hissy fit, I came across this quote from Canadian rights advocate Nellie McClung:

"Never retract, never explain, never apologize; get things done and let them howl."

That quote, and the context behind it, helped me push through and finalize several drafts that I almost walked away from. But sometimes, I need to explain. Sometimes I find myself enjoying the act of writing so much that the original point I was trying to make gets lost in a jumble of words which sound nice yet accomplish little. So explanations can be a good thing.

Yesterday, I wrote a rambling piece about . . . . well, when I read it now it's kinda hard to tell what it was about, exactly. It touched on how our education system seems to be founded on the expectation that kids should learn certain subjects in order to help keep America a great world power, and then it spiraled from there. What I was really trying to say is a bit simpler, so I'm gonna take a do-over:

Kids have no obligation to ensure that America becomes, remains, aspires to, or stops being great.
Kids have no obligation to fulfill the goals, dreams, hopes, or wants that their parents have for the kid.
Kids have no obligation to fulfill the goals, dreams, hopes, or wants that their parents have for themselves.
Kids have no obligation to allow themselves to lived vicariously through.
Kids have no obligation to have the reactions, emotions, thoughts or feelings that the parent wants them to have.
Kids have no obligation to restrict the reactions, emotions, thoughts or feelings that the parent doesn't want them to have.
Kids have no obligation to share their parents' values or passions or interests.

That sounds ludicrous, right? I mean, if what I say is true then . . . then . . . kids have no obligations at all. Yep, that's exactly what I am saying. Here's why.

I could argue the above bullets point by point, making a pretty solid case for why it is impossible - and disrespectful and damaging - to force your kids to do your bidding or the bidding of others. In fact, I have been arguing that very point for the better part of three years over 129 blog posts and 180,000 words. But let me approach it from a different angle. Let's just look at the word "obligation", according to the dictionary and the common use of the word:

Something by which a person is bound or obliged to do certain things, and which arises out of a sense of duty or results from custom, law, etc.

The way I read that is pretty simple; an obligation is something you have to do, something you should do, perhaps even something you think you want to do because tradition demands it. That's all well and good. Nah, it's not. It's silly. It's fake. And it's disrespectful of basic human rights like self-determinism and the authenticity.

Yet so many parents believe that their children have these obligations, and countless others like chores and good grades and saying please and thank you and . . . and . . . well, the list is almost endless. In most cases, they don't believe this because they are evil people who wish to restrict the freedoms and respect due to their children.

Sometimes they do it because they think they are entitled to be listened to and obeyed. Just because they had sex without a condom, or whatever, doesn't mean they are entitled to anything except their name on a birth certificate and a tax deduction. Seriously - that's it. Nothing else. A parent is not entitled to love, or respect, or obedience, or friendliness, or concern, or anything else. A parent has to earn those things - without ever being attached to whether or not they receive them, or when, or how. They have to be willing to trust that they may never see the ultimate benefit of their work, but to still have confidence that their work had meaning and that the quality of their work was critical to the overall beauty of the end product. They have to earn the privilege of connecting with their children by coaching, and loving, and respecting, and believing, and inspiring, and motivating . . . but with a humility and grace that inspires confidence and trust, and earns credibility with their partner and their children.

Sometimes they do it to enforce their own ideas and expectations on a child. We like to think we can control things like what a child learns, what job they have, how happy they are, how healthy they are. We infuse our children constantly with what our expectations of them are. And then we send them to off to school, where we have no control over what they learn; we send them off to college, where we have no control over the direction their lives will take; we control what they eat in our house, where they only spend 20% of their waking hours; and we control what activities they participate in in pursuit of happiness. What we do not do is give them the trust and tools they need to make their own choices and set their own course, thereby putting them in the exact same position as we were once in - unsure, fearful, with the parent's definition of happiness and success. And then, when they become parents, they'll have to start at the top of this page and read the whole damned blog just to catch up. We create the illusion of control for ourselves and our children, and then we use it to build a house of cards that we pray won't fall down until the kids are too distracted to notice.

Sometimes they do it because they believe that children need to learn about responsibility and obligation at a young age so that they can be productive members of society. That is a remarkably heavy burden to place on children, who should be experiencing the world for all of its beauty and connection and possibilities. Soon enough, they will grow up and see the world through a more adult lens and begin to see some of the challenges we face as a human race. But I believe that if kids are allowed to be kids, to learn and live in love and respect and freedom, they will quite probably continue to view the world in terms of what can be, instead of with the resigned apathy and hopelessness that so many of us endure because of our lives of obligation. They can feel better, do better, and be better if we can drop our illusions of control and duty and let them live. Believe me, they will learn what responsibility is and needs to be, in their lives and in their times.

Let's move away from obligations and away from the expectations, wants, and needs of the parent. Instead, let's move toward the hopes and dreams and passions of our children. Several years ago, I wrote this for my kids:

"I want you to be happy. I want you to see the world for all it can be. I want you to find the things you love to do and do them as much as you want. I want you to develop your own definition of success, and then pursue it like a dog on a bone. I want you to know that I will support and love you, even if you're down. And I have only one real expectation and hope - that you believe what I just said, and that you call bullshit on me when I deviate."

No obligations, no requirements. Just love and support and facilitation. It's that easy.

Myth Series #4: Children Should Learn for Their Country

2011-11-16T13:12:00.001-08:00

Once again, it seems as though the airwaves are picking up with more and more posts about education. Some of these are about educational options, exploring new thoughts and ideas about how best to ensure that our children become educated. Others focus on how to improve our schools or the quality of teaching. That's great, and needed, and an honorable thing to focus on.

But as I read through the writings of these "thought leaders," it becomes obvious that so many of them have at least one fatal flaw. No matter which direction they choose to approach the issue from, no matter how well meaning and thoughtful they are, almost all of them share one common theme that rankles me to the core - that our children must succeed in education so that they can learn a common body of knowledge that will help America regain its place among the great nations of the world.

It's not the fault of the authors, necessarily; our government and its minions have been feeding us this crap for decades. Even today, in these relatively enlightened times, our own US Department of Education lists its primary mission as follows:

President Obama's vision is that by 2020, America will again have the best-educated, most competitive workforce in the world with the highest proportion of college graduates of any country. To do this, the United States must also close the achievement gap, so that all youth— regardless of their backgrounds—graduate from high school ready to succeed in college and careers.

Ah, I think I understand. Within the next ten years, we need to ensure that more people have productive careers that serve the national interest, which means more college grads, better prepared high school students, and elementary school programs designed to prepare students for high school. Therefore, our system should be designed to ensure that we get kids ready for this life of work in the national interest as soon as possible - perhaps as early as preschool.

Ridiculous, right? I mean, that's not really what they're saying . . . it couldn't be . . . the government could not possibly be suggesting that we start preparing our kids for the workforce when they are in preschool, could they?

Of course not. They're suggesting we start even earlier:

The Department of Education has identified a limited number of high-priority performance goals that will be a particular focus over the next two years. These goals, which will help measure the success of the Department's cradle-to-career education strategy, reflect the importance of teaching and learning at all levels of the education system.

There it is. "Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations on your newborn. Now to begin your indoctrination in our national cradle-to-career education strategy. Here we go! We have goals!"

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that even I - a relatively grown man with years of experience and some ability - would bend or break under the weight of being responsible for the success of our nation. Yet, our own national education policy is designed to force the burden of that responsibility squarely on the shoulders of our children, from "cradle to grave." Disgusting? Certainly. But also extraordinarily ignorant of several realities.

First of all, the notion of America - or any country, really - being a discrete entity in terms of science, math, invention, manufacturing, finance or anything else that makes the world go 'round is about as out-of-date as the buggy whip. We're not just a global economy; we're a human race whose very survival is likely to depend on our ability to cooperate as citizens of the earth, not as citizens of any particular geography. We have too many people, not enough fossil fuels, not enough fresh water in the places where it is required, insufficient natural foods, epidemic health concerns, and a host of other problems that cannot and will not occur in a vacuum. And that's just today. The children entering kindergarten this year will graduate from college in 2030. Who can say for sure what problems the earth will be facing by then? No one. But I think we would all agree that the problems are likely to be more complex, more urgent, and more global - and that the only way to solve them is to put aside thoughts of nationalism and focus our efforts on improving the human condition.

So, with that said, I have now relieved our children of the responsibility for saving the country, and instead have asked them to save the world. Right?

Wrong. These macro problems are overwhelming, even to the millions of dedicated and intelligent people who are working on them now. So our kids, in my opinion, will need to focus on how to improve the human condition within their own lives and communities, where the impact can be tangibly felt and hopefully contagious. It is a sad reality that even in the face of gargantuan global challenges, we most often fail not because of a dearth of ideas, but because of an excess of hubris, posturing, and blaming. To counteract this will require many, many things of our children. It will require compassion, a thirst for learning, a freedom of thought, a willingness (if not a need) to buck convention and try new things. It will require them to commit to, on a micro scale, the ideals of community and sharing and learning. It will not require a knowledge of many subjects and facts upon which our modern curriculum is founded.

Our children are growing up in a complex world, and barring a series apocalypse of some type it's not likely to decrease in complexity anytime soon. Someday, they will grow older and share responsibility with each other for making the world a better place, across borders and cultures and religions and races. I don't think that Algebra is what they need to be able to do that, and I don't think that Shakespeare is going to be of much use either. I'm pretty sure that they will not need to be able to recall dates and names from the Civil War, or chart the taxonomy of a mountain goat, or diagram a chapter from "The Red Pony." What they will need is a thirst for knowledge that knows no bounds of time, place, or subject. That doesn't come from a formal curriculum, it doesn't come from a mismanaged "one size fits all" education system designed to accommodate the needs of hundreds of different stakeholders, it doesn't come from wishing and hoping, and it doesn't come from a pronouncement on the US Department of Education website.

It comes from freedom, and passion, and encouragement, and support, and new ideas. Children do not have a fundamental obligation to educate themselves so they can better advance the cause of America throughout the world; they have an opportunity to learn and explore for their own enjoyment and for the betterment of themselves and the people around them. If we could all do that - better ourselves and commit to continuous learning that has some practical application - we could make the micro changes necessary to begin moving macro needles. Maybe that would work and maybe it would not, and we definitely cannot control or manufacture the outcome in any case. But it would make the world a less complex, happier place - and maybe that is the real key anyway.

Penn State

2011-11-13T07:42:00.000-08:00

I have to confess to being in a state of shock over the horrifying events that have been revealed at my alma mater, Penn State. Ten days ago, I was blissfully enjoying the fact that our football team was having a good year, and that the finishing touches were being put on a state-of-the-art hockey rink. I wondered when Joe Paterno would finally hang up his cleats. I regularly emailed and facebooked with fellow classmates, grateful for the time we had together on a beautiful campus. I practiced many of the skills I learned in my two years there, and reflected on the fact that State College was where my sons went sledding for the first time, my oldest child went to Kindergarten, and our family suffered great adversity that strengthened our love.

And then, gradually and shockingly, came revelations of a 12+ year history of abuse and cover-up. There are plenty of places to read all of the sordid details, so I will not belabor them here; by now, they are well known and most of you probably know more details than I do. For the purposes of this post, I am not going to disrespect you, the victims, or myself by saying that these things are "alleged"; they happened, and we all know it.

One of the most disturbing things about this situation, for me personally, is what I do NOT feel. I am horrified, appalled, disgusted, saddened, angry, betrayed, disappointed . . . . but I am not, on the whole, surprised.

I do not know and will never understand the emotional and psychological forces that lead someone to rape. I will never comprehend the hubris and helplessness that lead someone to abuse. And the notion of someone choosing to have sex with a child, regardless of what twisted pathways in their brains lead them to the act, is so far outside my framework of what is right and what is wrong that just thinking about it leaves me empty inside with an overriding sense that there is more evil in the world than I allow myself to think about.

When is it okay to force sex upon another human being? Never. When is it okay to think about or have sex with a child? Never. Anyone who is not a narcissistic sociopath knows and agrees with this. Simplistic? Maybe. I don't care. Forcible sex and sex with children is simply wrong, perhaps even more so when the victim is incapable of saying no or understanding the consequences of saying no. Forcible sex and sex with children is horrifying, perhaps even more so when the abuser is a mentor, an idol, a trusted confidante. Forcible sex and sex with children is inexcusable, perhaps even more so when the victim feels so strongly about the abuser that they would never want to do or say anything against their wishes, or that would get the abuser in trouble. And forcible sex and sex with children is evil, perhaps even more so when the abuser counts on the victim's reluctance to resist as an enabler and accelerator of the abuse.

Sexual abuse against a child is one aspect of this story, but it is not the only one. Because while this abuse was sexual, and against a child, it speaks to the larger of problem of abuse as a whole within our society. It speaks of the disrespectful, demeaning, and dehumanizing behavior we see in so many aspects of our lives. It speaks of the way so many of us have decided that abuse such as this, in many guises and many situations, is okay. We hold children to a higher standard than we hold ourselves, through coercion and manipulation. We hit kids in the name of teaching them lessons and responsibility. We distance ourselves emotionally from our children through belittling them and prioritizing our needs and wants over theirs. And we tell them that we do it all out of love.

When is it okay for an adult to force their own will upon a child, sexual or otherwise? Never.
When is it okay to demean another person by operating as though your needs and desires are the only ones that matter? Never. But we have, over time, allowed ourselves to view behaviors that are designed to control and force an outcome as good things, and necessary, and desirable, so we can raise everyone the "right" way. In actuality, all we have done is laid the groundwork for a climate in which disrespect has become the norm, even expected, in which our way is the right way regardless of how the other person feels about it. Forceful behavior is the antithesis of compassion and respect, two things that the world needs now more that ever, especially on a micro level. Yet, we persist.

The sexual abuse is unspeakable, and the psychological abuse is damaging to our society on so deep a level that most of us will never see it. But still, the problem goes deeper:

Men in a position of trust chose to violate that trust by not reporting the abuse.
Men in a position of trust chose to violate that trust by reporting it late.
Men in a position of trust chose to violate that trust by simply following procedure and stopping there.
They chose to keep the situation quiet, within the university, rather than reporting it to the police.
They chose to allow the abuser his dignity, without pausing to think of the victims - or the fact that your right to dignity ceases when you chose to rape a child.
Then they chose to allow a suspected - likely known - sexual predator to continue working with children on campus, within his charity, and in other scenarios.
And they chose to keep quiet, to pretend like it didn't happen, to allow the man to retire quietly while still maintaining a sacred place within the university community.

Supporters of the university administrators are quick to point out that none of these actions are illegal. That's all well and good, as far as it goes. I could probably write for hours about the injustices of our legal system, and how it is unlikely that any available legal remedy could ever come close to providing justice, should justice even be possible for the victims. I could write about power, and money, and privilege, and their impacts on the legal outcomes of this case. But for me, that is not the point.

The point is, when faced with this situation, numerous intelligent men chose to completely disregard their moral compasses.

Some did so out of fear for their jobs. Some did so out of concern for the way their public personas would be perceived. Some did so to preserve the prestige of the football program, or the university. Some did it because their relative power led to hubris. Some did it to preserve an "all for one, one for all" code. But they all did it.

All it would have taken is for one man to stand up and say "no." All it would have taken is for one person to call the police, or the abuser's wife, or the board members of the Second Mile. They could have banned him from campus, had him incarcerated, any number of things. But they chose to ignore what was right - inherently right, and right for the children the abuser came in contact with - and ignore their own moral compasses. And then, they covered it up, ignoring the relaties for more than 12 years, allowing him to victimize countless other children. I don't care whether or not they acted within the law. I don't care if they believe they acted in accordance with university ethics guidelines. Their fear and hubris led directly to children being abused.

I fear for a world in which intelligent, educated, successful men are led by their own desires and fears rather than by a sense of morality and responsibility for making the world a better place. Really, though, it's not just them. We all could do more, say more, stand up more, and put our own desires aside so that we could follow our own compasses more frequently. It's not always easy, it's not always safe for us personally. But it could save a child, save a spirit, save a life. To be sure, everyone's moral compass is a bit different. But no one's compass point toward child rape, or allowing child rapists to continue their behavior. We just have to have the courage to read our compasses more often.

Rodney Erickson, the new President of Penn State, said on Thursday that this was the worst week in the history of the University. I disagree. The worst week was the week that the abuser decided to rape a child for the first time. Or maybe the worst week was the week we allowed a known sexual predator to continue to rape children. It could be that the worst week was the week we decided to cover it up.

Or the worst week could be some week yet to come, when one of us sees something that makes our own compass go off, and turns away instead of acting.

Seven Years, Seven Months, Nine Days

2011-11-10T15:31:00.001-08:00

I think it was Winston Churchill who once said, when speaking about Russia, "it is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." Yep, that describes me well enough. Compassionate, but capable of blunt judgment. Supportive of the right to express views, but intolerant of some. Peaceful, yet capable of frightening violence. In short, conflicted and enigmatic, just like the rest of us. But I try not to feel badly about it, choosing instead to drink from the wisdom of Walt Whitman:

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."

My contradictions, my multitudes, are often kept at bay through reason and patience and a general state of inner calm and acceptance, which usually serve me quite well. But sometimes . . . sometimes I see or hear something that transforms all of the world's gray into stark black and white. Often, it involves children - demeaning them, hitting them, or the horrific abuses like we see unfolding at Penn State. Sometimes, it involves politics. Right now, I find myself fired up about the Occupy movements.

I saw something on Facebook the other day about a planned Occupy protest in the Midwest. The person who posted it added a short comment below the link: "Time to get out the steamroller." My negative reaction was swift and strong, and much deeper that I thought it would be. Like many people I have been following the Occupy movement from afar. I am angry about the impact of the government/business relationship on the 99%, and I support the right of people to stand up and say "enough is enough." But I also see firsthand the erosion of personal responsibility on this country that has little to do with corporations, and I wonder if the protests will be effective or simply snub out in a kinder of apathy like so many other modern American protests. And I have been struck by my own personal choice on involvement - believing in the movement, but unwilling to risk activism because I am afraid of losing my job/house/car. Sad, but there it is. So it has been interesting to watch.

But when I saw that steamroller comment, I was pissed. Cities are driving the protesters out of public places, police have in some cases acted with brutality, the media and corporations have been scornful or dismissive for the most part, and millions of Americans believe that the Occupy protesters are being unpatriotic and un-American.

And that, my friends, is where I call bullshit. Let me tell you why.

For those of you who pay attention to such things, tomorrow is Veterans Day in the United States. Veterans Day (and there is no apostrophe in 'veterans', btw) was declared an official national holiday in 1958, although it had been celebrated on and off since 1919 as Armistice Day, to celebrate the end of World War I. For some people, Veterans Day serves as a reminder of the service that veterans and their families have rendered to our nation, largely to fulfill the principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for which our Founding Fathers risked so much. Not all wars are just and not all are justified, and the idea of "fighting to preserve freedom" has been used as a flag-covered guise for darker purposes many times over our nation's brief history. We have killed innocent people at home and abroad, for manifest destiny and imperialism and oil and to fight demons that did not really exist. Not all of our "wars" have been like this, but some have been. But since we declared our independence from England in 1776, nearly 2.5 million men and women have given their lives or limbs while in uniform. Countless millions more were forever afflicted with wounds invisible to the eye, and millions of family members were - and continue to be - forever changed by the sacrifices of a few good men and women. These sacrifices were, in the most part, made in order to preserve freedom, in whatever sense that word was used at the time.

I served in the US Army for seven years, seven months, and nine days, getting out as a Staff Sergeant after several quick promotions. I never saw combat, but I did see plenty of blood and pain and death, more foxholes than I can count, weeks and months of time away from things and people I loved, and a ton of other things that it's hard to explain. I was disabled, but it was from a poorly-treated football injury. I served with many people whom I believe to be heroes, and did the best I could to help them through the tough times that come both before and after combat. I didn't do it for the medals, or the thanks, or the glory, and I don't want them now.

I served in an effort to preserve some of the good in our country, like our right to follow in the footsteps of our Founding Fathers and stand up for injustice and inequality with any and all means at our disposal. I did NOT do all of it to enrich corporations, or enable politicians to destroy honest protest with rhetoric, or allow police to violently break up demonstrations in which citizens exercise their right to call bullshit on a system that we all know to be corrupt. I am the 99%, I served for the 99%, I support the 99%, and if you don't like it you can kiss 99% of my ass - and with this ass, that's a whole bunch.

If you want to thank a veteran this Veterans Day, all you have to do is simply live life in the way that it is meant to be lived, and by exercising the freedoms that so many people have sacrificed to preserve for you. Celebrate life in all its varied forms. Plant a tree. Love a child. Laugh. Live a day without fear of repression. Vote. Protest. Write your Congressperson. Call "bullshit" when you see something you don't agree with. Adopt a well-reasoned ideology. Kiss a dog. Hold your leaders accountable, especially on a local level. Run for office. Write a letter to the editor. Take a day off from work and watch TV. Go for a walk and breathe fresh air. Go to a museum and get lost in the beauty of expression. Burn a flag. Raise a flag. Have a message, a meaning, a purpose, and share it with others. Offer your help. Offer your ear. Offer your heart, and accept it from others.

If you want to thank a veteran this Veterans Day, exercise the freedoms we served for. Live life, promote and enjoy liberty, and pursue happiness. It is your right to do all of those, and I think it's our responsibility to do them to the best of our ability. And when it's over, and you are free and happy, when you see a veteran just offer a smile and nod and quiet 'thank you'; I bet the veteran will know exactly what you mean.

Myth Series #3: Kids Need Structure

2011-10-25T07:34:00.000-07:00

We've seen it hundreds of times. A parent enforces bedtimes, against the obvious will of the child. The days are planned carefully, with enriching activities scheduled out by the minute. Playtime is defined and controlled and scheduled. Many of the things a child does in a day - from when to arise to what to wear to what to eat to who they interact with and what they do - are presented in a tightly bound package that sometimes gives the illusion of free choice, but which in actuality removes almost all aspects of the child's free choice from the equation. Sometimes it looks like this; sometimes it is less severe. And, of course, sometimes it is even more restrictive that I have illustatred here. And if the child goes to school, it is even worse.

When questioned, parents and educators who work with their children in this way rely on a simple catchphrase to support their decisions: "Children need/want/thrive with structure." In many respects, I don't really disagree with this statement; I have seen for my own eyes that many kids do like structure, and thrive within it.

But . . . . as a sometimes public speaker, wannabe writer, and frequent pontificator, I have come to believe over the years that our choice of words has deep meaning. As such, we need to be careful about the words we use, how we define them, and the meanings that they convey. I DO believe that kids need structure. But when people say this, I think they really mean something very different.

Structure does not, by definition or intent, mean rigid. Structure does not mean unbending. Structure does not mean coercive, or manipulative. Structure does not imply the restriction of choice. No, structure, at its most direct, simply means a framework within which we live our lives and make our moment-to-moment and day-to-day decisions.

I think kids need that structure; after all, we all need some sort of guardrails to help us in our lives, very general rules and ideas to help us define our worlds and our places within them.

But this structure can and could be an authentic one, guided not by the needs of the parent or the conventions of a society mired in 100 year-old parenting techniques, but by the desires and passions and interests of the child. This structure can and could be focused on possibilities, guided not by restrictive "reality"-focused thoughts about what is and is not productive, but by the world of what could come to be, if only we were allowed to dream it. This structure can and could be one based on support, guided not by rules and punishments, but by love and respect and communication and learning.

If you pay attention to your kids - really, really pay attention and follow instead of lead - I bet that nine times out of ten they will show you ways of viewing things that you never knew existed. Kids do need structure, but their version of structure can and likely will look different from the way we would imagine it. To a child, structure may look like "I have a play date this week," instead of "I can play from 1:00 - 2:00pm tomorrow." To a child a structure may look like "I wonder what food we have in the house," instead of "I have to eat the food on my plate." To a child, structure may look like "I am interested in this, and I have the resources I need to pursue that interest," instead of "I have to learn something else now, because the clock says I have to."
In other words, children do like and perhaps need structure; it is just a looser structure, a "possibility oriented" structure, a fun and want-based structure that is based on what makes sense to the child instead of being for the convenience of the adult.

"But Jeff," you say, "that is so short sighted. Kids don't know what they need, and in the absence of structure they'll be all over the place." Will they be all over the place? Yes, probably, at least for a while. Is that short-sighted? Absolutely not. The world is a changing place, a challenging place, and our children will face with perils and opportunities that are literally beyond our comprehension. They will need new ways of thinking, new ways or working, new ways of viewing the world and solving problems. Which person is more likely to be able to do that - the child who had few choices, rigid guidelines, and had their thoughts and actions controlled, or the child who was taught to define the world through their own eyes, in their own way and time, with the knowledge that there isn't really even a box to think outside of?

Don't believe me?

I offer you Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Gandhi - you name it, the people who truly change the world for the better have all done so because of their creativity, their passion, and their sense of what is possible rather than what is not. That comes from defining structure in their own ways, but never through rigidity, coercion, or the restriction of choice.

Myth Series #2: Kids Need a Parent, Not a Friend

2011-10-11T17:57:00.001-07:00

I've been at this whole conscious/gentle parenting thing for a few years now, and I have heard just about every possible criticism of my parenting style from people who are convinced that more traditional methods are the way to go. Some of that criticism has been predictable and easy to deflect, like comments about bedtimes or educational choices. Other swipes have been harder to deal with, like spanking and forcing food choices. But of all of the comments I have received, the one that perplexes me the most is this one, Myth #2:

"You're supposed to be their parent, not their friend."

Hmm. Well, I certainly don't argue with the first part; I mean I am indeed supposed to be their parent, no doubt. But the second part? I don't know. I'm not sure why I can't be both, or at least behave as though I want to be both. In fact, I think I can be both---not because it sounds nice or seems cool and new, but because it doesn't make sense to me to approach it any other way. But this myth is so strong, so pervasive, that it is a particularly thorny one for many parents. After all, this one speaks to a base, fundamental question: What is, in fact, the role of a parent?

In a traditional parenting model, founded on the noble platform of helping your child be prepared to be successful in the real world, parenting is to a large degree about control. In that model, a parent's purpose is to control what their kids are exposed to so they can learn the right things; to keep them away from things that are bad for them so they can stay safe and maintain their trajectory; to direct their energies into productive activities; to prepare them for the real world; to teach them what they need to know and to ensure that they develop independence. After all, do you want them sitting around all day watching South Park? How will they ever grow up to be normal and successful if they're being raised abnormally?

If you view parenting through this framework, of course it is almost impossible to be a friend to your child; so many of the verbs are contrary to deep, connected relationships. But if you view the role of the parent in a different light, you can begin to see the possibilities. Let's break that model down a bit and look at it phrase-by-phrase:

"A parent's purpose is to control . . ." Stop right there; you've lost me already. A parent's whole purpose is to love, empower, explore, coach, aid, listen, learn, care about/for. Control is not part of the job description.

" . . . keep them away from things that are bad for them . . " Shouldn't a human being have a right to have a say in what's good or bad for them? Shouldn't a child be allowed to learn and explore their world so they can define it on their own terms? Doesn't most of our learning come from our own experiences, through which we establish our own sense of boundaries?

" . . . direct their energies into productive activities . . ." Okay. Whose definition of productive do we get to use - yours or your child's? For you, productive might mean lesson plans and cello lessons, while your child might think of Legos and baking brownies. Or the inverse might be true.

" . . . to prepare them for the real world . . ." Yes, and we all know how flawless a place that is, right? Why wouldn't we want to prepare them to change the world for the better if they choose, rather than how to operate in a world that was defined by others? Why not send them out into the world with a sense of all that can be accomplished by unconditional love and high self-worth, rather than a Bachelor's degree? Couldn't the world use a little change?

" . . . to teach them what they need to know . . ." You mean like we were taught about World Civilizations and Trigonometry, even though they may not have had any relevance for what we wanted to do or were passionate about? Hell, I have an MBA and don't know the first thing about that stuff, because it's not important to me to know it. And when I did need to know it to pass the GMAT because I wanted to go to B-school, you know what I did - I learned it. No one alive today can tell us what knowledge our kids will need 20 years from now. But I have a sneaking suspicion that "skills" like reciting Byron and writing geometry proofs will not be among them.

" . . . to ensure they develop independence." How do you ensure someone develops independence? By teaching it to them? By controlling what they do so they learn how to be independent? How does that work exactly? Or should they be allowed to see it modeled and experience it themselves?

"Do you want them sitting around all day watching South Park?" Frankly, no; I much prefer Family Guy. For that matter, South Park isn't even on "all day." But it's not my choice, it's theirs; and I'll watch with them so we can talk about it, and celebrate it as a way to connect with my children.

These are powerful words and actions---love, empower, explore, coach, aid, listen, learn, care about/for, enable, encourage, provide opportunity, open to outcome, committed to the child's self-determination. With some changes and adaptations in thinking, these could easily reflect the role of the parent; I know many, many families in which this is true.

But while these words could reflect the role of the parent, they already do reflect the role of a friend. Think about it; don't we all want friends who will love us, enable us, listen to us and learn with us? Of course we do. We identify with any person - regardless of their title or role in our lives - who can consistently and unconditionally provide us with these things.

Obviously, there are plenty of things that a parent does that a friend does not do, and the responsibility of a parent to their children lasts a lifetime while friends, even best friends, can be fleeting. I know there are, and should be, differences between the two.

But I am not suggesting that a parent has to chose to be either a parent or a friend; I am saying that a parent can choose to be a parent and a friend. Kids need both, especially today. You're the one who knows them best, who understands their needs best, who understands their dreams.

Kids need a parent and a friend, and I bet yours would blossom if you were both.

The Big Disclaimer

2011-10-08T12:50:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, a friend of mine wrote a blog post about unschooling and parenting, and as sometimes happens they received some really negative - even nasty - comments. This is not unusual; I've gotten hate mail plenty of times, especially when I try to tackle the most mainstream parenting topics like spanking and chores. I have no problem with debate per se, but my blog is about my opinions, beliefs, and values. I don't see the point in arguing or debating about values, to be honest. I have been a parent who uses physical intimidation, yelling, coercion, and a host of other methods which now repulse me because I believe they are unfair and damaging to my children. I researched and made conscious changes to become the parent I am - not perfect, but gentle and thoughtful. That works for me, my partner, and my kids. And so I write about it. You can change my mind or my thinking about politics, religion, and a host of other things - but I know what kind of parent I am, what kind I want to be, and why. No one is likely to change my mind about that, so what's to argue about? My beliefs are mine; if you don't like them, don't read them. The internet is filled with people expressing their opinions, and when I encounter people expressing opinions that make me upset or angry, I close the page and move onto something more joyful.

When my friend got those nasty comments, I happened to be reading an amazing book by Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas called "Of Men and Mountains." Douglas was raised in the mountains of central Washington, and was able to stay connected to nature throughout the remainder of his life. One particular passage struck me, especially in light of people who seem to seek situations that make them angry or frustrated.

"The events of the winter had made me wonder at times, "Whither man?" I recalled an evening's conversation with a group of young folks. They deplored the fact that man was being more and more regarded only as a biological -or economic - being. He was put into tables and polls and considered as fungible as wheat or corn. One of them made the point that there was a diminishing recognition of the spiritual qualities of the importance of quickening man's conscience and asking him to search his soul as well as his mind for answers to the perplexing problems of the day. Perhaps man was losing his freedom in a subtle manner. He was becoming more and more dependent on other men. Part of that dependency was necessary, since man had to look to others for his food and fuel and essential services.

"But he had also become dependent on others for his entertainment and for his ideas. He looked to people rather than to himself and to the earth for his salvation. He fixed his expectations on the frowns or smiles or words of men, not on the strength of his own soul, or the sunrise, or the warming south wind, or the song of the warbler. Once man leaned that heavily on people he was not wholly free to live. Then he became moody rather than self-reliant. He was filled with tensions and doubts. He walked in an unreal world, for he did not know the earth from which he came and to which he would return. He became a captive of civilization rather than an adventurer who topped each hill ahead for the thrill of discovering a new world. He lost the feel of his own strength, the power of his own soul to master any adversity."

So, what does that all mean, especially in relation to this blog?

Well, it's pretty simple, really. This is a blog, only a blog, and it's MY blog. I am not an expert at much of anything, let alone parenting. But I do have my opinions based on experiences that involved a tremendous amount of introspection, trial, and tears. Read if you want, think if you want, change if you want . . . or do none of those, if you want. It's only opinion, not gospel, and as such is best taken in small doses over time for you to enjoy or spit out at your whim.

The biggest message I could ever possibly deliver is this: Life is short, and it's best that we all get on with the process of living it as wide open and joyfully as possible. If what I write moves you, great. If it doesn't, well then simply move along to real things that bring you joy. You likely only get one chance at this life; don't waste it by fixing your "expectations on the frowns or smiles or words of men, not on the strength of (your) own soul, or the sunrise, or the warming south wind, or the song of the warbler."

Other than that, enjoy!

Myth Series #1: I Can Control How My Kids Turn Out

2011-10-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know much about my background, let me simply say this: I like control, in a variety of shapes and sizes. Of course, in my mind that's not necessarily a bad thing, especially given my history. I spent several years coaching and playing ice hockey, a game which, despite the way it is perceived, is one of structure and discipline. I have two college degrees, which while they did not involve all that much brain work, certainly required discipline and control to complete. I served nearly eight years in the Army, a quintessential example of control in action. And for the past 12 years or so, I have made my living in the world of business, surrounded by spreadsheets and data and facts which had to be analyzed so that detailed plans could be written and followed. So for me, in my life, and in my circumstances, there is a place - and a need, actually - for control.

Over time, I came to realize that control in some aspects of life doesn't necessarily translate well to others; for proof, just ask my first wife. When I became a parent, I began to see some interesting distinctions between controlling processes and controlling people. I came to understand that a process, as an inanimate object with no sense of purpose or thought, can be controlled in virtually any circumstance. But a person? Well, that's a whole other story. People think, they feel, they have their own goals and dreams and ideal outcomes, and as such can be resistant to being controlled, even guided, in ways they don't identify with. Influenced? Perhaps. But controlled? No. Not that knowing that stops us from trying, mind you.

The myth of control, especially when it comes to our children and their "destiny", is pervasive. And it starts from conception, in many respects. We don't call it control, mind you, because over the years we as a society have come to see "controlling our children" as a negative thing - which, by the way, it is. But we have not stopped trying to control our kids, we've merely repackaged the ideas of control with new words and phrases. Instead of controlling them, we're "teaching" or "guiding" them for "their own good", or "setting them up for success", or "influencing their decisions" so they can "be accepted in society."

But it's still control, and it's everywhere (WARNING, EXTREME EXAMPLE ALERT):

We let our babies "cry it out" so we can train them to solve problems on their own.
We move our infants and toddlers into their own rooms so they can learn to be independent.
We buy them educational toys so they can get a head start on becoming smart.
We send them to preschools so they can get into the best primary schools so they can get into the best high schools and colleges so they can get good jobs and grow up to be happy.
We make them take tap lessons and piano lessons and art lessons and then force them to continue, because kids need to learn how to stick with things that they do not love.
We make them play soccer and baseball, because kids need to learn how to work well with others.
We make sure that they get to bed on time and take showers and brush their teeth, so they can be presentable when they ship off to the school we make them go to.
We make them . . . well, you get the idea.

WHY do we make our kids do all of these things? Why do we emphasize control of schedules so they can meet commitments? Why do we emphasize formal education? Why do we focus on making sure that our kids are well rounded so they can get into the right college? Is it because we're bad parents?

For the most part, no. As a parent, letting go of control is hard - very hard. Sometimes, we control because we feel out of control in other aspects of our lives, and we need to control something in order to stay in balance. But sometimes we control in an attempt to protect our children from having to endure some of the things in life we know are difficult - broken hearts, misdirected efforts, wastes of time, etc. After all, we know all of the shortcuts because we've already been through it. We know how to get through life with efficiency and expedience, in ways that will protect our own hearts from pain. And because we have learned from our own mistakes, we have a strong desire to help our children live their lives as error-free as possible. And so we try control a variety of things - TV, food, sleep times, educational choices, friends and lovers - with generally positive intent, but often negative results.

So there are reasons why we control. But to a large degree, those reasons are based on two very big myths. The first myth is that a child needs to have all of this control to be successful in life. Blinded by old paradigms that tell us that happiness and success are directly proportional to material and monetary wealth, we guide our children to achieve that wealth almost from the get go. There is a growing movement in this country to recognize that which many other societies already take for granted - that happiness has very little to do with wealth, and that in many ways education has little to do with wealth either. There are many ways to be wealthy and many ways to be happy, and virtually any corporate executive in America will tell you that they struggle with their choices when they look deeply into the mirror. Personally, I know a lot of very wealthy people, and a lot of people with a negative net worth. They all have the same fears and pressures and concerns, for the most part, but the poorer people are often richer in interpersonal relationships and passions. So there's that.

Many of us know all of that, and maybe have even done something about it. After all, it's actually fairly obvious, albeit difficult to attain. But the bigger myth, the ugly lie, is the illusion that all of that control will actually lead to a desired outcome.

Think about all of the controls we put in place in an effort to lead our children down a specific path: bedtimes, hygiene, food, studies, sports, arts, please and thank you, the words they use, the emotions they have, the thoughts they express, the games they play and the way they play them. We do this with a goal in mind, with an outcome that we think is best for them, with the knowledge that if we can mold them down this path their lives will be better for it, even if they resist in the near term. After all, we reason, we're raising kids for the long term, and our own experience tells us that we know best when it comes to what is right for our kids.

And then we turn them over to the school system, where we have no control over who teaches them, what they learn, how they are taught, or how they will apply that knowledge.

We turn them over to their friends and acquaintances, with no control over what they'll do, who they'll do it with, or how they will do it.

We send them to college, with no control over what path they take and how they get there, food choices, hygiene, bed times, graduation date, choice of profession, or anything else.

And then they move out into the world on their own, and whatever small semblance of control or influence we thought we had dissipates to nothing, almost overnight. Where they will live, who they will marry, what kind of people they will be, are all their choice. Of course, at that young adult stage we recognize that this behavior, this freedom of self-determination, is normal and necessary. And we trust that we have sent them into the world with the tools they need; after all, this is why we attempted to control so much in the first place. And maybe we have, through our efforts, been able to influence them to the point where they will make good decisions.

Of course, maybe not.

I mentioned earlier that the control we exert over our children can work in the short term. It may take effort, and we need to have the stomach for the inevitable conflicts, at least until our kids wear down and stop fighting. We can control bedtimes, and behavior, and school performance, and participation in various activities. Sometimes, we can do this with relative ease, especially if the child actually enjoys these activities. More often, it is not easy and sets up an adversarial relationship between parent and child that can last a lifetime. But it can be done, in the short term.

If, as a parent, you see your role as being responsible for your child getting out into the world quickly and with a decent job, then perhaps this short term view is enough. But there are negatives, severe ones. When we assume control of these aspects of a child's life we are robbing our kids of a learning and growth opportunity. We're enforcing our own needs and desires, thereby subjugating the needs and desires of our children. We're also robbing them of an opportunity to learn some of life's lessons for themselves, in their own way and in their own time, and in terms of what is important to them. We assume that if they experience difficult times that they will suffer in some way, and we want to protect them from that suffering. But while that may be true in many cases, our kids are different than we are, and are therefore likely to approach these situations in ways that are far different than the way would chose to approach them - likely for the better.

If you see your role as a parent FOREVER, charged with helping your children be happy and thriving adults for a lifetime, then you cannot adopt such a short-term view of the "benefits" of control. You cannot rob your kids of opportunities to learn and grow; instead, you have to help them learn to love to learn, by allowing them the freedom to experiment and sometimes fail. You cannot subjugate the needs and desires of your children; if you demonstrate that their thoughts and passions have value, they will learn that they themselves are invaluable. It's not about controlling the behavior and environment for a short-term successful outcome; it's about building the life skills necessary for them to be able to define "success" in their own way and in their own time, and then pursue it like a dog on a bone. Some of these life skills may indeed be the same, but others - love of learning, self worth, value, self determination, ability to experiment, the pursuit of passions - are virtually impossible to impart when a child is raised in a controlling environment. Many of us reading this still live with the lingering effects of our own upbringings and the impact of short-term - albeit well intentioned - control.

I am not suggesting that we should never offer our ideas, or thoughts, or the wisdom of our own experiences. When we are engaged with our children, they will look to us to help them approach these challenges. But there is a difference between offering these things as a partner in your child's life, and controlling these things in an attempt to prevent your children from experiencing the difficulties of life, or in attempt to achieve an outcome. If we help our children approach their lives through a framework of what is possible when we learn and experience new things, they are far more likely to view these challenging times in ways that far exceed our hopes and expectations with their maturity and balance.

Mythunderstandings and Mythperceptions: The Lies Society Told You About Parenting

2011-10-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

Remember this little parenting gem that was floating around on the internet last year?

PROMISE TO MY CHILD: I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you crazy, be your worst nightmare & hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed...because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER find someone who loves you more, prays for you more, cares about you more, and worries about you more than your parents. Re-post if you love your child.

I had a very intense negative reaction to that entire paragraph and the sentiment behind it, and I blogged about it in greater detail here. Some of my friends and blog readers had an intense reaction as well, and more than a few people were pissed off by my take; it even cost me some friendships.

I guess that my overwhelming feeling at this "promise" was one of immense sadness. I am sad for the people who believe this, and I am sad for the children who live under its iron hand. Parenting is so hard and so complex for so many people, and I understand the need to latch on to some sort of framework or schema that helps us make good decisions when things get dicey. But these frameworks - like the one above- represent a degree of hubris and authority that is completely contrived. I wish that more parents were willing or able to think more about these schemas and then look for other possible alternatives that could work well for their families.

Over the years, I had developed my own set of schemas that helped me make sense of the world. Schemas are very interesting things; if you're not familiar with the word or the history of the study of schemas, check out the schema page on Wikipedia for a quick introduction. At their simplest, schemas are our views of the world which we develop over time and with experience, and which help us to make sense of complex issues. They help us take that which we have already "learned" and store away how we feel about it, so that we do not have to rethink every aspect of a problem each time we encounter it. This is, as you might guess, extremely useful. For example, many of us have behavioral schemas based on the Biblical Ten Commandments. These tell us, among other things, that murder, stealing, and lying are wrong. We absorb these ideas, and they become part of our own "world view" so we don't have to rethink whether or not we should kill the driver that cut in front of us, or steal that dress we see in the window. We already know that we can not; our schemas tell us so, and we can move on to consider other solutions that help us get what we want (such as flipping the driver off, and paying for the dress with our AMEX.) These schemas help to give us a sense of purchase on a life of slippery slopes, enabling us to hold ground as our world changes around us. As such, they can be extremely comforting.

But holding ground in a changing world can also be dangerous. Schemas can offer us a false sense of security because they can lead us to blindly follow that which leaves us comfortable as opposed to allowing us to question the validity of that comfort in the face of growth and change. In order to change, to adapt, and to grow, we have to look beyond our schemas, sometimes letting go and sliding down the mountain a bit in order to get a different view and engage in our lives in a different manner. And few changes in our lives have the potential to challenge and change us, and therefore to require us to give a bit on some of our schemas, than when we become a parent.

Breaking our parenting schemas is obviously difficult, for a variety of reasons. Many schemas are developed over time, as we learn and experience more about politics, social mores, education, and love. Some of these come in our youth, as parents and teachers tell us what they want from us and help define our sense of right and wrong. Some come in our teen years, as we begin to develop response mechanisms in response to hurt and joy. And some come in our adult years, as we learn more of the world and the influence we choose to have in it. Of all of the schemas we rely on, only one affects us from Day One of our lives; the parenting schema. We grow up with that schema all around us. That schema is different person to person, as it is passed on directly from parents. But as we grew, exposed (perhaps indoctrinated) to the parenting schemas of our own mother and father, many of us came to a relatively common world view of what a parent is and what a parent should be - and therefore how a child should be raised and treated. In the Western world, these schemas were reinforced not only by our own parents, but by virtually all that we could hear or see about parenting: commercials and television programs, the medical and insurance industries, and Child Psychology educational curricula, for example. Powerful influences, no doubt.

But they have not created reality; they have only created myths that, in the end, may do more harm that good.

Over the past several years, I have been gathering a list of these common myths about parenting - mythunderstandings, mythperceptions, and mythstakes - and have given them a good deal of thought. Now, it's time to get those thoughst down on paper, in blog format. Beginning later this week, I'll be capturing my thoughts on the parenting myths in a series of 10-15 posts, hopefully taking place over a month or so. I hope you'll follow these, read them, think about them, and be encouraged to debate and discuss.

A Disclaimer

As always, my thoughts are mine and mine alone, based on the unique circumstances of my family, as individuals and as a collective whole. We have our ways, and our thoughts, and our frameworks, and our preferences - and you have yours. I've seen brilliant parenting and happy children in all walks of life, and no single one of them is inherently "better" or "worse" than any other.

Some people treat parenting like a visit to the tailor. They come into it knowing exactly what they want it to look like given their own preferences and likes, and they work tirelessly to ensure an end product that fits their description. They know what they want, they know when they want it by, and if it doesn't come as quickly as they like they will drop it and go find a different tailor who will do it the way they want it done. I always viewed our journey in a very different light, more like a trip to a thrift store than a visit to the tailor. I never felt that I needed a "power suit" that fit my exacting needs to create an image of who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be viewed by others. I simply felt that I needed to wear clothes of some type, and that the combinations and appearance could and should morph with time. If I didn't like what I found in one place, I could move on to another and another with no hurry and no expectations. I knew that when the "clothes felt right" then it would be right.

Some of these things are conscious choices that we have made. Some of those have been easy, some have been incredibly difficult. Some of these things existed long before we had kids, and long before we heard of conscious parenting – but more than a few were picked up and honed along the journey. The point is that these circumstances are what make our family unique. There are literally thousands of others, completely unique to us – our preferences, our upbringings, our socio-economic status, our family heritage, our choices.

When I think about the fact that each family brings thousands of different variables into their parenting journey, I come to see parenting less as a well-defined end state and more of a spectrum along which each family will fall onto a different point. Some families will chose to reject formal curriculum while maintaining control of other parenting decisions. Some families will elect to go the full enchilada and remove all controls, leaving everything to the children to regulate. Most families will fall onto their own unique point between these two bookends of the spectrum, letting go of some things and controlling others. Some of those families may choose a different point on the spectrum for each child in the house, depending on the needs and wants – the unique variables – of their situations.

With those ideas in mind, read what you like and play with it for a while. Some of it may work for you, and some of it won't. That's cool. I may be preachy, but this isn't Gospel.

Running: A Love/Hate Story

2011-09-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

Later this afternoon, Ginger and I are beginning a "Couch to 5k" training program designed to get us off of our asses and get healthy-ish. We are not classic runners by any means, but it is important to note that we were both in the Army at one time and were extremely fit. In fact, we first met while on a Saturday training run along Monterey Bay, and running was part of our lives for the first year or so we spent together. After spending the past 12 years exploring and growing (physically as well as spiritually, sad to say) and focusing on spending time with our kids, we are moving into a mode where we'll focus on improving our health so we can actually spend more time with our kids, rather than keel over suddenly while trying to climb up the two big stairs that lead to our front door. OK, it's not really that bad, but it will be great to experience the thrill of running and pushing our bodies again. We'll train - veeeeery slowly and methodically - for the next two months in preparation for a 5k race we'll run the day before Hallowe'en. If we're still alive and able to walk, we'll run some more after that.

But as much as I am looking forward to getting into better shape, and as much as I am looking forward to the peace and solitude of running, I do have some small hesitations. There are some really inconsequential things, like maybe needing new shoes and concerns about how my left knee will hold up since it seems to enjoy living a life of luxury with it's little scars and zero cartilage. But the real concern?

I fucking HATE running.

Now, this is not a new phenomenon. I have always hated running. As a kid, I would run for neighborhood play, but never just for the sake of running. Running while playing street hockey? Check. Running to catch a TD or round the bases? Of course. Running after Joey from across the street to give him a Pop-Tart wedgie? Like the friggin' wind, bro. Running when mom called me home for dinner? Oh baby, yes (unless it was that dogshit-tasting wine chicken.) But running just to run? Stupid, pointless, boring as hell.

In high school, I was roughly the same height and build I am now, with a few score less pounds. I got it into my head that I wanted to join the wrestling team. (As an aside, wrestling is one of those sports that seems pretty easy and tempting, especially if you're young and strong. Don't do it. It's equal parts strength and technique; my first day of practice, I got beat by a kid who weighed like 110 lbs and had a mullet that I am sure must have served as the model for Joey Buttafuoco's. True story.) The first day of practice, the coach had us run around the gym for 20 minutes. It was easy, but so pointless. And then he made us do it again, and again, and again, until we were eventually running a mile every day before practice. And I don't mean jogging a mile, like a Richard Simmons "you can do it!" prance around the room; I'm talking about heart-pounding, air sucking, "oh Jesus oh Jesus oh Jesus I'm dying" sprints. I did it because I wanted to be cool and get a hot girlfriend (another wrestling misnomer, by the way; the hot girlfriend never did materialize,) not because I wanted to feel what it was like to have my lungs literally implode. But for one season, I got through it.

And I never ran again.

Until . . . . about ten years later when I joined the Army. I joined the Army in August 1991, but didn't report to boot camp until February 1992. This gave me plenty of time to get my body into shape to survive the rigors of Basic Training. I began by lifting weights once a month, ice skating for about 45 minutes a week at an easy pace, and eating about five cheeseburgers a day. The next month, I eliminated the weight lifting so as to not get too bulky, and added tater tots and beer to my diet. Through sticking to this plan, I eventually gained about 35 pounds of malaise-induced fat to carry with me to Basic. Not the path for everyone, but it . . . uh . . . well, it is what it is.

On about the fourth day of Basic, we took our first physical fitness test. In the Army, a PT test consists of two minutes of push-ups (do as many as you can), two minutes of sit-ups (do as many as you can without shaking, groaning solicitously, or vomiting on your partner), and a two-mile timed run. For each event, you get a scaled score with a maximum of score of 100. For example, at my age then, I needed to do 87 push-ups, 92 sit-ups, and a 12:18 run to max my score. Now, for the first test they really just want to establish a baseline, so they make you do the two minutes for the push-ups and sit-ups, but only make you do a one mile run.

I did 23 push ups. On the last 10, I was convinced that every time I went down I was going to embed my nose so hard in the ground that there would be a permanent imprint that they would commemorate with either a pithy plaque of some type or a simple yet poignant headstone.

I did 14 sit-ups, shaking and groaning but, thankfully for many people, sans chunks.

And finally, I "ran" one mile in about 9:30. For the record, I did actually run the whole way and I did not finish last, so considering my rigorous pre-Basic training regimen I was pretty impressed.

Of course, as pathetic as those scores were (I think I totaled something like a 115 out of 300), it gradually got better. I passed all of the PT tests in basic, eventually running the two miles in just under 17 minutes. When I got to my next duty station in Monterey, CA, I really began to improve. There was something about running in the woods and along the beach, especially when it was tourist season and the cougars were out and you could run shirtless in a group like a Chippendale posse, that made running enjoyable for a time. I got down to about a 15 minute two-mile time, and began to find the joy in running longer distances through challenging courses. I still hated track running, but our long Friday beach runs were very therapeutic after stressful Army weeks. (Another aside: these runs might have been special only because we would sneak downtown at lunch and rent a locker at the wharf to stash our Friday night party clothes in so we wouldn't have to run all the way back up the hill to change before we went cougar hunting. But I digress.)

Anyway, just as I started to really enjoy running, I broke my left leg just below the knee while playing football for my Company team (I was posing after making a brilliant tackle, and got rolled into by a Marine whose physique could best be most accurately described as "Rubenesque.") It was, as it turns out, a bad break, and I spent 8 months in physical therapy before I could run again. While I missed running, I was really more concerned with getting around on crutches, crouching onto the toilet, and getting in and of cars. Oh yeah, and walking - I was concerned about learning how to walk again.

But a funny thing happened on my way to recovery. Apparently, my Physical Therapist was a fan of the Bionic Man, because I came back better, stronger, and faster than I had ever been. Over the next few years, I really drove my times down and my distances up. It got to the point where running five, six, even 10 or 12 miles was actually enjoyable. We ran in the rain and in the sun and in the fog. We ran at daybreak and sundown. We ran on the beach and in the hills and on roads. We ran in front of the General's house and spit gritty loogies on his front lawn under the auspices of needing to clear our lungs. We ran in groups of a thousand, groups of a hundred, and groups of two or three. We chased ducks. We got chased by wild boar. In short, we ran because we could and we ran because we had to and we ran because it just felt so damned good.

And then, one day, we got stoopid.

Me and my friend Chris decided to run a marathon.

For those of you who do not know, a marathon is 26.2 miles. It's funny, in a way. When you can run one mile, running two - doubling the distance - is pretty easy. When you can run a 5k, doubling the distance requires some training and preparation, but it's not too terrible. When you decide to double that 10k and run a half marathon, well now you've really gone and gotten yourself into a pickle, because the difference between running six miles and running 12 miles is just suckishly ginormous. But to run a few half marathons and then boldly declare that you're ready to double THAT distance - by running 12 miles more than you have ever run previously in your life - well, there's a lot of words to describe that and very few of them are charitable.

But shit, why would two Army studs be stopped by anything as ludicrous as logic, intelligence, or common sense?

So, we did what any young Army stud would do. We signed up. And then we basically got caught up at work and never ran more than three miles a day until the Big Race. Oy.

So, fast forward a month and here we are at the starting line of the Honolulu Marathon, 1996 style. And . . . . they're off!

Mile 1: More people jockeying for position that there are at the Amarillo Wal-Mart on Black Friday. But the people at Wal-Mart are more sweaty.

Mile 3: Chris needs to stop in a Carl's Jr to "throw the kids in the pool." So much for all the work we did to break through the crowd.

Mile 5: With so many people all clustered together, I think we've run twice as far zigzagging sideways as we have running straight ahead. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Mile 6: A nice gentle rain on a hot day. Sweet.

Mile 7: My socks are wet and my nipples are getting chafed.

Mile 8: The rain is no longer physically soothing, but is now coming in Biblical proportions so perhaps at least the Evangelical Christians are happy. I'm just fucking wet.

Mile 9: Sun came out, it's too damned hot. Is it too much to ask for a little freaking rain?

Miles, oh I don't know, 10 through 13: Fuckity fuckity fuck, my hips hurt. Suck it up, keep moving, DO NOT STOP BECAUSE YOU WILL NEVER START AGAIN.

Mile 14: Stopped to take off our shoes and enjoy a short nap on some dude's front lawn. Been passed by several 75 year-old ladies, and two pre-teens running with stuffed teddy bears under their arms. Glad I'm not wearing anything that says Army, because Uncle Sam himself might suddenly apparate and rip my stripes of my sleeves for being such a wussy.

Miles 15 through 20: Jog, walk, stop, stretch, moan, whine, laugh, grab a beer from a keg party on some other dude's front lawn because we want to be drunk when the ambulance comes to scoop us off the pavement in an hour or two, lest we remember our foolishness.

Miles 21-24: Really, I have no idea. Likely pain and regret. Just like my first marriage.

Mile 25: Okay, here's where things get interesting. Coming up a hill on the south side of Diamond Head, we hear this strange "clip clop, clip clop, clip clop," like a giant Clydesdale is coming up the hill behind us. Now at that point, if that had been the Budweiser Clydesdale we would have jumped on the wagon and drank beer until we hit the finish line. But it quickly hit us that the possibility of a team of Clydesdales pulling a beer wagon up the foot of Diamond Head on the same day of the marathon was likely to be pretty remote. So we briefly paused to look behind us. About 100 yards behind us was a 300+ pound Samoan man in a grass skirt and wooden shoes, and he was running right at us. Now, even under non-wussy-marathon conditions this would generally be cause for alarm, but in our present situation we were just perplexed. As we turned back and started jobbling (kind of a lame-horse gaited jog/hobble combo), we could here our giant friend yelling something at us, but we couldn't quite make it out.

Mile 25 1/2: NOW we can make it out. He's shouting "Haole, me gonna catch you! Heeheehee!" Mo.Ther.FUCKER. No he didn't . . . he did NOT just call out two Army studs. There is no way that what little of our pride was still clinging to our shattered joints was gonna let this guy pass us.

Mile 26.2: We jobble across the finish line, 20 seconds behind the Clydesdale. Bastard.

So, that was my first marathon experience. We ran a few more, training for them this time, and got our time down to a respectable 4:15:00. Eventually, I got my two-mile time down to a 13:15, and received a maximum score on my PT test.

I ran for a few more years before my knee finally decided to retire without telling the rest of my body, and about 30 years before I wanted it to. Haven't run since. Oh, I've played some frisbee and soccer and stuff like that, and I bike from time to time, and for the most part the knee shows up rather gamely and pretends to be enjoying itself for a while before blowing up like a stinging Puffer Fish and laughing at my expense, sometimes joining in with neck in secret conversations about how best to piss me off. But running for the sake of running? Nope.

That changes today. We're doing it for our health, for fun, to spend time together, and because we need a good challenge. All that I ask is that if you see me laying on the ground in a pool of deflated ego, give me some water and slowly back away. 5k here we come!

The "Art" of Raising Children

2011-05-15T15:00:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago, I received an email from someone who stumbled across my blog through a thread on Mothering magazine. They made a lot of nice comments, which I appreciated, but near the end of their email they said one thing that has been nagging at me all weekend:

I'm trying to mold my child into being the best that he can be, but I'm finding that raising a child is more an art than a science.

What an intriguing thing to say. In some ways, I definitely agree; I mean, there is certainly plenty of artistry in parenting, at least more than there is science. But molding your children is something I struggle with. I mean, a child is not a piece of clay to be molded at your desire into your ideal image or any other one. These and other metaphors - some artistic, some not, and most of them seemingly non-threatening - are woven all throughout mainstream parenting culture. While they do provide us with some ready sound bites to describe what we're going through, however, there are no metaphors that accurately capture what I try to do as a parent.

For me, children are not pliant clay, ready to be molded at my hands into whichever image I feel best.

For me, children are not static paintings, meant to be admired from afar for their beauty with no real understanding of what makes them so striking.

For me, children are not puzzles to be figured out, or problems to be solved.

For me, children are not opportunities to exercise patience or practice my ability to deal with challenging people.

For me, children are not made of building blocks, in need of an architect to put them all together in order to make something beautiful and cohesive.

For me, children are not works in progress, learning to crawl, or ready to take flight.

No, for me it's much more simple than that.

For me, children are people.

For me, children are people who sometimes need my help, sometimes need my approval, sometimes need my wisdom, and sometimes just need my shoulder to cry on or my eyes and ears to share their thoughts with.

For me, children are people who thrive with unconditionality, explore with freedom, learn with choice, and love with example.

For me, children are not a work of art . . . they are an entire city filled with paintings, symphonies, rap songs, sculptures, performance art, ballet and tap, monologues and choruses, skyscrapers and hovels and everything in between. Some of these are finished, some have yet to be commenced, and most are in various stages of work. Some will be returned to again and again, improved, changed, tweaked, torn down only to be rebuilt again with new tools and inspirations; others will be left as they are, complete or incomplete as the child sees fit. Some of what they do will appeal to some people, and many things will appeal to a precious few. When most people look at my children - the entire palette of thoughts, dreams, actions, words, passions, pursuits, wants, needs, and ideas - they may choose to see what is unfinished, what still needs to be worked on, and what should be done differently to conform to their image of what a child should be.

But when I look at that palette, when I experience what they are creating, I do not see anything but joyful children doing what they should be doing - freely pursuing the things that give them joy with no rules, no bounds, no molding, little good or bad, and plenty of love and support along each step.

Changes, Big and Small

2011-05-04T15:20:00.000-07:00

What a crazy couple of months! The earthquake and nuclear problems in Japan, the death of bin Laden, a stolen election in Canada, and a ton of other across-the-board craziness and tragedy around the world that makes it hard to stay in a positive frame of mind sometimes. I'm not exactly certain what a hand basket is, but at times like this it's easy to sit back and feel like we're about to ride one on a trip straight to Hell.

In times like this, it can be hard for me to avoid lapsing into cynicism. Some people may refer to cynicism as "reality", but I remain convinced that there is just a staggering amount of beauty and good in the world. It's hard to see sometimes, because bad things seem to happen on such a macro scale while good and beautiful things are, well, more localized. So when we look out and around, the bad may seem to be omnipresent; it is only when we look closer, to our own families and friends or within ourselves, that we can begin to feel centered enough to see the beauty and goodness of the world.

The question for me is how to take that micro beauty and turn it into macro-sized feelings that we can share with many others. How can I help someone else see the positive side of an issue? How can I help someone else see things more consciously? How can I help people help others, so we can start a movement to be the change we wish to see in the world?

Or more appropriately, how can we do this for each other?

Some of us might choose to start a non-profit to help a specific group of people or support a specific cause. Some of us write our elected representatives, and try to help share information with others so we can help move our governments in the right direction. Some of us join the ministry or enter politics or become professional health care providers of some sort. Some of us write books, articles or blogs, or even speak at conferences or organize community groups.

And some of us probably think that we don't really ever do any of those things. We might think that the calling to help other people is reserved to people with hearts larger than ours, to people with a capacity for patience and love far beyond what we feel capable of giving. We may feel powerless to really impact the world in any way, that we simply need to focus on ourselves and our families and trust that we'll make it through with our spirits relatively intact. We may feel to afraid, too weak, too insignificant, too useless to make a difference.

What. A. Crock.Of. Shit.

We may not all be able to write, or speak, or vote, or volunteer to work at an NGO or run a non-profit, or do any of the thousands of other things that people do each day to have a positive impact on those around them. But we can do other things, and in fact we do do other things. Humans as a species are coded to look out for each other, gifted with affiliation and compassion, overflowing with DNA that turns us into Momma or Papa Bear at a moment's notice. We have an innate need to enable others, to look out for our neighbors, to protect our children, to love our friends. It's in our blood, and we have no choice. Oh, we can talk about how we don't care, we can beat ourselves up about not caring enough . . . but I guarantee that each of us, at various points in our lives, have helped someone in some way. We have listened, provided advice, taught. We have laughed when someone needed us to, and cried when they needed that instead. We have provided financial, emotional, or other support. We have been tender. We have smiled, we have hugged. We have told the truth.

These may not appear to be earth-shattering, but then again everything that does shatter the earth is simply something large that is made up of smaller parts. We don't have to plot to change the world in order to change it. We don't have to plan to influence thousands of people in order to influence thousands of people. We don't have to figure out how to move mountains in order to move them.

We can start small, by doing things that come naturally to us. And bit by bit, these small considerations and kindnesses, these seemingly small and insignificant efforts to move the needle, can and usually do spread more quickly and deeply than we ever could have imagined.

I have recently committed to doing three additional things to try and spread some dignity, respect, and love in the world, in the hopes that these things will become so contagious that they will spread through people's hearts and minds like wildfire and help us move the needle. They may seem small, but they can and do have a tremendous impact.

I am trying to smile at one stranger every day, maybe even more than one if it starts to go well. I see so many people who are desperately in need of the sense of warmth and connection that a smile conveys. Personally, I have never failed to be soothed, or even inspired, by a kind and sincere smile. As my ex used to say, "if you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours!" It costs me so little, and means so much.

I am trying to eliminate the phrase "love you!" from my vocabulary, and replace it with "I love you!" instead. When someone says "love you" to me, it helps me feel loved, which is great. But when someone says "I love you", that tells me that person loves me; it's a direct connection between they and I, with no conditions or efforts to disown the sentiment or emotion. We are already desensitized in so many ways, and that distance has in many ways made it easier for us to stay just a bit further apart from each other. No more. If I love you, you'll hear it, and I hope you'll feel it, too.

I am trying to stop multi-tasking when interacting with my children. No more surfing the web while half-watching them play a game, no more watching TV while they're trying to talk to me. One child (or two, or three, or whatever), one adult, one focus, one connection. I owe them that and so much more.

Those are mine, new changes I can make to help the world become a slightly better place in addition to whatever else I may try to do from time to time. Start with one or two, try them for a while, change them if you need to. It doesn't need to planned or concerted or anything else other than genuine. And maybe we will make some positive changes but never really come to understand the full impact they had on the world. Maybe.

But maybe we can start with something small and help each other feel better about the world we live in and the our place in it. Seems worth the chance to me.

In Mourning

2011-05-03T11:14:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, the terrorist Osama bin Laden was killed by US Special Forces at his hideaway in northern Pakistan. In the US and other coalition countries, it was a time for much reflecting. Bin Laden had been leading a small group of dedicated terrorists on a campaign of violence for many years before the horrific events of 9/11 brought him and al Qaeda into the forefront of American consciousness. Some 2,977 Americans lost their lives that day. The heart of our military complex was pierced, and arguably the most identifiable of American symbols was destroyed in America's most important city. More than that, virtually every American was forced to confront some basic facts about our security and our standing among the nations of the world. As Americans, we are raised to believe that we are invincible, that we are right, and that we have a responsibility to keep the world safe from a wide variety of ideologies that we believe to be evil. The events of 9/11 gave us pause to question.

I watched the events of 9/11 in utter disbelief. I was uncertain if it was over, frightened for what it meant for our country, and alternately proud and embarrassed of the voracious displays of "patriotism" that so many Americans, led by our government, undertook in an effort to put the world on notice that we would not be cowed by terrorists and would fight back at any cost. I hugged my kids a bit closer that night and for many nights afterward, hoping that the world might someday return to one of relative balance and security.

I watched the events of bin Laden's killing with a strange mix of satisfaction and fear in my heart. I was satisfied that we had doggedly pursued every lead for so many years, and that we had brought down a very bad man with no additional loss of US lives. But I was heartbroken by the reaction of the people who celebrated his death, just as I was heartbroken to watch Somalis drag the bodies of helicopter pilots through the streets of Mogadishu, and to watch some Islamic extremists celebrate 9/11. I was not in a very celebratory or joyful mood. As I was talking about the situation with my children, they seemed a bit surprised that I was not happy about bin Laden's death. They were not jumping up and down for joy by any means, but they were in general perfectly fine with it. After all, for most of their lives bin Laden has been viewed as a modern-day Hitler, worthy of our anger and aggression. And I don't disagree; I do not know what kind of man he was, but he was responsible for thousands of deaths and needed to be stopped. But I did not celebrate his death, and I was disgusted and shamed by the celebrations I did see.

It has taken me a couple of days to figure out why bin Laden's death is so strange for me. I think it has something to do with the way we have come to accept death so easily in our society, as a logical outcome of various battles between good and evil all over the globe. And I think it has much to do with what that acceptance says about us as a species and us as a society.

In the Rwandan genocides of 1994, more than 800,000 people were killed in a matter of weeks; that is roughly the population of San Francisco or Austin, TX. Roughly 400,000 people have died in the Sudan in the last few years as a result of deplorable living conditions brought on by a civil war; that is roughly the population of Miami, Cleveland, or Tulsa. In the "War on Terror" in Iraq and Afghanistan, reliable estimates put the total death toll at somewhere around 919,967, which includes 5,885 US service members; this is roughly the population of San Jose, CA, or Indianapolis. The wars in the Balkans in the early 90s caused deaths equal to the population of Cincinnati. Combined, these deaths of just these few wars would equal the population of Chicago.

In fact, there have been some 160 million deaths as a result of armed conflict in the 20th century alone, roughly equal to the populations of France, the UK, and Canada combined. It is a horrific number, an appalling number, a number that almost defies belief . . . and that is where the problem lies. It is a number so staggering as to be completely inaccessible to our ability to rationalize or even begin to comprehend. 160 million people is just ludicrous, right? I can wrap my head around 2,977, maybe even 5,885. And I can sure as hell wrap my head around one, especially when that one is responsible for so many others. But 160 million? Impossible.

I understand that, I suppose - that we cannot comprehend something so large, so we have to start small. But I think that in doing that, we run the risk of marginalizing or trivializing death itself. The fact that we can afford to celebrate one because we cannot figure out a way to make sense of the many is one of the darkest aspects of our human character.

Today, I am not mourning the death of Osama bin Laden, and I am not mourning the death of the millions of people - 160 million people - who have died in armed conflicts in the past 100 years. And I am not even mourning the death of the victims or 9/11 or our service members who have died in the War on Terror. I have already done so, privately, in my own way.

But I am in mourning. I am mourning the loss of perspective, the loss of humanity, and the loss of respect for basic human dignity and suffering that has allowed us to trivialize and celebrate a death, any death. I am mourning the circumstances that have led us to judge deaths as "heroic" or "justified" or"necessary", while others are "lamentable" or "unavoidable" or "peripheral." I am mourning the fact that we on one hand claim that every life is valuable, and then do little to interject or stop violence that has only one logical conclusion. I am mourning the fact that we are celebrating a death more than we often celebrate life. And I am mourning the fact that by the very act of celebrating a death, we are demonstrating the fundamental disregard we have for life itself.

We can be so much better than this.

Just One More

2011-04-21T11:17:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, my oldest son and I watched Field of Dreams. I've seen it, or pieces of it, probably ten times or so over the years. It's a pretty magical movie, and the last 15 minutes usually leave me a teary-eyed mess of blubber for a little while afterward.

One of the central themes to the movie is the idea of making dreams come true. In one part, the main characters meet an old man named Archie Graham, who got to play one game of major league baseball but never got up to bat. Archie's dream went unfulfilled, and while he lived a very satisfying and amazing life he still spent time wishing that he had just one more chance to get a hit.

That got me thinking about the idea of "just one more." We hear or see "just one more" in a lot of different places. Country songs talk about having "one more day with you"; Luther Vandross sang about one more dance with his Father, and Archie Graham pined to stare down a major league pitcher just once. On their deathbeds, people talk about the "one that got away" or their need for just one more kiss, one more night, one more sunset to watch with their loved ones. And when that fails, they sometimes fall to their knees and pray to their God to give them one more chance.

Just one more. It doesn't really seem like we're asking for too much, does it? But the problem with asking to receive "just one more" is that in order to receive it, someone else often has to give it. To get one more kiss, your lover must be there to give it to you. To get just one more dance with your Father, your Father has to be there to dance with you. And to get just one more chance to to stare down the pitcher, the pitcher has to have the ball and the other players need to let you in the batter's box. Sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn't. We simply cannot control whether or not we get "just one more" anything.

But we can control how many "just one more"s we give to other people. And in doing so, we can help them live a life of fullness with fewer thoughts about what they could have been if they had only had "just one more" of something. We can give just one more dollar to a charity, we can hold just one more door open for a stranger, we can give just one more smile to a passerby. We can give just one more of a lot of things that can make a remarkable difference in someone's day, week, or life. The power of giving just one more is very striking.

But think about the power of giving "just one more" to your family. Sometimes as a parent, I feel completely overwhelmed. The demands on my time, my energy, and my engagement are significant, leaving little for me and often even less for my partner. We strive for balance and often achieve it for a time, which is wonderful for all of us. But my kids need me, and I do just about everything I can to answer that need because I know that the less I respond, the less likely they are to keep asking. The last think I want to do is alienate or isolate my children, especially when my reasons for saying "no" are because I feel like I have been stretched to my limit. When I am in a good place, there is always a little more I can give to them, to myself, to my partner. It doesn't have to be a lot, it doesn't have to be earth shattering. But it doesn't need to be. My kids aren't asking for the moon, they are asking for just one more. Can't we find a way to give just one more?

Can't I read just one more bedtime story?
Can't I watch just one more episode of their favorite TV show?
Can't I play an imagination game just one more time, for one more minute?
Can't I drop what I am doing and respond to them just one minute, or even one second, quicker?
Can't I make just one more glass of chocolate milk at midnight?
Can't I give them just one more hug, one more laugh, one more tickle or playful growl?
Can't I come up with just one more smile?
Can't I find a way to say "yes" just one more time?
Can't I throw them in the pool just one more time?
Can't I show weakness, happiness, honesty, kindness, and fallibility just a little more often?
Can't I spend just one more quarter at the bubblegum machine?
Can't I leave work just one minute earlier so I can get home that much faster?
Can't I read just one less website or play just one less game so I can spend just one more minute with them?
Can't I look into my partner's eyes with consuming love just one more time a day?
Can't I say "thank you" and demonstrate my gratitude just one more time?

Of course the answer to all of these is "yes"; I can do just one more, of all of these and a thousand other things. I simply have to choose to do so.

You may feel like you have nothing else to give, like your emotional bank reserves are drained far too low to give anything more than you already do. That may be true. But take a step back and consider this: don't you feel better when you give to someone without condition or expectation, simply because you know that it will make them feel good? Of course you do; we all do. So rather than "just one more" being a challenge that further drains your reserves, it actually repairs and replenishes your heart and spirit to see such good feelings come of your gift. It may seem hard, even impossible, perhaps overwhelming. But it's just one more, and it will make you feel better.

By giving just one more, your children will know that they are understood, respected, and loved - and that they are worth the extra effort. Their needs will be met and their hearts will be opened to the possibilities of giving. They will know the benefits of giving because they have received. It's just one more, after all.

But sometimes, just one more makes all the difference in the world.

A Life of Milk and Honey

2011-04-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, my friend Laura posted a very interesting question on Facebook: What will you one day admit to yourself? That really got me thinking about a topic that's been pinging around in my brain for some time. You see, for me the answer to her question is pretty simple. I am afraid that someday I will admit to myself that I did not have a universal sense of compassion for people that I come in contact with. On the whole, I consider myself to be a pretty understanding and compassionate person, but I am not above a simple, quick, unfair judgment when I encounter someone who, for whatever reason, pisses me off. Maybe they were rude to me, or maybe they were rude to their kids. Maybe they confronted about something that made me uncomfortable, or cut in front of me in line. Or maybe they just see things differently than I do. Whatever the reason, I can be pretty quick to dispense with someone sometimes: jerk, asshole, jackass, bad this-or-that, you name it.

But in my heart of hearts, I enjoy helping people. I cannot help someone if I judge them rather than respect them; I cannot help them if I assume negative intent instead of positive intent; and I cannot help them if I cannot offer them compassion. The point is this: how do I - or you, or anyone else - change from a place of quick and perhaps unfair judgment, to a place where we can take a breath and try to be more compassionate? As I was thinking about how to come to grips with this in my own life, an example from my past came to mind that may just answer my question.

Most of you know that while I have had many different paying jobs, for the most part I am a Human Resources guy. HR is actually a pretty interesting profession. There are plenty of different things to do; on any given day I could be a confidant, an analyst, a trainer, a writer, a speaker, a therapist, a salesman . . . the list can, and does, go on and on. One of the things the HR guy has to do is to stand in front of large groups of people and deliver training on such exciting topics as "Changes to Your Flex Spending Accounts", "You and Your Future: 401(k)s Explained", and "Global Internal Movement Policies (GIMPs)". These classes are normally so dull as to make people drool and snooze, and most HR folks only make them worse by reading the freaking slides out loud or speaking so softly that no one can hear. I figured out early in my career that in order to actually make these sessions valuable, you had to really help them come alive with personal examples.

A few years ago I was slated to present an hour-long class on Diversity (one of my favorite topics, actually) to a group of 200 manufacturing workers in rural Tennessee. I had to cover topics like sexual harassment, gender and sexual orientation protections, and hostile work environments. This was a topic I had delivered many times, and so I had my own spin on the content so I could try and keep people awake and make things come alive a bit. At one point, we were discussing respect in the workplace. One of the attendees just wasn't understanding how someone could be offended by an off-color joke or snide sexual comment; I mean, it's all in good fun, right? Rather than shoot him down on the spot, I decided to talk about milk and honey. Why, you ask?

Because none of us - not one of us - have led a perfect life of milk and honey. We all have, or have had, situations and events in our lives that we wondered if we would ever live through. Maybe it was an abusive childhood, or being rejected in our teen years. Maybe we think we're too fat, or too ugly, or too thin, or too something, and we worry about that and about how others view us. Maybe we're stuck in a bad marriage, or maybe our kids are in trouble. Maybe we have cancer or AIDS, or maybe someone we love is sick or dying. Maybe we are out of money, or have been in the past and still struggle with the notion of having a bit of an easier time. It could be anything, really, past or present. But we all have something that we have either had to overcome, are struggling to overcome, or have given up trying to overcome and are trying our best just to deal with.

As I was speaking to this group of good people, I could see them listening intently, but still not getting my point entirely. So I asked them two simple questions.

"Would you like people to treat you as if they knew that you've not led a life of milk and honey and puppy dogs and daisies, even though they may never actually know all the particulars?" A room full of "yes"s followed.

"Can you turn that around, and recognize that none of us has had an easy path, and then offer the same respect to others that you would like to receive from them?" A room full of "Ohhhh"s followed. Simple words, simply stated, with powerful results. Good stuff.

In practice, though, this seemingly simple idea - that we have all been through or are going through some bad times and could use a little understanding and respect - sometimes becomes a task of Herculean proportions. In some ways, this is not surprising; I mean, many of our relationships are by their nature cursory and somewhat superficial, without the need or right to scratch down far enough to uncover fears and broken dreams. Even in deeper relationships, it is often hard to know how every experience and thought might influence a person's actions or moods on a particular day. That's neither bad nor good, it simply is. So often when we encounter other people, we are busy and engrossed in our own needs and wants and problems. It becomes impossible to pull out long enough to consider what other people might be going through and give them a measure of compassion and respect for their journey. Instead we often tend to judge, make assumptions, assign purpose and cause, and sometimes write the person off.

Oddly, I have found that most people do not do this universally; that is to say, they do not treat everyone this way, just certain people. The most common delineation? Age.

I have seen people who can extend extraordinary compassion and respect for their own children, but are unable or unwilling to do the same for their partner. I see people who can ask deep, sincere questions and seek to understand what a child is feeling, yet judge the behavior of teenager or young adult in the blink of an eye with no questions asked. And I see people who will sit on the floor for hours engrossed in play with a toddler who then change on a dime when their kids hit school age. Of course, the converse is also often true: people who can let their partners "be who they are" while trying to mold their child's behavior, people who can give an adult a break because they have had a bad day but still demand and require perfect performance from their kids regardless of the day the child has had. It's interesting, to say the least.

For me, though, the point is simple. I do not need to know what people have been through, just that they have been through something. I have to approach every interaction with an understanding that the bulk of what drives a person's reactions and behaviors - regardless of their age, relationship to me, or any other factor - is likely to be unspoken. I still may disagree with their viewpoints or be repulsed at their actions, as they may be by mine.

But if I can consider, even for a few moments, that they have not led a life of milk honey just as I have not, then maybe I can seek first to understand. If I can consider that there may be reasons why a person's actions may be separate from their intentions, then maybe I can get to a place where I assume the best about people and need to be proven wrong, rather than assume the worst and need to be proven right. Maybe if I can consider that we are each taking our own journey at our own paces and at our own speeds, I can respect the journey of others as I would ask them to respect mine.

Maybe if I can view other people with the same compassion, understanding and respect as I view my own children, I will never be faced with having to admit that I lived a life of judgment rather than a life of understanding. And then I'll be able to help people, should they choose my help, with the sense of compassion and respect that they deserve.

Earning Your Stripes

2011-04-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

For the past few years I have been writing about what I strive to be - the best Dad I can be under whatever circumstances are rearing their ugly heads within any particular moment. Like most parents, some days I think I have it absolutely nailed; my partner, kids, and I are operating in perfect sync for hours, days, or even weeks at a time. Everyone is mostly happy, everyone is mostly connected, and everyone's love tanks are mostly full. Other days are much, much harder. My imperfections seem magnified, and things that would normally roll off my back choose now to attach themselves to my doubts, fears, and insecurities. On these days, I am not patient, I am not connected, and sometimes I just am not very nice - and obviously, then, not the best Dad I can be.

Despite the fact that I've written for the past few years about how being imperfect is both understandable and okay, I still beat myself up a bit on the bad days. You'd think I would have learned by now, but life is simply not so neat as to always be reflective of steps forward, or even staying in neutral. Sometimes life is a few steps back, as well.

Today was, in some ways, a step back for me - or it felt that way, at least. The compassion was hard to access today, the patience was stretched thinly, and the usual playful spring in my step was more like a dutiful clomp. As I sit here getting ready to say goodbye to another weekend, I'm trying to think of why the day went strange. Although it could be any number of things, I think I put my finger on it. And it's an old, familiar theme.

It's pretty simple, really. Today, I felt like I was entitled to a few things - a kind word, a "thank you", some appreciation for having gone shopping and cleaned the cat box and played Guitar Hero and taken the family bowling. In truth, all of those things I have done today - and probably hundreds more that I did not even know I did - have likely been appreciated by my children in an authentic and deep way. That is usually how it works. The fact is that most days I am fine with being appreciated and respected in whatever ways work for my children, but today I would have preferred - preferred - to have been appreciated the way that felt best to me, regardless of how they felt about it. Why? Well, frankly, because I feel like I am entitled to it - not all the time, not even most of the time, and never when I am at my best and most secure - just right here, right now.

As I think about that, I am reminded about how these situations felt before I became a parent, like when I was in the Army. As a military leader, I always felt like my leadership was providing a service for my troops, and so I performed my duties and led my teams with a selflessness that was both engaging and effective. I could lead gently or hard, depending on the situation. But I always felt that I had to go out and earn the respect of my troops every day, that I was not ever entitled to it simply based on my rank or position. I had to earn my stripes, every day, through my words and actions.

Good leaders - GREAT leaders - never have to tell anyone that they are in charge. They teach, they inspire, they motivate . . . but it is never, EVER, about them. In his book on business leadership, "Good to Great", Jim Collins argues that the best leaders in the corporate world have the same attributes: they lead from the front, they question, they are curious, they teach, they coach, and all of that creates a persona which inspires and motivates the people around them. But they are, above all, humble about it. Not only is there no need for them to tell people that they are in charge - they don't actually view themselves as being in charge. Surely, they have decisions to make and responsibilities to bear that are different from the other people on their teams. But they view themselves as a beneficiary of a culture that is created equally by all parties. This builds significant trust and credibility. Collins refers to these people as "Level 5 Leaders."

As I listen and observe other parents, it is easy to see some parallels between leadership and parenting. At various times over the past few months, I have seen or heard the following:

"3 . . .2 . . .1 . . .you're in a time out, mister!"
"Joey, I told you to sit the hell down, so DO IT!"
"Why can't you just sit there and be quiet?"
"What is the matter with you?"
"I don't care if you're hungry. You didn't eat the muffin I got you, and that's all you're getting."
"Shut up!"
"Did I or did I not tell you stop?!?!"

Wow . . . I mean, wow. I wish this were uncommon, but of course it isn't. Somewhere along the way, many parents have just gone crazy. Why? I don't know. Maybe they are flying out to Omaha for a funeral. Maybe they just lost their job, or something difficult happened earlier in the day. Could be because being a parent is hard. Heck, even though I never say these kinds of things I would be lying if I said I never felt them; today is a great example. It could be a thousand things, I guess. And if these were all isolated incidents, if the parent (who is only human, after all) caught themselves, or apologized, or gave a hug or something, then maybe it would be easier for to understand and overlook. But that rarely happens. And after giving it some thought, I think it comes down to expectations and entitlement.

Last year, I wrote a blog on expectations because I needed to think through my own expectations - of myself as a parent and partner, of my wife, and of my children. In short, I think expectations can be dangerous because they set a visual image for us of how something "should" be, which only gets more detailed over time, and which becomes so alluring to us that we get single-mindedly focused on pursuing it. And in that pursuit, we often miss amazing opportunities to pursue other things that might be even more satisfying. And of course, the reality of our vision is rarely as we originally envisioned it, and so we can become disillusioned and disappointed.

I think parents, for whatever reason, expect that parenting is going to be pretty easy. Oh, they know that having a baby can be hard, and that teenagers can run a little wild, but overall I think they start with a fundamental expectation that it will be fairly simple and in control. And when they find that parenting isn't really like that, they do what many people do - they try to hold on tighter to that which is becoming elusive, like a mountain climber grabs a rope hard when she begins to slip. But grabbing the rope too hard can be fatiguing, so if that is all they do they are bound to slip further down eventually. Kids are the same way, I think. The more you try to control, the harder it becomes. A parent may start with reason ("You should not do that because . . . ), graduate to guilt (Mommy really wishes you wouldn't . . . "), and move swiftly to coercion ("If you stop, I'll give you a . . . "). And if that doesn't work, they may move straight to fear and intimidation ("Dammit, I TOLD you . . . !!")

In short, they are trying to be a leader for their children without having the credibility. Why? Because they think that they are entitled to respect and obedience. I mean after all, they are in charge; they make the money; they provide the roof, and the food, and the toys, and the clothes; they do the driving, and the cleaning, and make all the hard decisions. Doesn't that mean that they are entitled to be respected for their abilities and sacrifices?

Absolutely not. Just because they had sex without a condom, or whatever, doesn't mean they are entitled to anything except their name on a birth certificate and a tax deduction. Seriously - that's it. Nothing else. A parent is not entitled to love, or respect, or obedience, or friendliness, or concern, or anything else.

A parent, like a leader in a company or in the Army, has to earn those things - without ever being attached to whether or not they receive them, or when, or how. They have to be willing to do as artisans had to do hundreds of years ago when building cathedrals. They have to trust that they may never see the ultimate benefit of their work, but to still have confidence that their work had meaning and that the quality of their work was critical to the overall beauty of the end product.

So a parent has to be a "Level 5" leader . . . to earn the privilege of connecting with their children by coaching, and loving, and respecting, and believing, and inspiring, and motivating . . . but with a humility and grace that inspires confidence and trust, and earns credibility with their partner and their children. They have to recognize the fault in their expectation that a child should listen to and respect the parent because they are a parent, instead of because of what kind of parent they are. They must recognize and embody what every good leaders knows instinctively - that trust and credibility with your children must be earned, in every action and word.

I'm Still That Dad

2011-04-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

Last summer, several natural/connected parents I know - and by several, I mean over 100! - started an impromptu blog carnival. The theme? "I'm that Dad/Mom." I was thinking about this earlier today, and decided to give it a refresh to see if I'm still the Dad I think I am . . . and in the hopes that I am now even better.

I am that Dad. I am that Dad who goes swimming when he is tired, because he knows that he'll get more energy as soon as he hears his children's laughter. I am that Dad who makes a hot dog smothered with bacon and pepperoni at 2:00am, because it's what sounds good to his child right now. I am that Dad who will sit in a coffee shop and play Monopoly for three hours or until I lose, whichever comes first, because when I can be patient I can learn new ways to have fun. I am that Dad who goes to three stores to find their favorite ice cream when they lose one too many rounds of Mario Kart, because ice cream heals more tears than words do. I am that Dad that sometimes stays up all night to watch anime because one of my sons just needs to share something new with me. I am that Dad who can usually drop what he's doing and follow someone outside to catch a frog, play nerf wars, or try to get a football stuck in a tree, because "sure!" is always easier for young ears to hear than "in a few minutes." I am that Dad who says "yes" when my youngest wants to buy a zippo, because he really isn't very likely to burn down anything too important. I am that Dad who can wipe a butt with a smile, because wiping it with a frown sucks for both of us. I am that Dad who is never perfect, but who tries his best every day to stay connected with his life, because I am not perfect and have no desire to pretend to be so. I am that Dad who is honest and real, despite my warts, because my kids will all have warts and I want them to grow up without fearing them. I am that Dad who is unafraid to sing loudly with the windows open because life should be celebrated in freedom; who is willing to have his toenails painted, because all little girls need to be able to paint outside the lines; who will wrestle seven kids at once in a public park, because it's okay to get a public ass-whooping every now and again; and who speaks in his Monty Python voice while walking through a nice restaurant, because people are way too fucking stuffy and I don't want my kids to think that they have to be that way when they grow up. I am that Dad who will wrestle to help get out energy, cuddle to help get out tears, and play imagination games to help get out laughter. I am the Dad who loves my kids enough to question the status quo behind everything from our education system to traditional parenting styles to my own abilities and struggles, because my kids deserve that and so much more. I am the Dad who cries at certain commercials, because certain commercials are touching and we all need to recognize the value of a good cry. I am that Dad who will stand in line for 30 minutes to get the perfect donut, because everyone deserves a perfect donut. I am that Dad who strives for the perfect balance of calm and playful, stable and crazy, honest and compassionate, active and chill. And I am the Dad who knows that he doesn't know best about much, except for about the fact that his partner and kids are simply amazing.

I am THAT Dad. Still.

Defending the Status Quo, Part II

2011-04-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, a colleague and I were discussing the reasons why some workers just seem unable to perform well in their roles. Now, I've been in HR for some time and I can tell you that most leaders truly care about the reasons why people do or do not perform up to standards. But as many times as I have had this conversation, it usually ends up with us talking about things like personal responsibility, accountability, and a basic understanding of the relationship between actions - or inactions - and consequences. Really, it's just basic human behavior, and 15 years in HR qualifies me to play pop psychologist now and again, apparently.

The conversation today reminded me of another similar conversation I recently had with someone outside of work. We touched on all of the same themes, but this person said something that really set me on my heels: "The reason these young people don't get it is because they weren't disciplined enough when they were kids. Spare the rod, spoil the child, I say. I spanked my kids and they turned out just fine."

Now, setting aside for a moment that no child who is routinely spanked ever really turns out "fine", the comment itself - and the voracity with which it was delivered - really set me back. I must have had a "WTF" look on my face, because the person immediately said "What, you don't agree? Are you one of those 'Now Johnny, Daddy really wishes you wouldn't do that' kind of guys?"

As my blood began to rise, I think I ended up sputtering and stammering out something that sounded much less certain than I wanted it to. The other person left it alone after I while, but I couldn't help thinking of an old post I wrote about why I sometimes feel so defensive about the choices I made with my eyes wide pen, while others seem so aggressive and adamant about the choices they made without much conscious thought at all. I couldn't help thinking that it always seems like the questioners in the world - regardless of the calm logic or evidence behind their questions - always seem to be on the defensive from people who just go with the flow and don't invest the time and the spirit to consider alternatives. With a few new touches, the recycled post below touches on this theme and suggests some alternatives. Enjoy!

I am a man who tries to parent consciously. At each parenting milestone, from birth to cribs to diapers to education, I have paused to learn, listen, reflect, and form my own opinions about the path we should choose. I fully recognize that many - most - of the decisions we have made are far outside of the mainstream, and as such we run the risk of being labeled as "radicals". I don't much care for the term, frankly, which is why you'll never see me using the term "radical unschooling." To me, my choices are not radical at all; they are simply the obvious results of a life lived with conscious questioning and application of what I have learned from experience.

But others, particularly people who do not examine their own choices, are quick to label people who do not support the status quo. Radicals, be they political, religious, educational, or otherwise, are different from the status quo and as such are often viewed with disdain. Those who live by the status quo (I was going to say embrace the status quo, but "embrace" implies that they have thought about it and consciously chosen it, which I doubt to be true) often question all of our choices and the underlying sanity (or lack thereof) that lead to those choices in the first place. When we voice our opinions, followers of the status quo often go on the offensive, demanding that we defend our decisions. To be sure, sometimes they do this in an honest effort to understand - but it sure doesn't always sound that way. Have you ever heard one of these questions?

"Spanking isn't violence, it's discipline. Don't you believe in disciplining your children? Why wouldn't you spank them?"

"How will your kids learn to be independent if you don't leave them to cry it out?"

"What makes you think that children know enough to be responsible for their own learning?"

"If they don't do chores, you will have to do them. Aren't you teaching your children to be irresponsible? Aren't you being a slave?"

Take your pick - unschooling, cloth diapers, home births, discipline, responsibility, whatever - if you have reviewed the common way of doing things and made a different choice, people will question it. And these questions can quickly put us on the defensive, feeling like we have to defend the very choices that we have put so much heart and thought into. There are a number of reasons why we so often feel the need to defend, but for sake of this post let's simply agree that, in the main, we defend because we feel we are being attacked.

It's time to change that.

Instead of having to defend our choices, choices which are based on respect and love, with careful consideration of the long-term benefits and which are well though-out, researched, struggled with, and adapted, how about we ask everyone else to do something pretty simple.

Defend the status quo.

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to not spank my children, how about I ask you to defend the reason why you spank. Is spanking really the only way you can come up with to guide your children? Have you looked at other possibilities? Have you really considered what lies behind your need to have your children behave a certain way? Do you support hitting all people who behave contrary to your preference, or just the ones smaller and younger than you who have little or no standing in our justice system? How do you rationalize the difference between productive discipline and child abuse?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to keep my kids out of the public school system, how about I ask you to defend your reasons why you send your kids to school. How do you choose what your kids need to learn? Why are you blindly trusting your government and school district to know what your kids will need to succeed? Are you comfortable with the fact that you really have no idea at all how they are spending each day? What are your reasons for trusting your children to a system that teachers and administrators agree is broken but have been unable to even begin fixing? Have you learned or read anything about how children actually learn? What is your child's preferred learning style? How does school support and enable them to succeed given their learning style?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to pick up and comfort my child when they are sad or in need, how about I ask you to defend your decision to let them cry it out? What do you think your kids are trying to communicate when they cry? Do you like being left alone when you are sad, with no one there to comfort you? Do you think your kids enjoy being left alone when they are sad? Do you think that there is nothing to gain by comforting them?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to partner with my children as equals, how about I ask you to defend your decision to limit the choices your children have and behave in an authoritative manner? What exactly are you trying to accomplish by setting rigid rules of behavior for your children? Do you really believe that you know more about how things should be than your children do? Why exactly should your children have to respect you on your terms, while you don't feel the need to respect them on their terms? Do you enjoy being yelled at, restricted, and told what to do? Do you think your children will be able to fully blossom into the people that they want to be if you restrict and punish them when they do things you don't like?

I could literally go on and on. Think about some of your other parenting choices that you may have felt the need to defend. Consider their opposites - the "status quo" parenting options that you could just as easily ask others to defend instead:

Children should be born in hospitals, with an OB-GYN, whose word should be trusted.
Birthing mothers should be medicated to minimize the pain.
Babies should sleep in cribs, in the "Baby's Room."
Babies should be left to "cry it out" so they can learn independence.
Babies need to be trained to sleep through the night so the parents can, too.
Pampers instead of cloth diapers; formula instead of mother's milk.
Playpens, mega-strollers, and SUVs are all necessary.
Daycare is critical for social interaction and parental independence.
Discipline, control, obedience are critical; failure will be punished by spanking.
Television should be limited, and internet usage and videos should be controlled, so the child can be protected from turning into a mindless zombie.

I am not trying to start a movement here (well, maybe I am a little, but whatever), and I am not suggesting that we immediately go on the offensive and do unto others (attack and make them defend) what they do unto us. But what I am suggesting is that when people question us in such a way as to make us feel like we need to defend our conscious choices - whatever they may be - we can either defend or ask them to. Personally, I am done defending my own choices and am ready to start asking others to defend the status quo.

So, Mr. Spare the Rod and Spoil the Child, go ahead and defend it. Defend the way spanking makes your kid feel, and then justify or rationalize that against the benefits you assume spanking provides. Spend some time on your heels thinking about your choices. Select your choices after consideration and trial and error, instead of merely adopting what you have seen or the way you were raised. Prove that you have thought about your choices to the same level that you ask me to prove that I have thought about mine. Think before you act, and don't forget to feel.

There is a Bed, a Family Bed, Where Everyone is Sleeping

2011-04-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Recently, I went on yet another business trip. Fortunately, this was the first business trip I've made in some time, almost a year if memory serves correctly. I have traveled several times a year over the past ten years or so, sometimes more, sometimes less. On this latest trip I actually tried to write down a list of all of the business trips I have taken as a way to pass the time during a long layover. I stopped at 25, unable and unwilling to think about it anymore.

Like everything, traveling on business has its good points and bad points. On the positive side, I get the TV all to myself and it is pretty quiet. On the negative side, I get the bed all to myself and it is pretty quiet.

Ahh, the bed. I always sleep really poorly when I am away. Part of it could be that I have a TV right in front of me to waste away the time. Part of it could be that most hotel beds are pretty uncomfortable when you get right down to it. But the real reason? Because I am sleeping alone, without my family near me, and I am definitely not used to that.

When we found out that we were having our first son, like most parents we immediately hit the bookstore to begin trying to soak up sage parenting advice to guide us on this uncertain journey. We weren't necessarily looking for information that was popular, or traditional, or "scientifically proven", whatever that means. We were looking for practical information that made sense to us and rang true in our hearts. In the end, we came up with an overall philosophy that many people may think is pretty out there in terms of how far away it is from traditional parenting. We decided against formula feeding, against circumcision, against vaccinations (eventually), and against disposable diapers. Or, more appropriately, we decided to breastfeed, to keep our sons whole physically, to inform ourselves about the risks and rewards of vaccinations and adjust accordingly, and to wash our own cloth diapers. After doing our research and searching our hearts, these decisions all made sense to us. But there was one other choice we made that has been as rewarding as it has been controversial---the decision to share a family bed, or co-sleep, with our children.

If you think about it, sleeping in separate beds and rooms is a relatively new phenomenon in the world, and to this day is not accepted or even possible in many, many cultures. While I haven't researched this topic thoroughly, I would think that the idea of separate sleeping came along with affluence that led to larger homes, and conventional work and school paradigms that "necessitate" regular sleep patterns for various members of the family. Regardless of the origins of separate sleeping, it has become the norm in our society. And as with any norm, it has it's active supporters. In fact, any educated parent could probably come up with a lengthy list of why parents should sleep separately from their children. Some of these arguments are based on fear, some on research, and some on preference. But they all boil down to concerns about safety, couple intimacy, and the well-being of the child.

When we were thinking about co-sleeping, it wasn't really with an eye on the benefits of sharing a family bed---it was more because we just could not wrap our heads or hearts around the idea of leaving a baby in a crib. To us, something that small, that helpless, that perfect, that sweet, and that dependent simply required us to be as close as possible for as much time as possible. I mean, all other rationales aside, how to you spend your entire day holding a baby close to you, nurturing, cuddling, allowing her to explore your face with her fingers as she learns how to work her eyes, letting him suck on your nose and fall asleep on your chest, and then just put the baby in another room alone when night comes? That dichotomy seemed too much to bear. It just felt wrong, regardless of whatever logic someone tried to douse it with.

Still, there are certainly more than enough people out there who will tell you that co-sleeping is a bad idea. In fact, both The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) and the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission (CPSC) warn that infants (under one year) should not co-sleep with their parents. Their reasons vary somewhat, but in general they boil down to concerns about the risk of suffocation and SIDS. To be sure, suffocation and SIDS are tragic and the risks should be taken seriously. There are many things that could go wrong; a baby could fall of the bed or get caught in the headboard, they could suffocate in loose bedding, or one of the parents could roll over onto the baby. These happen, and not just to babies with inattentive parents. Of course, the first two happen with babies in cribs as well. And the third is often caused by parents who have been drinking or taking drugs.

But there are risks and rewards in virtually every aspect of life, especially in parenting. We understood these risks and did everything in our power to mitigate them. We chose a large bed with plenty of room for baby in between us. I used a body pillow as a small "do not cross" barrier so I would stay in my lane, as it were. Our bed doesn't have a head or foot board, and we kept our beds low so that if there was a fall, it would be very short. And neither of us smoke or drink. In other words, we did everything we could to minimize the risks so that we, and our babies, could maximize the rewards.

Safety is one concern many parents have when thinking about co-sleeping, but just as critical is the concern about loss of intimacy. There seems to be a belief that couples who sleep with their babies lose out completely on any opportunity to be intimate. I never quite understood that. First of all, when it comes to sexual intimacy it is always beneficial - not to mention pretty interesting - to think "outside the bed." With baby on the bed safely between two pillows with plenty of room to turn over, the floor or chair or couch - or whatever else you can imagine - make excellent bed substitutes. Also, there are plenty of other, non-night time opportunities to share intimacy with your partner; the trick is in re-thinking old sexual habits and turning them into new ideas in terms of place and time.

But not all intimacy is sexual. Don't believe me? Wake up at 2:00am to the sound of a hungry or restless baby, and place your hand gently on your baby's back while she breastfeeds, looking all the while into the eyes of your partner just feet away from you. I challenge you - no, I dare you - to find a more intimate moment than that. If you try it and still don't get it, take a deep breath and try harder. It's there, you just have to let it come to you.

But all concerns aside - be they related to safety or intimacy - our decision was based on what we thought was best for the entire family, including our little dudes. Again, our babies need us close---they need us to comfort them to help them, to teach them, to show them through our actions, even from a young age, that the world can be place that soothes and enables and provides. I cannot wrap my head around how to do that by putting my baby, who needs me desperately, in a crib, or in another room. Intellectually, I get the idea behind this; "teaching" a baby independence, getting mommy some rest, etc. But---I don't know, somehow it seems so unnatural to me. As a new parent, you have to accept the fact that a baby changes your life, not that you change the baby's life. You cannot simply go on living exactly the same way that you did pre-parenting, with the same deadlines, milestones, expectations, and needs. Your baby is not an addendum, an appendix, an appendage, or a pet. It is a human being, and needful and helpless one at that, who needs you to adjust a bit to help them get off to a solid start in the world. Many parents want, and perhaps think that they need, their babies to sleep through the night and gain independence as soon as possible. Sometimes, that is a legitimate need; all families are different and no one way works for everyone. But leaving a baby alone at night to cry it out - to figure it out for themselves - ignores the fact that babies do not cry because they are lonely, they cry because they are hungry, thirsty, afraid, uncertain, in pain, or uncomfortable. They have no other means to communicate these needs, and no means to meet these needs without you. When left alone to try to figure it out, they really only learn two things: how to deal with a need that is unmet, and that their expression of needs will often go ignored.

So, if you accept the fact that an infant has needs, isn't it rational to also think that their need for comfort outweighs their need for independence? Isn't it rational to think that their need for the intimacy and security of closeness outweighs their need for alone time? And isn't it rational to think that their need for you outweighs their need for nearly anything else? You alone can choose whether or not to meet your baby's needs and demonstrate to them the power behind meeting needs in general.

Let's say that you understand the benefits of co-sleeping with an infant; after all, there is a deep logic behind it, right? But what about sharing a family bed with your children as they get older?

I think that the same logic applies well here, actually. We still co-sleep; in fact, we've been doing it from the get go, more than 12 years now. We choose to continue it because it works for us - for all of us - in many ways. It allows us all a sense of connection at the end of days both good and not so good. It allows us some time to talk before we drift off to sleep. It allows us the sense of security that comes with knowing that we sleep surrounded by love. And it allows us one space in the world which we know is just ours, together, as a family; sometimes the only time we are all together is when we are snuggled in asleep.

But we do not force it. If the kids wanted their own rooms and beds, they would get them; in fact, I regularly ask them if they would like their own rooms. When they come to bed a rustle around for a bit, I can usually get right back to sleep after a quick hug or a few peaceful words. When I need more sleep, I move to a different room with no frustration or malice. When I choose intimacy with my partner, we get creative. When I wake up, usually far earlier than anyone else, I do so as quietly and respectfully as possible---and everyone else does the same. It works, and works well. In fact, it is essential to our deep connection as a family.

I know that someday, sooner rather than later, this will change. I know that they will choose their own rooms, their own beds, and eventually some different sleeping partners. Ginger and I will share a bed just by ourselves, and our lives will change yet again. But I know that, when those days do come, our boys will be better for the comfort, security, and respect that we have shown them by taking care of their needs as infants and then supporting their wishes as children.

Disapproval

2011-03-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

Last night, Ginger left the house late to help a friend for a few hours and I had the chance to just hang with the boys as they were beginning to wind down a bit. I always love doing this, but because I am often at work most of the day the opportunities come few and far between. I love the rush of coming home from work, as we compete to connect and enjoy each other as quickly and thoroughly as possible. We'll move from quick "hello!"s to playing games, watching games, going outside to play, wrestling, looking up funny videos on YouTube, or whatever else suits our fancy. Usually, we'll break for dinner and clean up, and then re-connect for a while before I have to toddle off to bed. But when I go to bed at 10:30 or so, I miss the calm that comes when the "Daddy's home" rush is over . . . and it is in these calmer waters that I can really observe my children, getting to know a bit more about their hopes, dreams, fears, and uncertainties, while they relax and settle in to routines that I do not always get to see. When I get to do this, I see them in a light that most other people will never come to know.

I like to think that I see my children for what they are, and not for what they are not. We have made hundreds - thousands - of choices over the past several years all designed to fit that maxim. All of those choices - from cloth diapers to no vaccinations to family beds to unschooling to no bedtimes or media restrictions - have been made with our eyes wide open, and with our hearts open even wider. We've researched, lived the other way, learned, watched, listened, laughed, cried, been frustrated, worked through it, and come to the place we are now - ever evolving, to be sure, but in a place that works for us and our children given the hundreds of variables that go into painting our family dynamic. As such, I firmly believe that there is no one who knows any better about how my family should live than I do (except my partner and kids, of course). I think that most people who have consciously chosen the way they parent - regardless of what "way" that is - are convinced that they know what is best for their family.

But that sure doesn't stop people from trying to point out that what we are doing is wrong.

Whether it's from co-workers, friends, neighbors, school administrators, or (most commonly) our own parents and family, most parents have had their decisions questioned at some point or another. Particularly if your choices are, like ours, outside the mainstream, many people consider questioning your choices to not only be a right, but to be an obligation. Sometimes they question in order to understand, but more often they question so that they can help us come around to the "right way" - ie, their way - of thinking.

One key for me throughout the years has been to take a large step back and consider the reasons behind why someone would confront me about my choices. Doing this with newer friends is usually fairly easy, but doing it with our own parents is very challenging because we have so much history; we are fairly certain that we know exactly why someone made a comment or questioned a decision, because our experience tells us exactly where that comes from. I have had to work hard to give my parents some credit, and to try to see their point of view in their thoughts about my parenting choices. But sometimes this is hard, particularly when they interact with my children in ways that are contrary to my preferences.

With practice, I've been able to do it for the most part. We have found that many "unsupporting" people aren't unsupportive maliciously; for the most part, they just really want to connect with the child but find that the traditional routes to connection ("What grade are you in?", "What are you learning?") are now closed. If you think about it, most of us (and a number of preceding generations) were raised and "schooled' in some basics - naming Presidents and state capitols, knowing the dates of wars, The Mayflower, yada yada. While these are all trivial pursuits, they do give us a common frame of reference, a connection point, that allows us entry into deeper conversation. Most of us were raised that way, for good or bad, and continue to work that way today.

Grandparents are no different; they are using their tried and true methods for connecting. The problem is that our kids don't know the answers to these trivial questions, don't know what they've "learned" in a day, etc. So rather than acknowledge that they need to find a different way to connect (which means undoing years of programming), our relatives will ask our children to change so they can connect. And if that doesn't work, they'll question unschooling in an effort to get us to change, all so that they can connect with our kids. This paradigm holds a very mighty sway.

But at it's heart, I think that most time this behavior comes from a place of good (trying to connect) rather than a place of bad. So we try to help them find other ways to connect - suggesting questions the grandparents can ask that will lead to enjoyable conversations, providing background info on our children's interests rather than on unschooling, and ensuring they get up-to-date info on what our kids are into at that particular point in time. The goal of this is simple - I don't need my parents to "get" unschooling, I need them to "get" their grand kids. Once that happens, a lot of the worry melts away - - -and many of the criticisms with it, because they no longer have a problem to solve.

But even that, as sweet as it sounds, doesn't always deflect the criticisms. When they do come, there are a number of ways a parent can respond. Some parents choose the "fuck you" approach. In practical terms, this often takes the form of "my choices are not up for discussion, and if that doesn't work for you then stay away." That's an okay approach for as far as it gets you, which is often to a place of hurt, conflict, an negativity. I have always resisted this approach, based on something my Dad told me when I was very young: when you wrestle with a pig, the pig has a blast and you just get crap all over yourself. Nothing joyful or productive about that.

Some parents choose to argue about or defend their choices, which is also a fine approach as far as it takes you. Personally, I have found that most parents who choose non-traditional parenting methods have a deep emotional attachment to their choices and to their position; that only makes sense, because if you're really sold on something it is natural to have an emotional attachment to it. Unfortunately, that also means that when your beliefs are under fire you are likely to act with emotion. Now, I have been involved in conflict virtually my entire professional career, and not once have I seen emotion win an argument over logic. In fact, I have never seen emotion win an argument, period. I have seen tempers flare, feelings irreparably damaged, and punches thrown, but I've never seen two parties engage in any sort of learning when one or more of them is working from emotion.

Some parents choose to defend their choices with logic, as opposed to emotion. This often takes the form of presenting a logical argument about why they made their choices and the benefits the choices have for the children. Examples are usually given, such as "well, look at what my child does; obviously it is working." I used to be a fan of this approach, but lately have come up a bit short because I don't like using my child's performance, behavior, aptitude, attitude, or anything else to justify my choices. Assessing my child in order to defend a choice, and then communicating that assessment to others as a justification in an attempt to win an argument, seems a bit disingenuous to me, if not downright degrading for my child. I see little difference between this and subjecting them to, for example, any other performance assessments or grading systems.

When questioned now, I am most likely to say "that's interesting, I respect that, thanks." No need to tell people to back off and leave; no need to get angry or use my children's "performance" to justify our choices. At the end of the day, I simply do not need anyone to applaud my children in order for my viewpoints and choices to be valid.

Taking that one step further, I do not need anyone's approval for how to raise my children at all. Frankly, I would like approval; my life feels happier when I am in concert and agreement with people for whom I care, and despite what people say the sense of affiliation that comes with approval is a driving factor for almost all humans. But I don't need it. I look at my children at play and at rest, at morning and at night, in pain and in health, in sorrow and in joy, in uncertainty and in harmony, and I know that I have their approval of the choices we have made.

In the end, that's all that matters.

The Toy Store of Life

2011-03-11T16:08:00.001-08:00

If you're reading this, you probably know that I love being a father. I knew in my early 20s that I would enjoy being a dad, but I also knew that I needed to settle down a bit first - not only so I would be more patient and present, but so I could really enjoy what I knew would be the most heart-enriching journey of my life.

Day by day, my two sons and beautiful daughter continue their explorations of themselves, their worlds, and their lives. Sometimes, they explore in steps both gentle and tentative, sometimes in giant blind leaps both frightening and confidence-inducing. And while I pride myself in living in the present as much as I allow myself to, I do sometimes find myself cycling through rich memories of their younger years. Today, as I sit on a plane bound for Vancouver and dear friends, I am thinking about toy stores.

Visits to the toy store were regular and comforting with each of my children, the boys more so than Annie, as she preferred movies and parks. The first few visits to the toy store with the boys were a joy for me to experience; a small child, surrounded by a virtual cavern of shapes, and colors, and sizes, and textures. The tentative first few steps to approach the things that caught their eyes and their hearts, starting out quickly, then slowing on approach to seemingly savor the last few moments before they got to touch. The plaintive looks back at me, hoping to see the welcoming and reassuring smile that they always received in return, with a soft "Go ahead, babe, it's okay." And finally, little fingers, reaching, then touching, then grasping, then moving the toys around in ways not invented until that very moment. And of course, the smiles, and the giggles, and the visible relaxation of a body and mind in perfect concert in pursuit of pleasure. And I would stand there, and listen, and watch, and support, all the while thinking to myself the same soothing thought: "parenting is the most perfect job in the whole world."

As the years passed, we experienced good times and bad. We went through a tough spell in Pennsylvania where we were cooped up in the house like bears hibernating in winter, Ginger not quite well enough to keep up with our energy levels many days. So we would bundle up in our snow jackets and mittens, and wait patiently at the bus stop for the trip to the local toy store that we knew would provide us with a rejuvenated spirit and fill up our love tanks just enough to last us until the next visit. Sometimes we would go to the toy store in downtown State College, with the two levels and the train table and the Playmobil station and the Mouse Houses. Often, days at this store also meant a stop at the library for Dr. Seuss or Paper Bag Princess or puppet play; across the street was a coffee shop with the World's Best Hot Cocoa and the freedom to laugh as only children can, with abandon and infectious.

Sometimes, we would simply go to Target and play ball in the aisles and ride tricycles until Security came.

Other days, we would go to the Toy Store closest to us, where everything could be touched and made to feel like it was your very own. And our connections deepened, and our imaginations carried us to secret places that we could not believe existed, and the minutes turned to hours, the hours to days, and the days to weeks and eventually to seasons until it was time for us to leave for new journeys. We continued to go toy stores weekly, the boys and I, through our trips to Texas, and Tennessee, and back to California a few years ago, seeking in each place The One Toy Store that had everything we wanted in it just perfectly set up for us to feel at home.

These are just some of the reasons why I loved our visits to toy stores, but the two main reasons I loved them are actually simple: wonder and awe. Every time we went to a toy store, the boys experienced a sense of wonder and awe that you could see, hear, and feel in the air like a bolt of electricity coursing through their spirits.

So, when they stopped wanting to go to toy stores a few months ago, I was a bit lost for a while. I wanted so desperately to hang on to those memories of when the simplest things gave them joy, when seeing something new seemed to change their lives. I wanted to sit on the floor at the toy store again and play imagination games, to live again (or still) in the Land of What is Possible, instead of in the Valley of Realism and Linearity. In my quieter moments, I began to wonder if maybe something was wrong with them, if somehow our support of their interests in gaming and computers and electronica had warped their sense of wonder to such a degree that nothing would ever seem Wonderful again. I wanted to go back and find the perfect toy store again, so their reaction to the wonder would provide me with the energy to stay full and focused on what is simple and fun in the world. But things had changed, and I did not like it.

And then as I often do, I asked myself a simple, powerful question: did it change, or did I change? Was there something I had stopped doing, seeing, feeling, or listening to? And if so, what could I do about it? For years, when I have felt somewhat distant from the day-to-day lives of and changes in my children, I have tried to reconnect by spending time with them - by sitting with them while they are doing whatever they're doing, wholly and completely engaged in being with them and watching them and listening to them and looking in their eyes, and relearning the verbal and physical clues which, with the passage of time and new experiences, differ in subtle ways from the ones of their toddlerhood. And so I got down on the floor more and I looked into their eyes more often, never having to seek long or deeply for the sense of wonder and joy that now sparkles from their souls in ways more complete than I could have imagined.

I swiftly realized that they were not the problem - I was. Somehow, I had attached my love for their sense of wonder to the feeling of joy I got from going with them to the toy store. And as I watched and listened to the games they played, and the shows they watched, and the websites they visited, I began to recognize that sense of wonder and awe again. It was different now, deeper, more mature, more free and less tentative, open, secure and confident, easier to see and access, perhaps less visible to the observer confined by reminiscence, but perfectly obvious to the father sitting next to them and looking into their eyes.

There are different things for them to touch and experience now, and they don't need my reassurance quite as much as they once did. But they are awed by what they experience, and their passions are fired by the freedom to experience the wonderful things they see and feel. I can stop looking for the toy store; they have their own new places where their senses of wonder and awe come alive in many ways each day, and they want me to come with them again. I think I'll go.

Repost: "In Pursuit of Better"

2011-03-08T09:05:00.000-08:00

Last year, my friend Jean Dorsey was looking for guest posts on her blog, and I offered her this one. As I attempt to pull out of a mini-funk in which I am beating myself up over some of recent parenting missteps and challenges, I read this post again and spent some time trying to soak it in so I can apply it to my current situation. The bottom line: we'll go crazy pursuing perfection, but we can always pursue "better".

A couple of days ago, there was a thread going around on Facebook that asked about the differences between parenting in an unschooling family vs parenting in a traditional family. This is a very insightful question, I think, because it gets to the heart of what "radical" unschoolers have been saying for years: unschooling can be far more than just an educational alternative. It is, for many people, an outlook on life that emphasizes freedom and choice, not just in terms of learning but in virtually every aspect of our lives: access to information and experiences, behavior, food selection, and bedtimes, among many others. There are few rules or "have to"s in this way of life; instead, we lead lives of principle and choice. That's not to say that parenting in this environment is hands off; in fact, it requires a level of introspection and engagement that can be challenging and, periodically, maddening. It demands much of the parent: time, passion, understanding, patience, letting go, and true deep connection.

What it does not demand is perfection. But some parents still try to be perfect, despite the fact that perfection is unattainable. We love our children, we connect with our children, we respect our children, and we support our children. But to do so in a manner which is both authentic and true means that we have to start from wherever we actually are, not from where we wish to be.

Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and I just do not feel it. I still want to be a Dad, and a good one; but it just seems so elusive. Perhaps I am afraid, or disappointed, or even depressed. Perhaps I want a day just for me, free of the wants and needs of other people. Perhaps I have so many things on my "to do" list that I feel I need to devote some dedicated time to getting things done. Or perhaps I am just tired and a bit burned out. Regardless of the reasons, when I get this way I am much less likely to meet the needs of my family, let alone myself. Because my reactions get shorter and my patience wanes, my children can sense that something is wrong often before I am ready to acknowledge it myself. And when I finally do recognize my mood, and the impact it has on those around me, it usually leads to one overarching thought.

I am living a lie.

I write about being a good dad, I talk about being a good dad, and I speak at conferences about being a good dad. And sometimes, I'm just not that good. Why should anyone listen to what I have to say if I'm not walking the talk?

If you have ever felt this way, I encourage you to please give yourself a break.

Inherently, we know that there is no such thing as perfect. We accept that in our professional lives, in our athletic pursuits, and in our relationships with our friends, family, and partners. But when it comes to parenting, we serve under the illusion that perfection is attainable. We learn techniques designed to help us relax so that every response can be perfect; we arrange our schedules so that we can put off our own interests until our kids are drained or asleep; we run from need to need and from question to question, demanding of ourselves that we be fully engaged and responsive. We try to earn the title of "Super Mom" or "Super Dad" all the time. Now, most of that is okay, of course; if the antithesis of trying to be perfect is not caring about our children's needs at all, then I'll continue to try and be perfect. But being imperfect is only half the battle.

The real hard part is dealing with being imperfect. When we make a mistake, be it raising our voice, making a cutting comment, or making a judgment about our children's needs or wants, we let it consume us. We beat ourselves up, questioning not only our performance in the moment but our fitness as a parent altogether. We lose our ability to be objective about all of the amazing things we do each day, all of the things that create an environment of peace and harmony. We imagine nightmare scenarios about all of the ways we are damaging our children, and we place the blame squarely on our own shoulders, leading to remarkable bouts of self-doubt and feelings of unworthiness. But in doing so, we are forgetting two critical things.

First, parenting a child in joy and freedom is, quite simply, one of the most challenging jobs in the world. For many of us, it is different from the way we ourselves were raised. We may be trying to do it in the face of resistance from partners, family members, and other parents. Our children may have needs which are challenging to meet - needs which, in some cases, are precisely the reason why we didn't turn their education over the strangers in the first place. And we do this while facing many of the same pressures faced by traditional parents: financial hardships, physical limitations and disabilities, and multiple children with competing interests. Parenting is hard, and unschooling is advanced parenting. Our path was not the one of least resistance, it was the road less traveled - and many of us are on that path in relative solitude, with only our wits and our hearts to guide us.

Second, we get caught up in the "pursuit of perfection" instead of in the "pursuit of better." "Perfection" requires that we make no mistakes, that we have no bad moments, that we have no off days. "Better", however, allows for growth. It requires introspection. It enables us to live in the moment of each experience, unencumbered by expectation of our own performance, and to learn from that experience. It enables us to be connected to the changes that occur in our own lives and in the lives of our children.

If we try to be the best parents we can be - connected and peaceful and thoughtful and supportive - while being able to learn from our mistakes, our children will gain a marvelous insight into the world the way it truly is. Few things are perfect, and many people have destroyed themselves and others in the pursuit of perfection in various forms. But ultimately, as both people and parents, we are judged less for our imperfections than for the ways in which we respond to them. If we can learn from our mistakes; if we can humbly and truthfully apologize for the hurt and misunderstandings that our mistakes have caused; and if we can provide understanding and forgiveness for the mistakes of others, we can set an amazing example of real-world authenticity for our children. This will help them see us a being more human, which is beneficial for them and for us. But more critically, it will help them realize that they themselves do not need to be perfect either, and that it is okay to have bad days and make mistakes. And if we as parents can demonstrate how to respond to our imperfections with humility, sincerity and commitment, our children will be able to learn it too. They will learn that it is okay to give themselves a break and accept themselves for their successes as well as for their warts.

So, Super Mom and Super Dad, give yourselves a break, too. Recognize the challenge of what you're doing and commit to the pursuit of better, for you and your children.

Please Don't Hit Me

2011-03-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

In 2009, there were 123,599 reported cases of physical abuse of children in the US, most perpetrated by adult parents or caregivers. Keep in mind that these were the reported cases, ones in which someone took the time and effort to file a report with the proper agencies, or one in which the children themselves were able to speak out. No one knows for sure how many cases went unreported. Also keep in mind that these 123,599 cases are only those for physical abuse - medical or other negligence cases are not included (although there were 569,575 reported cases in those categories.)

For now, let's focus on those 123,599 cases. Without taking you through the math, I'll simply say that each hour, fourteen children in this country are abused physically. Fourteen kids in the time it takes you to surf Facebook and check your email. One kid every time you go pee. Two or three kids in the time it takes you to wait in line at Starbuck's for your latte. One hundred and twelve kids - that's 112 - every time you go to sleep. And again, those are just the cases that have been reported.

Physical abuse can take many forms, of course. Some kids are punched, some are kicked, some are burned with cigarettes or stabbed. I think that most rational parents - emphasizing the words most and rational - would agree that doing these types of things to kids is flat out wrong and abusive, with significant negative long and short term impacts on the abused child. That's easy for most of us to wrap our heads around, I suppose.

And yet so many parents, seemingly thoughtful and rational, continue to spank their children.

Those who do spank often rationalize their choice in one of two ways: they either cite the Bible's "spare the rod and spoil the child" clause (which really isn't IN the Bible, btw), or they speak of spanking as a behavior modification tool, designed to help children learn to obey and exhibit "positive" behaviors that the parent gets to define. Parents who rationalize their choice to spank this way are drawing a distinct line between a "simple tap" on the butt and a smack across the face or punch in the mouth.

But what a razor thin line on which to hang the well being of your child, who relies on you for comfort, love, respect, and dignity. What a razor thin line on which to hang the future of your child, their relationships and hopes and dreams.

The parents who rely on Biblical or behavior modification reasons for spanking are, in my mind, still abusing their children regardless of the relative "good intentions" behind their choice. But the parents who really scare me are the ones who abuse their kids for other, perhaps subconscious reasons. Some of them get angry at their children, perceiving normal patterns of behavior - or abnormal patterns, for that matter - as a personal affront to their sense of right and wrong, and which must therefore be severely punished. They lose control of the situation quickly, and respond to their anger by using violence directed at the child as a release. Other parents abuse in order to establish their power over the child, while still others feel a pathological need or desire to hit and belittle people. Some of these are reasons, some are raitonalizations. But all of them are abusive.

It may seem harsh to compare spanking a child to punching a child, and to lump them both in the same category. Perhaps the physical results of these two choices is different, as the spank might cause low pain and "only" temporary marks and redness, while the punch could result in extreme pain and broken bones. If you feel the need to make that distinction, I have to wonder if you ever been spanked or hit by someone that you trusted. The physical pain, no matter how severe, usually fades. But the emotional pain of being physically assaulted - for any reason - never leaves you. It molds how you feel about yourself, your confidence, your ability to trust, and so many other parts of your basic personality. As such, I believe that abuse is abuse - you either put your hand to your child, or you didn't. If you did, don't try to convince me that there is no negative lasting impact. Don't hide behind that rationalization to excuse the fact that you hit your child.

It is the sad paradox of abuse that the majority of abused people truly struggle to confront their attacker. As the abuse continues and the self-worth and confidence of the abused person whittles away, it becomes harder and harder for the abused person to stick up for themselves and extricate themselves from the situation. As sad as this is when the abused person is an adult, at least an adult ostensibly has some degree of life perspective to be able to recognize that there is a better way to live. At least an adult might have a network of people willing to help, or at least know that there are resources available to help get them to a better place physically and emotionally. At least an adult may have a job or access to money, making their ability to leave that much more realistic. At least an adult, in many circumstances, has at least a few other options.

Kids have none of these. No life perspective, so no understanding that life doesn't have to be abusive. No network or comprehension of resources, so no way out. Very little legal standing without advocacy, so no voice. In short, no options other than to stay where they are and accept it, or try to run away with whatever little resources they have.

But what if they did have a voice? What if we were able to help our kids express the way they feel when they are spanked or abused? Maybe it would sound like this:

Dear Mom and Dad -

Well, you just spanked me again. I am in pain because you did this; you hit me, and you hurt me. And I thought you should know that. You are bigger than I am, stronger than I am, and can control me physically in many ways whenever you choose. And you have chosen to do it many times. I wish I understood why, and I wish you would stop.

Whenever it happens, you always talk to me afterward and try to explain why you did it. When you explain, I am usually sobbing and crying and in pain, so you probably think that your words are not even getting through to me, that I will somehow just accept them at face value and feel better because I am too distraught to be able to pick your words apart for the meaning behind them. You are wrong. I hear and see everything. Especially the words you speak when you hit me.

You say you love me, but I do not see how that is possible. I thought that people who loved each other tried not to hurt each other? But you hurt me, so I am confused. Maybe I should hurt you to show you how much I love you.

You say that you do it to help me, but I feel unhelped and helpless. What were you trying to help me with when you hit me? Were you trying to "help" me see your point of view, come around to your way of thinking, or perform to your standards regardless of my own choices, preferences, and spirit? If so, you have failed. You have, however, helped me learn to avoid you and to do anything possible to avoid ever having you put your hands on me again. You have helped me learn not to trust you or believe you. You have helped me learn that there is fear and danger in the world, even in the souls of your own parents. Thanks for that.

You say it's for my own good, but I only feel bad. I feel bad physically because I am in pain, bad emotionally because I am hurt and angry and confused, and bad spiritually because I feel worthless. In fact, there is not a single part of me that feels good right now. But I do see how saying these words can make you feel better about your choice to hit me.

You say that it's the only way I will learn to do the right thing. I say that "right" has many different possibilities and definitions, and that mine may not correspond well with yours. I think your view of "right" and "wrong" are old world and limited, and I want to be new and expansive. Your world is black and white, so mine is black and blue . . . even though I see it as shades of gray. You want me to do things your way? Fine; pull down your pants, hand me that belt, and bend over. I'll do it just the way you did, with no thought to my actions beyond the immediate satisfaction they give me and little thought to finding a different way to parent.

You say that I will thank you for it later. No, no I will not. I will not thank you for abusing me. I will not thank you for attempting to modify my behavior to such a degree that I risked becoming an automaton. I will not thank you for ignoring my soul and my spirit. I will not thank you for not loving me enough to find a different way, and for not loving me enough to stop hitting me. And I bet that, when you get older, you will not thank me for all of the hard times I gave you because they gave you chances to learn and grow and become a better person. Do you know why? Because people who love each other and respect each other do not hide behind such ideas.

You say that it hurts you more than it hurts me. I hope it does. I hope it hurts you even half as much as it hurts me. I hope you carry around your embarrassment, your pain, your anger, your self-hatred, and your closed-minded unloving attitude with you for the rest of your life. I will not pity you for it, but I will have to decide whether or not to enjoy the fact that it hurts you as much as it does me. But you will never feel those things, because you do not care enough about what you're doing to ever take a step back and look in the mirror.

You say that you are hitting me out of love, not anger. But you look angry, you act angry, and you feel angry. Angry people hit each other and yell at each other and belittle each other. I thought that loving people somehow knew a better way. I guess I was wrong. I wonder how my own children will feel about this when I hit them out of love.

You say that violence is wrong, and yet you act violently toward me. Thank you for thinking so little of me as a person that you are willing to violate your own beliefs in order to make a point.

You say all of these things, and I simply say this: I do not believe you.

If you want the best for me, then listen to me so you can hear my ideas, dreams, visions, and goals. If you want me to change, then come to me with your questions, your patience, and your open mind. If you want me to do better, then inspire and encourage me, give me tools and ideas, and support me along the way.

But if you want want me to turn out like you, then keep hitting me. If you only knew how much you have already lost that you will never get back, and if you only knew that the majority of my life - and yours - will be spent with me as an adult, when I have the perfect amount of say over how much I let you into my life. Do not be surprised if you get nothing, since that may be exactly what you have given me.

I wish you would stop.

Last year, I wrote a post that covered a variety of things, but included this piece about parents who spank and the reason they sometimes give for doing it:

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to not spank my children, how about I ask you to defend the reason why you spank. Is spanking really the only way you can come up with to guide your children? Have you looked at other possibilities? Have you really considered what lies behind your need to have your children behave a certain way? Do you support hitting all people who behave contrary to your preference, or just the ones smaller and younger than you who have little or no standing in our justice system? How do you rationalize the difference between productive discipline and child abuse?

Hopefully, we as parents can take the time and love we need to examine all of our choices to see if they make sense and feel right. But we should also be sure to think about what our children would say if they had a voice - and then find ways to give them that voice as early as possible, listen to it, heed it, and allow them the freedom to express. And, hopefully, we will be able to live our lives in such a way that, with time, child abuse can be eradicated from our society.

Suicide

2011-03-01T13:46:00.000-08:00

Here's a sobering statistic for you.

Every two hours, a teenager or young adult commits suicide in the US. Every two hours. That's 12 each day. That's four or five while you're sleeping, every single night. That's one every time you watch a movie. But for every teen that makes the choice to kill themselves, many thousands consider it but choose to stay alive. Some 60% of high school aged teenagers have considered suicide; 14.5% of them actually made plans. That's 900,000 kids who have made actual plans to kill themselves. That's 100 kids an hour.

That's about 100 kids too many.

If you are sad, lonely, depressed, hormonal, rejected, overwhelmed, angry, frustrated, lonely, or any combination of the above, please understand that there is hope. Don't believe me? Well then let me tell you a story.

If you're reading this and don't know me, let me take a few minutes and introduce myself. I am a 44 year old man and I live in a small apartment in Corvallis, OR, with my wife and two pre-teen sons. My daughter lives six miles away, but is old enough to be out on her own. I grew up in a lower middle-class home in Connecticut; I was an only child, and for much of my life both of my parents worked outside the home. Growing up, I played a few sports passably well; I am no athlete by any means. School was fine for me until 7th grade, when I realized that having cool friends was more important than grades. I spent the rest of my school years taking drugs, hanging out with friends, and doing anything I could think of to avoid going to school or doing schoolwork. I stayed like that until my mid-20s, when I got tired of not having any money or any prospects, and decided to join the Army. I spent almost eight years on active duty; while I was in, I got a Bachelor's degree, met my wife, and had our first son. Since I got out of the Army in 1999, I have worked a succession of jobs, mostly in Human Resources and Manufacturing. We had another son, moved across the country twice, and lived in poverty for a few years while I got an MBA degree. The past ten years have been amazing, filled with love and adventure that I never dreamed possible. As I sit and look at my life now from all angles, I love what I see. I have a roof over my head, money in my pocket, healthy and happy children, a partner who likes and accepts me, and abundant love from my family and friends. I have all of the stuff - physical, material, and emotional - that I could ever need. People like me for the most part, and I have many talents that I enjoy sharing with many people. I am at my happiest when I am around children and teenagers, laughing and playing and watching. I smile and laugh at least five times as much as I frown and cry. There are some things that I wish were different, and many things that will change over time. But because I am fundamentally happy with my life and with myself, by almost every definition of the word I consider myself successful.

I think that when most teens see a successful adult, they often think see the end result with no idea about what journey the adult may have taken to get there. That perspective is understandable; after all, so many of us simply take things as they are with little thought to how they became that way. But even the most "successful" adults have not lived a land of milk of honey. Even the adults who have had every conceivable advantage have had miserable periods in their lives, times of self doubt and worry and confusion about how they fit into the lives of other people of the universe as a whole. I know I did.

So, why am I telling you all of this? Quite simply, when I was between the ages of 12 and 22, there were many, many days when I was ready to kill myself.

If you have to ask why, I have to ask whether or not you've ever been a teenager. But I was able to get through it and make it to be a happy adult who lives life out loud. So I am writing this in the hopes that, by sharing some of my own pain and journey, you can see that there is always hope for something different and better.

When I was feeling bad, I rarely let anyone know because almost everyone else I knew seemed happy. I figured that the people who I thought were happy, or smart, or attractive, or athletic, would never want to hear about my problems or sadness because they had never experienced sadness themselves. I mean, what would someone who "had it all together" have to offer me, except more ridicule and a reinforcement of my own inadequacies? That was my first mistake - believing that I was alone.

Only over time have I come to see that virtually everyone has been sad, and that many people feel lonely. It is one of the few things that we share as a species. Yet we pretend that it doesn't exist; we lock it away on a closet because to admit to feeling sad and lonely is to admit to weakness, and to demonstrate weakness is the single worst thing you could ever do because once you admit it, then everyone will know it and mock you for it. That was my second mistake - believing that feeling sad was a weakness and that I would be rejected for it.

Sometimes, it's easier and quicker for me to list the reasons why I didn't kill myself than to list the reasons why I thought about it. My home life was, for the most part, pretty good. It had ups and downs, of course, but even on the hardest days I never thought about killing myself. No, my reasons had more to do with things outside the home. There were a ton of reasons. Maybe some of these sound familiar:

I hated the way I looked. My hair was all wrong, too bushy to wear the styles that were in vogue at the time. My teeth were discolored and crooked, mostly due to some medicines I was given as an infant, and I felt like they were so bad that I could not smile. I thought I had big thighs, which made my jeans fit strange and I looked like a penguin. I could not stand in front of the mirror without turning away in disgust. I was convinced that I was so physically repulsive that no one would ever want to be with me.

I hated what I wore. Most of the kids who I admired wore better jeans, nicer shirts, and cooler shoes. I wanted to be accepted and fit in, and I wanted people to think that I was cool - but I knew that would never happen with the way I dressed and with the types of clothes I wore. My clothes screamed "poor" when all the cool people were rich. No combination was good enough, no shirt was cool enough, for me to overcome my belief that my clothes set me so far apart from others that I would never be accepted by those I thought to be cool.

I hated the fact that I was alone. I had a few close friends, but most of them had other close friends and I never felt like I was the top choice. The girls I liked all really liked me, too - but as a friend, someone to cry to when their boyfriends dumped them. Whether it was the way I looked, my body type, the clothes I wore, or something else, I obviously screamed out "stay away" -and they did, for a long time. The heartbreak of rejection ran so deep that I felt too ashamed to ever ask anyone out; I just knew that I could not handle another "just a friend" talk. I spent my nights wishing that the girls I liked would just notice me, just make the tiniest little effort to show me that they thought I was a worthwhile person to spend some time with. A few did, but most did not. For many years, this experience left me very tentative and shy when it came to dating and sex; it was almost as if I was convinced that I would be rejected, and wanted to do all I could to be sure that no one ever got close enough to me to be able to reject me. Of course, this fear and timidity was in itself unattractive, creating a spiral that forced me deeper and deeper into a hole of solitude.

I hated the fact that I wasn't good enough, at school or sports or music or any of the other things that interested me. I hated that other people were better than me at things I liked. I hated never being #1 at anything worthwhile.

All of those things were terrible, traumatic events to go through. But to some degree, and at some point in our lives, almost all of us go through them. Not only do these feelings themselves make us sad and lonely, but the worst part is often how we feel about our capacity to deal with these things. It is one thing to think "I am ugly and stupid"; it is quite another to think "I am ugly and stupid, and I hate myself for feeling that way." Words like "ugly" and "stupid" can often be catch-alls for how we feel in a moment, or how we react to what other people say to us or how they treat us. They hurt, deeply and completely, but we can get some relief from those feelings with sleep, or perspective, or love, or ice cream. However, there is little relief for the times when we hate ourselves for feeling angry, or helpless, or sad, or lonely. When we continue to beat ourselves up for whatever shortcomings we have, real or perceived, it hurts even worse - because then we are the ones doing the hurting. Sometimes when others hurt me, I felt that I could forgive them or avoid them or ignore them. But I could not forgive, ignore or avoid myself.

As these types of things piled up, I began to think about killing myself. I easily could have simply overdosed on one of the many drugs I was taking, or I could have drank myself to death; in many ways, the fact that I survived the things I did to my body is a miracle. But I had made up my mind that I wanted my death to be painless, and so each day when I walked home from school I thought of simply stepping out into the road in front of a car. I figured that if I could get one that was going fast enough, it might be over soon. And the sooner it was over, the sooner I could escape the fear, the rejection, the shame, the hurt, and all of the other things swirling around in my body.

For some reason I never did step off that curb, and I never did take that extra drink, shot, or sniff. Maybe I was too much of a coward to do it; maybe I was too afraid of the pain I would cause myself or others. And maybe it was a combination of one or more of these things that kept me safe and healthy, even if it took a while for happy to come around.

But I think that the reason I am still alive is because I simply found enough small pockets of joy and hope in isolated events that I knew things would someday get better. I found people to talk to, people who helped me understand that I was not alone. I found adults who would share their hopes for me, and share their experiences with me. And as the years went on, as I came to know more and see more and do more things in the world, I started to feel better.

So that is my story.

In the 20+ years since I left those dark times, not a day has gone by where I have not been thankful for whatever kept me safe and alive. But I can say that in some small ways, I am grateful for having come so very close because it has provided me with a healthy appreciation for all that life has to offer. It has also provided me with some thoughts and feelings about why suicide is such a sad choice.

Depression and hurt in teenagers and young adults is so complex, and there are very few reliable ways to navigate people through it. But there are some things that people try to do that I wish they did not. The first is when people say things like "I know it all seems so important right now; before long, you'll see that it's not such a big deal." How thoughtless. When I hear someone say that, I feel like saying "It doesn't seem important - it is important. Maybe it's not important to you, but it is a huge part of my life that is falling apart. It's kind of the single most important thing in my universe. And the fact that you don't see that means that you don't care. I can't wait for it to go away, because I am sad and depressed and I don't have any idea how to feel better."

The other happens when you express some thoughts of suicide, or wanting to do something - anything - to stop feeling the pain. Many people respond to that by telling you to think of how your suicide would affect other people - friends, family, lovers, children. You know what? If you killed yourself, it would have a tragic, long-lasting impact on the people around you. I know, because I have had people I cared about kill themselves, too. You can use the pain your death would cause others as a reason not to do it, if that works for you.

What if you decide to keep living for you - not for others, but for yourself?

I mean, after all, the one constant in your life is you. You will always be by your side; you will always wake up with yourself, and talk to yourself. You will be the only one who shares in all your successes and overcomes all of your challenges. You are and should be amazingly important to yourself.

Hopefully, I have shared openly enough about the difficulties of my past that you will now let me share some truths with you. Here are some things I have discovered over the past twenty years or so - things I never would have discovered if I had gone through with my thoughts of suicide.

I am beautiful. I am not - repeat NOT - Brad Pitt or George Clooney. But I am beautiful. Maybe I am better looking that I was when I was younger, and I just grew into my body as the years went by. Maybe I was never quite as fat and ugly as I thought I was back then, just unable to see the good in me in so many aspects of my life. And maybe I just care less about how I look and more about how I feel emotionally and spiritually, and so the looks remained the same bu the way I felt about them changed. But I can honestly tell you that the way I look has never been an obstacle that got in my way of pursuing anything that was ever important to my heart and soul. I have a beautiful wife, children, friends, and family who all think of me as Jeff the Man and not as Jeff the Body. I don't spend much time thinking of Jeff the Body either, because Jeff the Man is accepted. No matter how you feel now, it will change; it gets better.

I am pretty fucking cool and amazing in my own way. I am not the best in the world at anything, but I am damned good at many things. Some of those things I never even knew existed when I was a teenager - like boogie boarding or making stir fry or working with computers - so I never would have had the chance to experience them if I had killed myself. When I was young, I thought I would never be good at anything - but I had no idea how many things there were in the world that I had not had the opportunity to try yet. It is a world of wonder and new ideas and experiences; I am so glad that I did not rob myself of the chance to learn new things.

Right now, you only know maybe 5% of the people you will meet throughout your lifetime. There are still thousands of people for you to meet, and the odds are good that many of those people will bring you new ideas, new skills, new experiences, and new hopes and dreams. A good portion of them will accept you for who you are, always and all ways, and they will help you laugh and love in ways you never thought possible. There are thousands of people in the world who will bring magic to your life. Give yourself a chance to meet them.

You know yourself well right now, but eventually you will know yourself better. Your likes will change, your needs will change, and your wants will change with time and experiences. There is no way at all that any of us can predict what our lives will be like in five, ten, or twenty years, because life changes based on our experiences as we go through it. You may not like some parts about yourself right this second, but as you go on and get to know yourself better, you will like yourself more and more. Give yourself a chance to get to know the real you.

I guess what I am trying to say is simply this: If I had had the chance to meet and know the "future me" when I was 15, I would have been surprised, impressed, and really fucking relieved.
When I was 15 or 20, I was convinced that I was ugly, stupid, and unlovable. My experiences over the past 25 years have convinced me that I am none of these. No matter who you are or what the circumstances, you have not even begun to scratch the surface of how amazing you are. You have not even begun to experience the joys that come with growth and learning. You have not even begun to feel the goodness and warmth that is inside you. You deserve the chance to watch yourself blossom.

If you need help or feel stuck, reach out - to a friend, a teacher, a coach, a counselor, a family member. If you can't do that, then write down this number for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255. Program that number into your phone today, now. Share it with your friends. Doodle it in your books. Tattoo it on your arm.

But realize that you are not alone. Most of us have been through it, and we can all get through it together.

Notes from the Corner

2011-02-23T16:17:00.000-08:00

On the way to work this morning, I was thinking about a couple of kids I know who are almost completely emotionally cut off from their parents - or, more appropriately, how the parents have cut the kids off themselves. This just breaks my heart, because it simply does not have to be this way. As adults, we have our own unique perspectives on how we interact with our children, and it is often difficult to view our own actions with a critical eye or listen to criticism from others. We want things for our children, we have goals for them, we have desired outcomes in mind, and we want things to go our way because the wisdom of our own experience tells us that we know the best pathways through which to overcome life's obstacles and challenges. Misguided though that may be - after all, much of the control and impact we assume that we have is actually illusory - it is, at least, noble to wish the best and easiest path for our children. But the danger is in focusing so much on these ends that we choose means that create gaps instead of bridge them - often just at the precise moment when our children need to be able to trust in our unconditional love.

When I see emotional distance between parent and child, it is often because a parent put it there. Somewhere along the line, they put up a wall that separated the child from the parent's love. Sometimes this is by withholding the love or making it conditional on "proper" behavior. Sometimes it is simply by being distant or unavailable. Sometimes, sadly, it is caused by some sort of physical reaction or abuse that leads the child to want to stay as far away as possible.

As I was thinking through these things, I began to wonder what a child might say or write to their parents about emotional distance. Maybe, if they still cared and had enough concern left, they would write it in a letter. And maybe the letter would read something like this.

Dear Mom and Dad -

Hello. I am writing to you from over here in the corner. You remember the corner, don't you? It's where you told me to go stand when I was "bad", or did something "wrong", or in some way displeased you. I do not like standing in the corner, but you put me here anyway.

I once read a book about a child who was sent to sit in the corner of their school room when they were bad. I guess that's how things used to be in school. For some reason, the teacher thought that being singled out like this in front of all of their friends was a good way to impress upon a student how important it was to be prepared, obey, and conform. That has never happened to me, but I can try to imagine how it must have felt to be so publicly shamed and rejected, and how that could lead a person to want to stay in their shell and hide their true selves for fear of being rejected so publicly ever again. I can imagine what it must have felt like to be labeled "bad" or "wrong", and how for many people labels like that become self-fulfilling prophecies over time, leading to lifelong doubts about self-worth and value. I can imagine what it must have been like to be conditioned to perform a certain way, learn certain things, and do it all within a certain time frame, forcing a person to have to choose between following the thoughts and dreams that fed their heart, or learning the boring things that would keep them out of trouble because the learning the boring things made other people happy. I am glad that schools don't put people in the corner anymore. Now, at least they send the "bad" students to the principal's office, where some of their shame can be in private.

You have never sent me to stand in the corner at home, but I spend a good deal of time there anyway. Not in a physical corner, of course, but in an emotional one.

I don't like standing in the corner.

Sometimes when I am "bad", you send me to my room, or ground me, or take away my toys, or restrict my access to TV, books, or computers. This tells me that your point of view is more important than mine. It tells me that what you want is more important than what I want. It tells me that when I fail to meet your standard, regardless of whether or not that standard is attainable or even important to me as me, then I am so bad that you do not even want me around anymore, or that you don't think I am worthy of having fun or enjoying a favorite toy or activity.

When these things happen and I am 6 years old, I feel confused because I have no point of reference for terms like "actions have consequences"; I have no real idea about how to please you; and I have no way of knowing if you're just having a bad day or if there are some other forces at work. When these things happen at 9, I am resentful because you just don't seem to able to find a way to give me a chance to learn and make mistakes. When they happen at 12, I am angry because I am becoming my own person and your swift, thoughtless judgments are demeaning to me. And when they happen at 15, I stop caring and disengage, because I am obviously not good enough for you to even want to be near me. And if that's the case, well, I don't want to be near you either.

And so I send myself to the corner. You can send me there yourself for a few years, I guess, and for a while I will dutifully go and act disconcerted and contrite. But knowing that I am not good enough or worthy enough to be accepted and respected for my gifts instead of criticized and punished for my perceived shortcomings, I will only hold my heart and mind open to you for so long. Eventually you won't have to send me to the corner anymore. I'll go there and stay there, just to get away and try to create a place where I am accepted and loved for what I am, not reviled - or worse, ignored - for what I am not. If and when I do that, you may criticize me for going to the corner, and point the blame in my direction for the fact that there is distance between us. But I know something that you would never admit; although I walked to the corner, you did everything in your power to ensure that I went there, either through acts of commission or omission.

If you want me again, you know where I'll be. I hope you come find me before it's too late.

Okay, that wasn't really any fun at all to write. But, I tell you this - it is true.

I have written over 100 blog posts, writing over 175,000 words and spending countless hours both in thinking about and crafting these posts. At end of the day, they almost all boil down to one simple message.

Be respectful of and nice to your kids. Hold them close with your words and deeds; show them the love they need and deserve. Don't send them to the corner of your life, physically or emotionally.

Stereotypes and Labels

2011-02-17T15:35:00.001-08:00

As I was sitting down pondering what to write about, a situation came up at work that I had to break away and deal with. As I was working through a few problems, a co-worker said something to me that left me completely startled:

"What, do you think you're special? You're not."

Most of the time I am the quickest person in the room with a sharp, argument-closing comeback. But this was one of only a handful of comments that has ever left me literally speechless. And like each other time that has happened, I had to spend some time thinking about why. What was it about that comment that hit me so hard that I was unable to snap back? Then, at about 3:47am today, it hit me.

I'm NOT special, at least insofar as I am entitled to be treated better because of my education, experience, job title, or salary. But I AM special in virtually every other way. I am different, I am quirky, I am moody, and I am sometimes a giant mystery wrapped up in an enigma. But I AM special, and there is no one quite like me anywhere in the world. And while I am not entitled to anything because of my job title, I do deserve to be treated well for who I am inside.

We ALL do.

But that doesn't mean it always happens that way. I mean, the world is a pretty complicated place, no? It's filled with excitement, uncertainty, joy, and sometimes peril. Over the years, I have developed my own set of schemas that help me make sense of the world. Schemas are very interesting things; if you're not familiar with the word or the history of the study of schemas, check out the schema page on Wikipedia for a quick introduction. At their simplest, schemas are our views of the world which we develop over time and with experience, and which help us to make sense of complex issues. They help us take that which we have already "learned" and store away how we feel about it, so that we do not have to rethink every aspect of a problem each time we encounter it. This is, as you might guess, extremely useful. For example, many of us have behavioral schemas based on the Biblical Ten Commandments. These tell us, among other things, that murder, stealing, and lying are wrong. We absorb these ideas, and they become part of our own "world view" so we don't have to rethink whether or not we should kill the driver that cut in front of us, or steal that dress we see in the window. We already know that we can not; our schemas tell us so, and we can move on to consider other solutions that help us get what we want (such as flipping the driver off, and paying for the dress with our AMEX.) These schemas help to give us a sense of purchase on a life of slippery slopes, enabling us to hold ground as our world changes around us. As such, they can be extremely comforting.

But holding ground in a changing world can also be dangerous. Schemas can offer us a false sense of security because they can lead us to blindly follow that which leaves us comfortable as opposed to allowing us to question the validity of that comfort in the face of growth and change. In order to change, to adapt, and to grow, we have to look beyond our schemas, sometimes letting go and sliding down the mountain a bit in order to get a different view and engage in our lives in a different manner. Overall, though, I am generally fond of a good, reliable schema.

Now, schemas are one thing - but stereotypes and labels are something entirely different. A stereotype is, by definition, a simplified conception or belief about a group of people which is based on some prior assumptions. Many psychologists believe that both stereotyping and labeling is unavoidable; after all, the alternative is to meet every situation at its face, to consider people and their behaviors and actions as discreet and unique. That is thoroughly overwhelming to most folks. If you've ever lived in a large metropolitan area, I bet you know what I am talking about. You avoid walking or driving through certain parts of town because the area is run down. You choose longer routes rather than get on certain bus lines so you can avoid known problem areas. You move to other side of the street when you see a shadowy figure approach. You do this for expediency, because to sit down and consider each person you encounter at face value would take way too long and be far too onerous. So you set up rules that, on their surface, help you make quicker choices. But the rules also allow you the easy out of being able to make assessments and judgments without actual knowledge.

Stereotypes are with us or around us, like it or not.

But the fact that they are ubiquitous doesn't make them healthy. In fact, stereotyping and labeling can be downright destructive, for two primary reasons. First of all, the impressions about an individual that are provided by a stereotype are generally wrong. Humans are complex animals, and the differences between individual people can be mind boggling. Even when an individual person shares critical characteristics - physical, emotional, socio-economic, religious, racial - with millions of other people, those shared characteristics make up a relatively small percentage of what makes that person unique and distinguishable. Even through strict mathematical probability, there is no way we could truly understand a person by such relatively simple characteristics as racial or gender identification. Don't believe me? How about if I say that all neat men are gay, or vice versa? How about if I say that people who speak Spanish in the workplace are wetbacks? Or that all women get bitchy at "that time of the month?" If you still don't believe me, give me a call and we'll walk through some other examples of how we routinely disrespect individual uniqueness through stereotypes. Either that, or watch about five minutes of network commercials.

So using a stereotype can be bad because it denies us the ability to get to know someone as an individual person. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. It also denies the individual the right to be assessed and judged as a unique and special person. Imagine, if you can, what that must feel like. All of the amazing, quirky, wonderful, unusual things you do - your passions, your interests, your challenges, your experiences - in short, the things that MAKE YOU YOU - will go completely unconsidered. If you believe, as I do, that all of our experiences in life make us who we are today, then it becomes clear that people who fail to appreciate our experiences will never truly come to know us. That is sad. But what is far worse is what this type of stereotyping is likely to do to me over time. It is possible that whatever behaviors are attributed to me based on a stereotype may be reinforced so often, and to such a degree, that I find it easier to live up to these low expectations than to fight my way through them every time. And, over time, I may come to believe these judgments myself, losing both a sense of hope and a sense of my own individuality in the process. What a shame that would be, how destructive - and how avoidable, if only we could take the time to set stereotypes aside and get to know people for who they really are.

We stereotype based on age, gender, sexuality, race, religion, you name it. But as tough as this can be for adults, I think it is even more difficult for children. Think for a minute about all of the stereotypes we have about kids, and the labels we then pin on them. Toddlers with unmet needs are deep in the "terrible twos", with little thought to the reasons behind their behavior or possible ways to help them feel more centered and comfortable in a world of quantum change. Kids who are overweight are viewed as lazy, and lazy kids are viewed as burdensome and incapable of success. Children with multiple interests are assumed to lack the focus to pursue just one thing; kids who are quiet are thought to be shy; and children who enjoy comics or gaming are thought to be nerds. These types of labels (and there are hundreds of them) are destructive because they reduce the complex beauty and wonder of an amazing child into pithy cocktail-napkin statements. Behind each stereotype and each label is an underlying assumption that all kids who like certain things behave in the same ways, and that all children who have certain skills will achieve similar results. It's the ultimate show of disrespect - treating any person, especially a child, in a way that minimizes or ignores their individuality. Even labels that most of us feel "good about", such as "pretty", "strong", "smart", and "artistic", can end up dehumanizing our children when they become the words we use to describe our kids to others, with no thought to considering the whole child as opposed to their performance or looks.

I believe that we are all more than our stereotypes, and more than our labels. For example, I am not an Unschooler; I am a man who believes in the principles behind unschooling and is committed to applying those to various aspect of my life when it makes sense to do so. But I am also a father, a partner, a friend, who has hundreds of interests and several passions, most of which hardly anyone knows about. I could spend all day working with MS Excel or reading a book about dams, and I could just as easily spend all day laughing with friends or walking with my family. And just like everyone else - adult or child, black or white, rich or poor - I am so much more than my stereotypes would indicate, and so much more than any label could capture. I am special.

And I bet you - and your kids -are, too.

"I Don't Love You Enough"

2011-02-11T13:40:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I wrote a lovely piece about the dangers of following parenting "doctrines" too closely. In that post, I mentioned that there really are a lot of different ways to parent, based on the variety of circumstances and beliefs inherent in any particular family. While I have my own opinions about cloth diapers, breast feeding, co-sleeping, and TV restrictions, I also recognize that there are millions of brilliant parents with healthy, happy kids who do not share my views. That alone indicates that there is more than one way to skin a cat, as it were.

But there sure are wrong ways.

What does "wrong" parenting look like? Well, I have an opinion on that, believe it or not. I listed a few examples last year in this post, but I could probably sum it up by saying that things like physical abuse, guilting, coercion, lying, arbitrariness, and screaming/yelling/belittling would fall into the bucket of things that make my stomach turn. So imagine how pleased I was to see the following post on Facebook yesterday from an old friend who I actually think is a very good mom:

"Re-post if you love your child." No, I don't think I will.

There are so many things about this post that disturb me, but let's take them one by one.

First, why would you ever need to stalk your child? Stalking is actually illegal when you do it to a stranger, so why would you do it to someone you love? I'm sure that the intent here is not that type of stalking, but instead an effort to . . . . well, to spy on what your children do, who they see, and where they go so you can determine if they are behaving appropriately and then correct them if they are not. Let's ignore the fact that your kids will make their own choices regardless of whether or not you stalk them, and that they are likely to run further away from you when they sense you're spying on them. Instead, let's focus on what the act of stalking says about trust - the amount you have for your child, and the amount they have for you. Trust may come easily at first, but once violated it is nearly impossible to get back. Is there no other way to keep your child safe? Couldn't you try instead to connect with your child, coach them, listen to them, provide them with tools and a safe place in which to practice them, and then observe them closely - without spying - to make sure you understand the signals of their discomfort?

Let's move on to flipping out. Flipping out - screaming, getting angry, throwing things, whatever - is nothing more than an emotion. It is not an effective way to shape the behavior of others. I've had plenty of people flip out on me in my lifetime, and never once did I walk away thinking "wow, they are so right, and I am so happy they flipped out because now I have really learned something." No, the opposite happens; you learn to avoid them, to conceal behavior that they find unacceptable, and to feign contrition in order to get them to calm down. Of course, you also feel completely itimidated, scared, and physically threatened. I cannot learn under those conditions, and will in short order come to resent and avoid any person who treats me that way.

Does lecturing someone ever really work, especially when it comes on the heels of a mistake or difficult period? Of course not; the parent wastes their breath while the child floats away into whatever dream state they need to in order to get through it. When I was growing up, I was lectured countless times by my parents. Did I appreciate the fact that they took the time to sit down and talk to me? Yes, actually I did. Did I change my behavior in any way as a result of the lecture? No, except for becoming more sneaky about what I was doing. Did they miss an opportunity there? Probably (not "definitely", because I was not an easy child to parent.) Instead of talking to me, they could have been talking with me, not just in the heat of that event but throughout good times and bad so they could keep an open line of communication. You want to be heard when times are bad? Then listen to and converse with your child when times are good; make the investment in the value of your child's opinions and beliefs.

"I'll drive you crazy . . . (and) be your worst nightmare." Chances are that if you are stalking me, flipping out on me, and lecturing me, that you already are driving me crazy and being my worst nightmare. Again, is there no other way to stay connected to your child and demonstrate your love and concern?

Finally, why hunt your children down like a bloodhound? Bloodhounds are useful when you are looking for something that is lost - or for something that is trying very hard not to be found. If you need to hunt down your kids, you're already far behind in the game. There's no need to keep them on a leash, though. Be loving, respectful, curious, and connected, and they always come back by your side when they need to.

I guess that my overwhelming feeling at this post was one of immense sadness. I am sad for the people who believe this, and I am sad for the children who live under it's iron hand. Parenting is so hard and so complex for so many people, and I understand the need to latch on to some sort of framework or schema that helps us make good decisions when things get dicey. But these frameworks - like the one above- represent a degree of hubris and authority that is completely contrived. I wish that more parents were willing or able to think more about these schemas and then look for other possible alternatives that could work well for their families.

I've seen brilliant parenting and happy children in all walks of life, and no single one of them is inherently "better" or "worse" than any other. But there is nothing at all "good" about stalking, screaming, and being your child's worst nightmare. When you combine the ineffectiveness of these choices with the intimidation and coercion of them, your behavior is not saying "I love you" - it's saying "I don't love you enough to find a different way."

The Parenting Playbook

2011-02-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

Some of you know that I was in the Army for a little less than eight years. But you might not suspect how good I was at some of the Army things I had to do. I was an expert marksman with a rifle, pistol, and grenade (I know, you're thinking "how hard is it to be an expert at a weapon that destroys anything within a five yard radius"). I was really great at setting up defensive fighting positions. And, with all due humility and candor, I was just fabulous at land navigation. You could plunk me down in the middle of a forest or jungle somewhere, in an area completely unfamiliar to me, and with a compass and a map I could get just about anywhere I wanted to. I could use the local terrain, calculate the declinations, and understand the subtleties of contour maps to interpret exactly where I was and plot out the safest and quickest route to my destination.

At least, I could do all that if it was light out.

At night, I was pretty much useless. I had tremendous feel for how to navigate through what I could see and touch, but when I could not see it I had no underlying process to rely upon the help me make the right decisions. The soldiers who excelled at night navigation were those who understood and followed the established processes, who used the same approach every time to apply logic and procedure to situations in which I could only use feel. It was impressive and intimidating, to say the least. Ultimately, because most troop movement occurs at night, the folks who excelled at night navigation were more valuable than I was. In that situation, their adherence and trust of the navigation process and doctrine was the best way, even with its limitations.

In other applications, though, reliance on doctrine can be restricting and dangerous. Take parenting, for example. Gathering information, ideas, and best practices helps us open our eyes and minds to all sorts of ideas we never would have thought possible, which is great. But when our choices become strictly dogmatic and unwavering, well then things get interesting.

Here's an example of what I mean. In my last post, I wrote the following in response to a note I received that indicated I was raising my kids to live in a world without consequences:

...to suggest that my kids act without consequence is ludicrous; everything they do has a consequence of some type. Our consequences, however, are not punishments - they are simply the natural, logical extensions of what is, with the parent alongside them to coach and support them through.

After I wrote that, I recalled a term I had heard a few years ago called "natural consequences." I had always assumed that natural consequences meant that every action has a consequence, and that as long as the parent isn't forcing the consequence - instead, letting it occur naturally - they would be following the idea pretty closely. Now, I'm pretty much a "no punishment" kind of guy and am of the belief that when a child makes a mistake, the consequence should be - well - natural. For example, grounding someone isn't really a logical consequence of any behavior. Forcing a child to clean up a mess they made is not, in my mind, natural either. But based on what I wrote, I wanted to check myself a bit. So out I toddled to the internet to see what the experts had to say. In short, I was disturbed. I agreed with some of the things I read, but vehemently disagreed with others. There were entire websites dedicated to natural consequences and logical consequences, with detailed primers and decision trees to help parents navigate through the myriad of choices to choose what would work best for the child.

And not one of those definitions, processes, or frameworks fit perfectly with what works best for me and my family. They were inflexible, unfeeling, and missing some critical components that I know from experience work pretty well, such as trust, coaching, and gentle patience. But there they were, guidelines on just how to be a parent who uses Natural Consequences.

When you become a parent, there are guidelines and rules everywhere. Websites, books, and pediatricians all make a ton of money by telling parents exactly what to do, and when and how to do it. They tell us what weight our child should be, or they tell us to ignore those types of measurements. They tell us which store-bought diapers to use, or why cloth diapers are better. They extol the virtues of breast feeding, and tell us which formulas are best. You name a parenting topic: education, discipline, nutrition, activities, TV, whatever - there are hundreds if not thousands of people out there who are more than willing to tell you which way is the "best" and why. I guess you could say the same thing about me as well, although paradoxically I don't view myself that way. We are virtually overflowing with advice for parents from all angles.

But before we rise up and overthrow the entire "parental advice" system, let's think about why these institutions tell us what to do. The reason is really pretty simple. They tell us what to do because we ask them to. We have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, to be sure, and we want to be sure that we have as much information as possible before we embark on something as important as raising a child. But it's more than that, I think. Not only do we want to know, we want to know how. We care about particulars, specifics, checklists, so we can be sure that we are not only doing it, but that we are doing it the right way.

There are a few problems with this, of course. There are a lot of "right" ways to raise a child, depending on your beliefs, your culture, your child, and what influences you. Many parents believe that the right way to raise a child is the Dr. Spock way. They measure their child's progress against the "norm" for physical, emotional, and intellectual attributes. They may discipline, perhaps even spank, to ensure obeisance. They serve three healthy meals a day and go to Church on Sundays, or whatever. There are also parents who live off the grid, with no vaccinations and family beds. They may prohibit plastic toys, restrict TV, reject formal schooling, and eat all organic or vegan. Instead of discipline, they believe in Natural Consequences (more on that in a moment). I suspect that most families fall somewhere in between the extremes, picking and choosing new ideas and skills to help them approach different scenarios, like a Parenting Skill Buffet. But one single right way that works for all people in all situations? Not likely.

Another problem with an over-reliance on doctrine is actually worse, in my opinion. When as parents we rely on doctrine, dogma, and process, even in attempt to do the right thing, we distance ourselves from the "feel" of parenting. As important as knowledge and information is to parenting, feel is perhaps even more critical. Think about some of the suggestions that well-intentioned parenting experts make that simply feel wrong to us. Experts tell us to let our babies cry it out, which feels so unnatural to most parents that they end up resenting themselves for ever allowing it. Experts tell us to vaccinate our children, and we allow them to inject our child with substances of unknown origin, efficacy and effects at the same time we prohibit our kids from eating McNuggets because we feel that they are unhealthy. We rely on "natural" consequences to the extent where we avoid talking to our children ahead of their actions about what they could reasonably expect - which, in turn, feels highly unnatural to us.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with learning about new ideas, melding a bit of dogma with your own personal situation to make decisions that work best for your family. But discounting the role of feel, combined with an over-reliance on information and doctrine, in our pursuit of the right way to parent is essentially unconscious parenting. There are cookbooks for baking, there are owner's manuals for appliances, and there are field guides for land navigation - but there is no single doctrine, no single framework that can fit all families all the time. In fact, there may not even be one that fits any single family all the time.

There is no Parenting Playbook. Thank goodness.

It's Only Fair

2011-02-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

It's 10:30pm, and it has been one heck of a day. You did not get nearly enough sleep last night, and work was just draining. The entire day was taken up with helping other people fulfill their needs -a customer who needed a gentle hand, an employee who needed help with a problem, a boss who needed his ego massaged, and so on. But after that is done, you get to come home to your refuge, a place where you can escape the alternating stress and drudgery of the working world and sit back for a while and have your own needs met. And what do you come home to? A spouse who needs a break, a house that needs to be cleaned, meals that need to be prepared, and kids who either need you to engage 100% from the second you walk in the door or want nothing at all to do with you until you've made them some food. So you grumble . . . and you get the things done that need to get done. But there is no sense of gratitude, no evidence of any appreciation for the day you had or the sacrifices you made, no "please" or "thank you" - just a sense that your family feels that they are entitled to sit back and let you serve them with no thought for you or your needs.

Sound familiar? That is not my life . . . well, at least not exactly. But I can remember a time when I was stuck in a sense of what I got out of parenting, focused on what was "in it for me." I needed to cook and clean . . . I needed to play "on demand" . . . I needed to get them a glass of hot cocoa or a waffle at 2:00am, and then I needed to clean it up. But when was it my turn? When do I get to have something for me? When do we get to the point where my kids are grateful for what I do for them each day, where they thank me for it and begin to take some responsibility for their own well-being? Isn't that only fair? I sacrifice so much, give so much of my time and heart, and I deserve to be listened to, obeyed, and thanked for those sacrifices. It is only fair.

Or is it?

I believe that the degree to which we enjoy life depends less on what we experience than how we choose to experience it. Bad things happen, of course, and some of those things present obstacles in our paths to enjoyment that can be difficult, if not impossible, to overcome. But in the main, we choose how to frame our experiences, how to view the events that happen to us in ways that can bring us joy or or bring us pain. Parenting is no different.

When I became a parent, I had a vision of how it would all turn out. I just knew that if we could stick to a well-designed plan in terms of how we parented and how we lived our lives, that each day would just get better and better and our kids would be raised to be, well, perfect adults. Of course, the only way that would work is if my children listened to me, if they allowed me to set the course and ensure that they stuck to it. If they refused, well, that's where things got a bit hazy. But they wouldn't refuse, I thought, because that's not how parenting works - they would follow my deeds and words because that's simply what kids did.

As time went on - and once I actually became a parent as opposed to just talking about it - things changed quite a bit. Parenting is not about a consistent, upward trajectory in terms of anything - their development, your development, or anything else. It is not about obeying or controlling. But it is about trusting, loving, comforting, supporting, communicating, and being available always and in all ways, unconditionally and without expectations of reciprocity. But oh, how hard that can be - especially if we lack perspective.

As a parent - as an adult - as a human being- we have a tremendous amount of choice about whether we chose to frame things as good or bad. I'm not talking about minute to minute, Law of Attraction stuff, where we stay in the moment and treat every circumstance with a ray of sunshine and a bandoleer full of puppy dog tails. No, in those moments we are often powerless to have the perfect frame of mind and the perfect response, and even though we strive for better we still have bad moments, and sometimes bad days. But we do have choice over the long haul about how we approach interacting with our children. We can view our children as children, trying to navigate through the world and through their own emotions, rather than as mini-adults who should be hitting milestones on time and in form. We can view difficult challenges as necessary steps toward growth, rather than as good or bad. And we can view our own roles as supporters and facilitators, rather than focus on whether or not our children are behaving in ways that meet our own needs and that account for our desires to be treated fairly, the way we deserve.

I have a tremendous amount of latitude to determine how I define what is and is not fair for me as a parent. If I think of fairness in traditional terms - my expectations of how I should be treated with a quid pro quo level of respect, based on my sacrifices - then I have set my children up with the impossible challenge of having to meet my own expectations of what I feel like I deserve. This is such a huge trap, that so many parents fall into. But the truth is that when you feel like your sacrifices are sacrifices, as opposed to blessings of your time and energy that you have been able to gift to your children, you tend to feel entitled to some measure of respect. I have said this before and I will say it again: As a parent, you are entitled to nothing but a tax deduction and your name on a birth certificate. The rest you have to earn, even though it may never take the form you feel that you feel you deserve.

If you can get to a place with no expectations of how your kids should worship you because of all you do for them, you can get to a place where you actually see how fair your life really is. Maybe they don't help you clean, or maybe they don't seem that grateful when you make their favorite dinner or save money to buy them a special treat. But maybe they are repaying you in other ways by providing you with opportunities that you - and they - probably don't even recognize. Before you think that they are not being fair, think about these gifts that you do receive:

Is it not fair that you get to spend time with your children?
Is it not fair that you get to comfort them when they are sad or afraid?
Is it not fair that you get to watch them learn and grow, sometimes try and fail, before your very eyes?
Is it not fair that you get to share activities, moments, glances, and words with them?
Is it not fair that they trust you enough to be emotional around you, even when that emotion puts them at their most ugly and vulnerable?
Is it not fair that your children trust you to provide a safety net and a supportive atmosphere for their thoughts and dreams?
Is it not fair that they let you - want you to - play with them, to show you things that they are interested in?
Is it not fair that they are able to show you or tell you when they would rather have some distance?

Parenting is not a contest, and it is not a game. There are few rules, and there is no scorecard. If you define it so narrowly, with a myopic focus on extracting as much (or more) as you put in, you will never be satisfied and your kids will feel like they have failed you. But if you can focus on the gifts that you do receive, you can see how - no matter what you do and how much you give - you will always get far more out of it than you ever dreamed possible. That sounds like a pretty fair deal to me.

The Beauty of HALO

2011-02-03T12:07:00.000-08:00

I played Halo Reach the other night. I'm not one for "shooting or killing" games necessarily, but there is something about Halo that makes it fun. It is a game filled with tasks, missions, and rules. It requires that you learn about various movements and techniques, and become familiar with weapons. But there are also modes in which you can simply run around, chase other people, and experiment, with no goals or ideal outcomes. In short, I really enjoy it; it is flexible enough to simultaneously be entertaining but not overwhelming.

Over the years, we have become supporters of video games as a great, fun option for our kids. I don't ever recall evaluating video games for their "educational" content, like I did with TV, and I never really paused to consider whether or not video games would be - or could be - harmful for my children. But it is precisely this consideration that gives many parents pause.

Most parents who resist, passively or actively, allowing their children to play video games do so for one of two reasons. Some people believe that the behaviors and actions depicted in the games are inappropriate for the children, due to "mature" content such as violence. Other parents simply believe that video games have no redeeming educational value. I get those arguments; in fact, I used to rely on the first argument when I restricted my on children from the internet, TV, and video games.

For the first parent, concerned about exposing their children to violence in a world that really has more than enough violence as it is, I simply say "I hear you." But I also say that if you believe that you can shelter your child from the darker aspects of our world, you are sorely mistaken - unless you plan to lock them up in a box. They will see it on the news, on the streets, between their friends, and often in schools. Now, I am not suggesting that because exposure to violence is largely inevitable that you should let your three year old watch "Saw" or run out and purchase "Call of Duty" for your six year old daughter. And I am definitely not suggesting that, if you do decide to allow "mature" programming and games in your home, you should merely hand them over and walk away while your child figures it out for themselves. In fact, I am suggesting the opposite; go slow, go gradual, stay connected, answer questions, calm fears. We're supposed to do that as parents anyway. But don't fall into the trap of assuming that your kid will grow up to be violent by watching or playing violent video games; if you are with them, talking to them, listening and watching and available, I bet that they will quickly understand the distinctions and conduct themselves accordingly. Even without video games, isn't it more likely that your kids will experience difficulty if you leave them alone, ignore their questions, and make yourself unavailable? Of course it is.

For those parents who believe that video games have no redeeming educational value, I simply ask you to sit down and watch your child for a while - not just once for a few minutes, but over a period of time. If we take the time to really pay attention - to put down our iPhones, step away from the TV, lay aside our book - and really watch them, we can see some amazing things. Some of those things are obvious. They can learn about history, art, music, adventure, and a wide array of other things that virtually all parents view as "beneficial learning."

But if we scratch the surface just a bit deeper, we can see their learning in a much more expansive and inclusive light. We see that working through missions and levels can help their critical thinking skills, as they develop a sense of what does and does not work. We see them being exposed to different ways of approaching problems, different characters and settings, and different accents, as they develop an understanding of the vast diversity of thought and approach they will encounter in the world. We see them reading what is on the screen to discern meaning, or better yet inferring meaning from other clues, as they adapt to the wide variety of ways that we acquire and process information -and then we see them use that information to guide their decisions. We see them try the same thing over and over again, often achieving different results if from no other reason than their own unbiased and calm perseverance.

I love this. They can learn history, art, and music; they can also learn critical thinking, diversity, application of new skills, and perseverance. But why stop there? They also learn interpersonal and social skills by playing games and working out their differences with other people (including children of different ages and, dare I say, ADULTS), that gives them practice in understanding the viewpoints and needs of other people. They learn the value of connectivity, as they meet and interact with people from all parts of the world -a critical skills in a global economy. And goodness knows they learn the technology, as any three-thumbed, fumbling parent knows; most of our children are far more adept at using technology than we are.

So, to our wonderful list of advantages (art, music, history, diversity, critical thinking, etc), we can add conflict resolution, viewpoints and needs of others, connectivity, and technological savvy. But there is still one more benefit, beyond all of these, that for me is at once fascinating and relieving. As an adult, over time I have been conditioned to identify and solve problems, to find the best ways to approach an obstacle and overcome it immediately. Accordingly, before I start out - on a project, a trip, or a new game - I like to know what the rules are. What is the objective? What controls do I use? How much life and health do I have? How do I maneuver? How much time do I have, and how do I keep track of it? When you wrap this all up, it becomes about how to succeed, how to thrive - and how to win.

My kids do not approach games that way. Instead of asking which controls to use, they say "I wonder what this does!" Instead of asking how much health they have, they try to kill themselves a few times and learn that way. Instead of asking how to maneuver, they try every possibility and learn things that the game booklet doesn't even mention. And instead of worrying about the objective, they take the time to calmly explore and enjoy the journey.

That focus on exploration and enjoyment for the simple sake of enjoyment is something I could never teach my children; I'm not sure that if I tried to pull such a lesson out of context and objectify it that they would even recognize it as having any value at all. There may be other ways to learn this as well; playing imagination games with their friends comes quickly to mind. But video games offer options that imagination games do not - the ability to rewind, the consistency of the experience, the ability to walk away without fear or concern, and the ability to come back and play when you're ready, even if it is 2:30am. Moreover, there is something about the complexity and depth of many video games, as well as their sheer attractiveness, that make them excellent vehicles by which children can learn without needing to be taught. Through their own preference and experience, my children have gotten to the point where the means are more important than the ends, and I love that they approach things this way.

Don't tell me kids can't learn from video games.

The Magic Word

2011-01-31T11:00:00.000-08:00

Several times before, I have mentioned that I was raised in a traditional, Dr. Spock kind of way. It was a good childhood overall, with times that were amazing and times that were more challenging. But it was the 60s and 70s, with traditional parenting models, supported by traditional TV and magazines and reinforced by traditional institutions such as school and pediatricians, with traditional solutions and goals. Some of those traditional means were great, like the Shake 'n Bake chicken and my parents' constant exhortations to get me to "go outside" and play. But there were a few things that rankled me. Groundings, for one. "Go to your room", for another. And the worst of all, at least for me: "What's the magic word?"

More than just a few times I responded to this "what's the magic word" question with a typical Jeff-esque wise ass answer like "Um, abracadabra? Open sesame? Mirror mirror?" Of course, none of those were the right answer, and I knew it. No, there were only three magic words, split into two distinct phrases that every good boy knew and could learn to repeat on command: "please" and "thank you."

You know, there is nothing wrong with "please" and "thank you"; in fact, I use each of them several times a day, and I actually mean it when I say them. I speak those words with joy and deep gratitude that comes from a knowledge that so many of the good things that happen in our lives are the result of the thoughtful actions of others, and in addition to "paying forward" these kindnesses, I also want to drop a nice appreciation, right there on the spot for everyone to see. But as cool and wonderful as "please" and "thank you" are, there is absolutely nothing magic about them. Now sometimes you can get a pleasant and unexpected reaction when you use them, and sometimes you just get a good feeling inside. I don't want to demean those advantages, but they're just not "magical."

When I think of magic, I think of things that make the impossible come alive with endless possibilities; things that transform wants and needs into actions and deeds; and things that take feelings that we once dared only dream of, and places them squarely in our hearts. If we could find a way to get there somehow, to do instead of wish, then wishes could become changes before our very eyes. Now, there is no potion that I know of, no elixir or incantation that can help us emerge into a land of freedom of thought and action. But there is, believe it or not, a magic word that can take us - and the people we love - there more quickly than we think possible. It's not "please", it's not "thank you" - it's not even "I love you", although they each have their place. No, the magic word is much more simple than that.

The magic word is "yes."

"Yes" is a very, very powerful word. The word itself has no meaning, of course; it's merely a collection of letters that make a short, firm sound. But as is always the case, the power of "yes" comes not from the word itself, but from the feeling of acceptance and freedom that it conveys. "Yes", however, is also very scary. "Yes" takes the decision - any decision, from where to eat dinner to which class to take to whom to marry and where to live - out of the hands of the parent, and places it gently into the hands of the child. There is an implied relaxation or relinquishing of control here which runs contrary to basic axioms of traditional parenting. After all, the idea of control in parenting is one that runs very deep.

As a parent, we often believe that we need to control. Sometimes, we control because we feel out of control in other aspects of our lives, and we need to control something in order to stay in balance. But sometimes we control in an attempt to protect our children from having to endure some of the things in life we know are difficult - broken hearts, misdirected efforts, wastes of time, etc. After all, we know all of the shortcuts because we've already been through it. We know how to get through life with efficiency and expedience, in ways that will protect our own hearts from pain. And because we have learned from our own mistakes, we have a strong desire to help our children live their lives as error-free as possible. And so we try control a variety of things - TV, food, sleep times, educational choices, friends and lovers - with generally positive intent, but often negative results.

In some ways, parenting - both "good" and "bad" - is about laying foundations. Traditional parenting often focuses on foundations like church, school, team sports, perseverance, and a host of other ideals that, they hope, will prepare their children to succeed in the real world. These parents believe that they can see the future and build a person who will succeed within it. It's almost like a 20 year engineering project - meticulously planned, brilliantly executed, but perhaps without either passion or the ability to morph as the future becomes more clear, like building the perfect desktop computer in a world of iPads.

Seeing my children succeed is important to me as well, but I believe that my children should, can and do have the right to determine what success means for them, and that I am mistaken to assume that I know what the world will be like when they grow up and what the best way is for them to live in it. I don't know what the world will look like, I don't know what they will choose to do in the future, and I don't know what they will need to learn to succeed in that world on their own terms and in their own ways. I cannot engineer their lives. But I can still provide a foundation. Rather than try to plan for very contingency and attempt to give them a bit of everything so they can succeed, I can help them develop confidence, curiosity, adaptability, passion, unconditionality and trust, in an environment founded on exploration. Regardless of what the world becomes or what part they choose to play in it, I think that this foundation helps them see the possible.

I cannot do that if my gut, reflexive response is "no."

I don't know how to help my child build confidence when I say "no" to his desire to try new things, like breaking out of a set of handcuffs or walking across the top of a jungle gym on a wet day. Life is not trial and error; life is trial and learning. If one can safely assume that people really never stop learning, then they need to never stop trying. The best way to shut down a child's desire to attempt new things is to say "no" just because you, the parent, are afraid.

I don't know how to help my child build sense of curiosity when so much of the world is put off limits with "no." Be it the end result of smearing peanut butter in your hair or the desire to listen to every single CD at the play station in the book store, saying "yes" helps your child open their eyes to more and more possibilities. "No" is viewing the world through a paper towel tube, perhaps a straw. "Yes" is viewing it through a wide-angle lens - or from a hot air balloon, a thousand feet off the ground.

I don't know how to help my child learn how to adapt to changing circumstances when they want change course and hear "no" in response. Perseverance and commitment are admirable in many cases, and I myself am happy that my parents did not give me an easy out when it came to hockey and guitar lessons. But perseverance and commitment through all change, with no thought to allowing the child their inherent right to make a choice (as if it were yours to "allow"), makes it harder for them to adapt to changes when it really counts, like in abusive relationships or other scary situations. An honest and authentic "yes" when they express discontent and the need for a new direction helps them feel loved and respected, that their beliefs and views are valued in your eyes - and it makes it more likely that they will value the beliefs and values of others.

There are, obviously, some circumstances in which "no" may be a better choice. I might say "no" to a child sticking a fork into an electrical outlet or running into a crowded street after a ball. I might say "no" to an addicted friend who asks for money to buy drugs. And I might say "no" to a partner who challenges me to grow when I need to run back to my comfort zone for a short break. There will always be a need for a limited amount of "no" in the world.

But when we choose the time, place, and circumstance for "yes" or "no", we are robbing our kids of a learning and growth opportunity. Not only are we enforcing our own needs and desires, thereby subjugating the needs and desires of our children, but we're also robbing them of an opportunity to learn some of life's lessons for themselves, in their own way and in their own time, and in terms of what is important to them. We assume that if they experience difficult times that they will suffer in some way, and we want to protect them from that suffering. While that may be true in many cases, our kids are different than we are, and are therefore likely of approaching these situations in ways that are far different than the way would chose to approach them - likely for the better.

I am not suggesting that we should never offer our ideas, or thoughts, or the wisdom of our own experiences. When we are engaged with our children, they will look to us to help them approach these challenges. But there is a difference between offering these things as a partner in your child's life, and controlling these things in an attempt to prevent your children from experiencing the difficulties of life. If we help our children approach their lives through a framework of what is possible when we learn and experience new things, they are far more likely to view these challenging times in ways that far exceed our hopes and expectations with their maturity and balance.

Yes. Say it, mean it, feel it, show it in your eyes and in your body language, and help your children develop the solid foundation they need to meet the world on their own terms, head on and head up.

The Return of Passions

2011-01-25T17:06:00.001-08:00

After six months at home, I recently made the decision to return to the workforce. It was a very tough decision, and has been a ridiculously hard transition. There's a big part of me that simply misses being home every day, the tug and pull of a family living in freedom and bouncing around from activity to activity. But there's another part that is sad, angry and ashamed that I did not do more to ensure that I could have stayed home for longer - or maybe forever. I should have written more, I should have explored more options, I should have had a better plan, I should have networked. It's water under the bridge, but it still hurts.

The other night, I had a dream that represents how I feel about all of this. I was driving along a road that followed a small river through a beautiful, green valley, with farmland on either side. After following the road for a while, I lost track of what I was doing and ended up driving in a straight line through a field. I was going faster and faster, and was becoming afraid because I was straying so far from the road and I was afraid I would get hurt. Just as I was about to wonder if I would ever get back onto the road, I saw a stand of tress up ahead that looked like they might have a path leading through the stand back onto the road. I started to relax, and eventually reached the path. As I slowly made my way through the trees, I saw a car seat under a tree. I got out to take a closer look, and found a baby - maybe six months old - in the seat, uncovered, whimpering and shivering, and almost dead. I immediately picked the baby up and held it close, covering it with my coat and rubbing it gently to try to get his heart and blood warmed up. Eventually, other people came to help - the farmer, a doctor, some other drivers - but I simply refused to give the baby up. I was convinced that I was doing the right thing and that the comfort of my arms and unconditional love I was able to provide would heal the baby quickly and thoroughly. In a few more minutes, the baby was doing better, the whimpers turned to coos, and the tears turned to small sniffles. And then I woke up, knowing that the baby turned out to be okay in the end.

All day long I could not get the image out of my head, and my mind was racing through a thousand possible metaphors. Given the "return to work" situation, I thought that maybe the dream was a giant metaphor, where I go off the road but then get nervous and return, leaving my children crying. Right now, that seems possible - perhaps even likely.

Now, I've been accused of many things in my life, but no one has ever called me a poker face. I usually wear my stress on my sleeve, and I guess this is no exception. Today, a friend who senses that I'm in pain wrote me a quick note that said "listen to this today", with a link embedded. I clicked on the link an hour or so ago, and it turned out to be a link to a presentation I gave a couple of years ago. In September 2009, Flo Gascon gave me the opportunity to speak at the inaugural Good Vibrations Unschooling Conference in San Diego. After trying out a few topics, I decided to talk about passions - what they are, why they're important, and how critical a role they play in the future of our children. I loved writing it and loved delivering it, because it's a topic that I have a lot of passion for.

As I listened to it today, I felt greatly rejuvenated with a renewed vigor to finding a way to make things work out. The presentation itself is on Sandra Dodd's site; a written version is below.

Thanks, friend - I needed that.

Back about 13 months ago, Flo asked me to speak at the Good Vibrations Unschooling Conference, and I have to say I was completely overwhelmed. My primary thought was “why me, what makes me deserving of this honor?” And all of that sounded very nice, and humble, but for me humility often leads to the next logical emotion - total, complete, and abject fear. And when the fear caught on for real, my question was “What the heck will I talk about?” I assumed that Flo wanted me to talk about what I often write about – finding the balance between being an unschooling Dad and having a job in corporate America. When I approached her about it, she simply said – “Talk about whatever you want. Whatever you are passionate about.”

“Whatever I’m Passionate About”? Really?? Wow. Talk about a blank slate. I mean, I’m a guy with ADD who has only very rarely forced my head down out of the clouds and lived a “grounded” life in what some people call the “real world.” The very thought of picking a topic that I was passionate about was pretty daunting, to be honest. At various points of my life I have been passionate about so very many things – water conservation and dams, hockey, acting, unschooling, music, golf, movies, education – they have all enjoyed their time at the forefront of my thoughts over the years. I know many of these topics deeply, some of them passably, a few well enough to be exceptional at them at times. But I had to pick one.

I decided to talk about unschooling as a working Dad. I put down some thoughts; I blogged; I worked some ideas with some friends and on some of the Yahoo groups; I sat for hours in front of computer waiting for the structure and the words to come so that I could wow everyone with my ability to inspire and motivate. I outlined things, I read other blogs . . . .then I read some of my own old ones . . .and then . . . when I REALLY needed to narrow it down . . . I stopped.

Why? It was pretty simple, really. I didn’t have any passion for it.

How could I tell? Because of my approach, and because of my heart. I started with a defined end state. I knew how I needed to start and end. I knew how long I had. I was doing it for a specific purpose. I was THINKING it, instead of FEELING it. And it just never felt right.

Now here is where things get interesting. I made a commitment to Flo that I would come and speak. I suppose I could have toughed it out and written something that would have gotten the job done. But I would not have been passionate about it, and 450 people who flew to San Diego to have a good time would have been bored to tears right off the bat, because they would have seen a speaker who was faking it, and that just didn’t seem right. So I course corrected, and asked Flo if I could change the subject to something I AM passionate about - - - passions. Flo, being the amazing woman she is, said “Of course, silly.” And so here we are.

So I sat down to put this together. With much trepidation and uncertainty, I sat down and started writing, straight from the heart and with great freedom and gusto. Picture a dog in a park on a nice breezy day, running after a ball. Tongue out, tail wagging, happy in the pursuit and the opportunity to connect, running free, wherever the pursuit of the ball leads. That was me, just without the tongue and the tail, at least most of the time. I pursued it just like passion is supposed to be pursued.

So I’m going to speak today about passions. Why passions? It’s pretty simple, really – for me, unschooling is a bit like a tree. It starts with a seed of consciously choosing a better life for you and your family, and grows into something absolutely beautiful and unique, sometimes unwieldy, rarely predictable. And like all trees, it needs roots. I think that passions are the very root of unschooling. You know, there are many “definitions” for unschooling, but personally I think definitions are a bit limiting and rule-bound. So I try to think of unschooling in terms of principles. The simplest, most concise statement of unschooling principles is one I am lifting straight from Joyce Fetterroll: humans are born learners. Children will learn best when given the freedom to learn what, when and how they want.

I see two key parts to that statement. The first is that we are all born as sponges, capable of taking in a wide variety and depth of information. This is easier to do when you are younger, I think, because when you are young you haven’t been as restricted by the rules and guidelines and cultural norms that can create our own “internal editors” that tell us right from wrong, good from bad. As we grow older, some societal norms gradually beat that natural-born curiosity out of us – and that therefore, as unschoolers, our job is more to remove barriers to learning and boundaryless intellectual curiosity for ourselves and our children. The second point is that children will learn best when they have the freedom to learn what, when, and how they want. Think about that.

WHAT THEY WANT. Anything . . . anything at all . . . . Ninjas . . . . Recycling . . . . Hairstyling . . . .the Crimean War . . . . animal poop . . . anything at all. The possibilities, of course, are absolutely limitless. It’s like taking a funnel and looking through the skinny end. You start with a relatively small and immature lens of the world, that when you look through it provides you with a view that you would’ve never thought possible. How exciting! When they have the freedom to learn what they want, then, the question for me becomes this: How do they choose what to learn about? I mean, they cannot learn about everything in the world simultaneously – that’s a trifle overwhelming. No, they learn about things by reading, watching, touching, talking, listening, and playing with things that INTEREST them, that hold some ALLURE or ATTRACTION to them . . . . in short, they learn about things that they are, oftentimes, passionate about.

To me, the identification and pursuit of passions is the absolute crux of unschooling. But I’ll tell you - Allowing your children to learn in freedom and pursue the exploration of their passions requires a great amount of faith. I mean, most of us were raised with the expectation that we are supposed to all know certain things, and apply them in certain ways. Not quite the old world thoughts about “Doctor, Lawyer, Engineer”, but not too far off of that path, either. Allowing children the freedom of learning WHAT THEY WANT requires faith, with little real hope that our children will turn out to share our values, our goals, our expectations of success. But that’s okay, that’s MORE THAN okay. I don't want my kids to share my values necessarily - I want them to define their own values, and learn to question, and be anything but the sheep that so many of us become because we've not been entrusted with the fundamental responsibility to think for ourselves.

But we cannot simply put the words “pursue your passions” in a cookie jar up on the shelf and expect our kids to take a bite - “Hey, pursue your passions, they’re right up there.” We need to put those words into action ourselves, so that our children can see that passions, and learning, and joyful living are not pursuits for only children. The passion that we all model for our children needs to be unconditional - a true reflection of ourselves and our values, our likes, and our beliefs. THAT's what we're modeling - not the values themselves, but the joy of having and expressing them.
Doing this is hard, no doubt – there’s a certain level of resistance in our families, our friends, those who question what we do. Many observers see us allowing our children to eat what they want, watch what they want, say what they want, etc, and make the natural assumption that we are indulging our children. They believe that these indulgences are short-sighted; that we are choosing the easy path of least resistance by being overly permissive now, but setting our children up for long-term difficulties as they try to adapt to the "real world." I understand that. But I do not agree with it. I think that when you help your children focus on passions, you're taking a long-term view of your child's life and setting them up for success beyond your wildest dreams. How? By setting up an environment in which we model the pursuit of our own passions without expectations or conditions; by allowing and encouraging our children's passions and exploration without judgment; by trusting that our children will do what's right for them even if it's not what we would choose for them or for ourselves. Doing this authentically and wholeheartedly helps our children understand that their views have value, that their passions have value, that their thoughts have value - that they have value. And that builds a confidence that enables them to try new things and explore their passions as well as their fears. But most critically, it enables them to see the world through their own eyes and to define success on their own terms.

There it is. Passions are important, maybe critical, to unschooling and parenting.

So over the years, I have had a lot of experience living a life in pursuit of my passions, as a man, a father, and an unschooler. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

LESSON #1. Passions need permission. In 2003, I dropped out of the corporate world, disgusted with the fact that so many people I dealt with every day were miserable. I used to call them Drama Tornados, because they would just twirl around in their own drama until they destroyed everything in their paths. And when they were at their height of destruction, they ended up on my desk. Ugh. So I decided to try to get to people earlier in their lives, and went to teach at an inner-city charter school for at risk teens. It was amazing. We had students get murdered and go to jail for murder. Kids who were abused, mentally and physically. We had kids who were homeless, on drugs, abandoned – you name it. When they first came to us to see if we could help, we sat them through an orientation in which we tried to get them to dream and have hope. To try to reach them during this critical time, I told them a story about a kid who graduated from high school with a 1.7 GPA, was suspended five times, and had held 75 different jobs in the few years after high school. Once they all agreed that this guy was a real loser and would never accomplish anything in their lives, I told them the truth – that guy was me, but I had made a decision to leave that in the past and focus on a dream that could propel me forward. The whole focus of their first few weeks was to help them identify a dream, a small dream, but something that seemed just beyond their capabilities. And then we would each work with our 50 students each week to help them define that dream and work toward it, in small steps, with encouragement. Did all of the kids achieve their dreams? Of course not. But the point was to let them know that it was okay to dream, that there were benefits to it, and that hard work combined with hope is a powerful combination. In essence, we gave them permission to dream, which in turn gave them the permission to view their lives for its possibilities – which lead to an identification and exploration of passion. Sometimes all anyone needs is a little encouragement, a little belief and trust, to get started on an amazing journey.

LESSON # 2. Passions don’t always bloom exactly where you plant them. I tend to think of passions as having a life cycle. You’re sitting at your desk one day, or playing with your kids at the beach, and you receive some kind of input from something – could be a scene in a movie, or something you read about, or a question you are asked, or a breeze blowing through your hair. And from that small measure of input, a thought comes to your mind. It may be a fleeting thought, hard to really pinpoint. That’s the seed. You start to work with the seed, adding clean soil, water, and fertilizer – you play with it, how it feels, how it reacts to your care. Then it sprouts forth, slowly at first –now you can see it, touch it, and share it with others. Eventually of course it grows taller and blossoms, providing you with beauty, or shelter, or sustenance. Sometimes, the end result looks exactly like the seed you planted. And sometimes, the end result looks very different. It all depends. Let me give you an example. Some of you may know that I served in the Army for 7 ½ years. It was pretty tough duty – I spent 18 months in Monterey, four years in Hawaii, and then another 2 years on Monterey. I know, I know . . . .a rifle on my right shoulder, my golf bag on my left. For the most part, I enjoyed being in the Army. The main reason for this is because I enjoyed being out front, leading troops, training them on new skills, being engaged in their lives, coaching, counseling, teaching, inspiring. I’ve always enjoyed doing those things, I suppose, from the time I was selected as a peer counselor in my Freshman year of high school, to my stint as a youth hockey coach, to my time as an actor and stage manager – there was something about being out in front that I really enjoyed. When I got out of the Army shortly after Kai was born, I was filled with a ton of confidence but not much direction. We were living in Monterey at the time, and I remember having a job interview with a management consulting firm here in San Diego. I went through a few interviews, interviews went great, but something didn’t just feel right. After talking it over with Ginger, and idea began to crystallize – my passion for teaching, for helping people see things more clearly, for helping them lead happier lives. At the time, it was just a seed, but when it sprouted, I knew that the sprout would eventually turn into a tree, and that I would be a teacher.

LESSON #3: Passions can be destinations, but are more frequently journeys. It’s an interesting point about passions that they are viewed very, VERY differently by children than they are by adults. A child is more apt to pursue a passion because it is fun, without a specific attachment to be successful at it. They don’t begin the pursuit of a passion with an understanding of its highs and lows, or what it could be, or certainly what it should be. But as adults, we often tend to start a passion with an expectation about what it will look like. For example, Kade periodically talks about building a time machine. His interest is in designing it, measuring, and cutting, and hammering – and sharing it with me. Generally, an adult wouldn’t even begin building a time machine because you “can’t” – and if they wanted to hammer, measure, and cut, it would be in pursuit of a specific end goal, like a shelf or a chair. In my pursuit of my “career” as a teacher, it clearly moved from the “destination” to the “journey.” I read more, I learned more, and I experienced more about what being a teacher would be like. I realized that it wasn’t the right time for me, and with the idea of teaching still gnawing at me a bit, I dropped the idea and went to work in Human Resources.

LESSON #4. Passions aren’t necessarily permanent. Oh, I do so love this one, because it makes me have to consciously check myself quite frequently. Stop me if this seems familiar (well actually don’t stop me, I hate being interrupted – just chuckle and nod.) You signed your daughter up for piano lessons, and she instantly took to them. She has learned quickly, and plays and practices so often that you fear she may be becoming obsessed. But she does seem to love it, and says that she loves it, and it’s what she wants to do forever. Her teacher suggests that she take more private lessons and get a better piano, and your daughter loves the idea. So many months and thousands of dollars later, she suddenly loses interest. She doesn’t want to play; she doesn’t want to go to lessons; and she doesn’t want to practice. In fact, she now watches Pokemon videos most of the day. And chances are, you ARE PISSED. You spent time, and money, and effort, and she said she wanted to do it, and why can’t she keep her commitment, dammit!!! Well, it’s not that she cannot keep her commitment – she would just rather do something else. And yet you may be angry, and disappointed . . . but please take pause. Something else caught her eye, a new pursuit, and new interest, a new PASSION. She has been encouraged to explore her passions, and she is doing just that. It may not be what we would prefer or choose, but it’s not OUR choice – it’s hers. Everything in life comes and goes – interests, passions, beliefs, friends, ideals, goals, dreams – and they will go when they go, regardless of the time or money we have spent acquiring them in the first place. My own passion for hockey and passion for dam building have come and gone for the most part, to the point where I can drop them for months and then return with gusto when I am ready – or not return at all, depending on my passion. Passions like piano, or golf, or other things that require practice to be good at, will also come and go. But part of the deal is that you cannot force someone to continue a passion, because to do so moves a passion into a resented obligation, thereby removing much of the joy and freedom of learning that accompanies it. Trust that just because they drop a passion now doesn’t mean that they will fail to develop skills like perseverance in the future. As a parent in these situations, I think you have a choice – you can force them to continue and thereby risk teaching them what passions ARE NOT, or you can take these opportunities to help your child through a decision making process that focuses on joy and desire. Remember the second part of the unschooling philosophy I mentioned earlier – providing children with the freedom to learn what, when, and how they want. For me, my passion to teach has never waned . . .it has morphed significantly in response to my own desires, dreams, and circumstances, and it has sometimes taken a back seat . . . but it has never disappeared. But what if it had disappeared? Would that mean that my life is over, meaningless, wasted? Of course not . . . it simply means that I have either chosen to focus on a different passion, or am maybe taking a little break. I try to look at changing passions, either at home, or at work, as opportunities to connect with my children or co-workers in different ways, as expansive rather than restrictive.

LESSON #5. Passions bring you joy. If it doesn’t feel right, it’s not a passion – a labor of love, perhaps, but not a passion. My own battle with the subject of this presentation is a good example of how this worked for me. It became clear that I did not have enough passion to write about Working Dads, and I knew this because it wasn’t fun! Every day, we see examples of people who are engaged in an activity, ostensibly of their own choosing, and not having fun. Think of the child forced to stay with piano or soccer against their will, or a grumpy worker at the toll booth or coffee shop. You cannot hide unhappiness for long, not can you hide it without an extraordinary price to your own happiness. I think of happiness as like a really, REALLY stuffed bag of luggage – one where you spent far more time trying to squeeze your stuff in and close it than you did selecting the stuff to go in there. When you have a bag that full, a life that full of happiness, it is going to explode eventually – as soon as you put just the slightest pressure of passions on it. The happiness will come out in unexpected ways, at unexpected times, and in unexpected combinations. We see examples of this every day. I mentioned earlier that I have a passion for hockey, but let me tell you – my passion for hockey trivia and statistics borders on obsession sometimes. Every year, the National Hockey League holds a draft of players from high school, college and junior leagues. Thousands of players each year are evaluated, and hundreds are drafted. In 1993, the Ottawa Senators had the first overall pick in the draft and selected the player that everyone just knew would be a future all star and hall of famer, hands down the best player in the draft – Alexandre Daigle. Amazing skills – world-class skater, hard shot, slick passer, killer moves – he was the full and complete package. And from the moment he set foot on the ice for his first pro training camp, he was - - mediocre. He had a decent first season, and passable second season . . .and then bounced around from team to team for years, the poster child of unfulfilled potential. Critics claimed he had all of the tools, but simply did not work hard enough. Management was angry, fans felt betrayed, and over the years the expectations of him became lower and lower. He was never a horrible player – just a decent one – but never up to anyone else’s expectations. But Alexandre Daigle went on record saying several times that his goal was to be selected first overall in the entry draft, not to be the best player in the league. And having achieved that, he was ready to pursue new passions and interests, and hockey just became a job. And he sounded HAPPY when he said it, and he said it many, many times. What I learned from Alexandre Daigle is that there is a huge difference between CAN DO, or potential, and WANT TO or passion, and that, in the end, regardless of what CAN DO says, WANT TO wins. I have wrestled with this professionally for a long time, because generally speaking in the work world, people who are capable but dispassionate are enigmas – people often talk of me as someone with vast unfulfilled potential. But I have found something very different – sure, they don’t know what to do with me, but that leads them to want to do EVERYTHING with me, so I am provided with amazingly rich experiences and opportunities to learn and grow. I am an HR guy, but I my passions and interests have lead me to gain experience in manufacturing, supply chain, engineering, training, coaching, leading, community relations, project management, writing press releases, etc. So I am not viewed as an enigma – I am viewed as a really valuable platoon player, someone who can get dropped into almost any situation. And this, of course, feeds my own needs for variety. And because it makes me happy at work, it makes me happy at home. Amazing, really.

LESSON #6. Passions don’t have to be gigantic or earth-shattering. The feeling I get when I am writing or speaking or training or facilitating is but one of my passions, and I am lucky enough to get paid for it most of the time. But this passion doesn’t change the world, and it doesn’t have to. I don’t have to drop the other aspects of my life to pursue it. I don’t have to pursue it to the exclusion of other passions. I don’t have to do it all day, every day. And no one else has to notice (for the most part – it is kind of lonely to speak or train to an empty room. I’ve done it – it sucks.) Some people have passions that have indeed changed the world: think Nelson Mandela, or the Dalai Lama, or one of thousands of others. And that is absolutely wonderful. But the vast majority of us have passions that we pursue in relative balance and anonymity, whether it’s building a time machine, or working with legos, or making music, or learning karate, or playing solitaire. It is not the passion itself and its impact on the world that is gigantic; it is the freedom to pursue it that counts.

LAST LESSON. Passions are not vocations, although they can be. I mentioned earlier that I started with an idea, honed by years of passion, that I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to do this because of my interest in helping people see things more clearly and helping them lead happier lives. I learned about what it took to became and be a teacher in public schools, and didn’t want to do it. I decided to go to grad school to get a PhD so I could teach in college, but when I learned more about what THAT was like, I didn’t want to do that either. I taught at a charter school for a while, but didn’t stay with it for too long. Them I figured out that I didn’t need to teach, per se, but that I just needed to help people learn and grow while still fulfilling my need to be “on stage” once in a while. So I went into HR, but found that I wasn’t on stage as much as liked. So then I went into training, and found I was on stage too much. And as I started to learn and grow professionally, and make more money, I kept searching for the job and the balance that would help me get the joys of teaching, and coaching, and counseling, and performing, without any of the crap that goes along with it – all while making a good living. And THEN, I began to realize that maybe I could do all of those things and pursue my passions outside of the workplace in stead of inside. So I began to blog, and host circle chats at conference, and join the ultimate narcissist website – facebook – so my passions would have an outlet, just like the clothes bursting out of that overstuffed bag. Goodness only knows what it will all look like when it’s done.

And then, after a journey of some 25 years, very recently, something hit me. Why can’t I explore and exercise my passions at home AND at work? Why can’t I have it all? Why shouldn’t we start with assumption that we CAN have it all? Why not see the world for the possibilities it provides us? Why shouldn’t we ALL be free to learn WHAT we want, WHEN we want, HOW we want? And, finally, why shouldn’t we as parents model that in our own behavior as well as do all we can to help our children pursue it as well?

I am not all the way there by any means . . . but I am on my way. I know that passions have value, that they are important to me, and to Ginger, and to our children. I know that together, we are taking a journey in pursuit of a passionate life. But again, we cannot simply put the words “pursue your passions” in a cookie jar up on the shelf and expect our kids to take a bite. We need to put those words into action ourselves, so that our children can see that passions, and learning, and joyful living are not pursuits for only children. The passion that we all model for our children needs to be unconditional - a true reflection of ourselves and our values, our likes, and our beliefs. THAT's what we're modeling - not the values themselves, but the joy of having and expressing them. I think that when you help your children focus on passions, you're taking a long-term view of your child's life and setting them up for success beyond your wildest dreams. How? By setting up an environment in which we model the pursuit of our own passions without expectations or conditions; by allowing and encouraging our children's passions and exploration without judgment; by trusting that our children will do what's right for them even if it's not what we would choose for them or for ourselves. Doing this authentically and wholeheartedly helps our children understand that their views have value, that their passions have value, that their thoughts have value - that they have value. And that builds a confidence that enables them to try new things and explore their passions as well as their fears. But most critically, it enables them to see the world through their own eyes and to define success on their own terms.

Let me end with a simple “promise” that I have made to my kids that really puts all of this discussion about passion into perspective for me:

“I want you to be happy. I want you to see the world for all it can be. I want you to find the things you love to do and do them as much as you want. I want you to develop your own definition of success, and then pursue it like a dog on a bone. I want you to know that I will support and love you, even if you're down. And I have only one real expectation and hope - that you believe what I just said, and that you call bullshit on me when I deviate."

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

2011-01-19T16:00:00.000-08:00

I'll be the first to admit that I am a guy who needs his beauty sleep, and sometimes not even a solid eight hours is enough (not that I ever GET a solid eight hours, mind you, but whatever.) Sometimes that first look in the mirror is downright scary . . . droopy eyelids, marks on my face from the sheets and pillows, skin completely pale, and a general haze around the eyes and mouth that makes me look like a zombie. After a glass of water, a bowl of oatmeal, and some vigorous stretching I usually look a bit better, working toward hitting my "peak of looking good" at around 6pm or so. On the good days, this is all okay; I'm not 21 any more, and I really don't do everything I can to be healthy. But I like myself and am comfortable in my own skin.

But on the bad days I hate what I see. I see sun spots creeping up on the top of Mt. Baldy; I see spots and stains on slightly crooked teeth; I see flab where there once was muscle (as an aside, my first wife once told me that I had a washboard stomach - it just had three weeks of laundry piled up on top of it. I don't like her.) Sometimes feelings like that can send me to even darker places, places where I replay past regrets and mistakes, where I scorn my own actions and feelings as being inadequate for a man of my age and experience. Now, I never stay there long, and I truly do love my life and appreciate the blessings that I have. I also love the journey that I have taken to get to where I am, and I respect the choices I made and the mistakes I learned from. So really, it's all good.

But this morning I began to wonder if other people - my friends, my coworkers, other parents, whomever - feel the same things every once in a while. There's no need to raise your hand, I already know that the answer is yes. Sometimes, when we look superficially or even way down deep in the darker places, we simply don't like what we see. I am no psychologist, but I do sometimes wonder what it is that makes us pine for what we don't have and criticize our own decisions and circumstances, instead of being comfortable in our own skins and psyches. Perhaps we were severely criticized or shamed when we were children. Perhaps we received negative feedback about our appearance or our behavior that was so severe that we have never been able to truly move past it. Perhaps we lack the self-confidence to be truly okay with who, what, and where we are. Perhaps we lack love, respect, or dignity - either from others, or most importantly, from ourselves. Maybe we don't believe that we deserve anything more than we have, that we somehow are unworthy of being loved and accepted for who we are.

I hate that so many people go through these thoughts and feelings. But as adults, we at least have the gift of being cognizant of it. We may not be equipped to overcome them, but we know that there are resources available to help us find a healthier balance and come to terms with ourselves. We can rationalize and categorize our feelings, and we can look to our past to figure out why things are the way they are. The perspective of time and the gift of awareness can help us heal.

But on the way to work, I was hit with a sobering thought. Most kids do not have the same gifts. My kids do not have the same gifts.

I do not want my kids to have mornings, now or in the future, in which they look in the mirror and don't like what they see staring back at them. Now in reality that is a potential outcome over which I have little control; I cannot make someone like themselves, I cannot make someone respect themselves, and I cannot make someone come to peace with their mistakes and flaws. But I can love and like them, and show them the power of loving and liking. I can respect them, their decision making process, and their decisions, and I can show them the power of unconditional respect. I can be at peace with their mistakes, and show them that mistakes are natural and should be springboards for learning and not a ball and chain to be carried around for years. I can love their quirks and celebrate their differences and uniqueness, rather than assuming that they have flaws. And I can show them that they have value to me and are worthy of dignity, respect, and love.

If I can do that with my children - if we all can do it with our children - then maybe some day, many years from now, when they wake up and look at the mirror they will like what they see, respect the changes and experiences that have lead them there, and recognize that practicing the "love of self" may be the most critical love to have. But for us to do that, we need to start by loving and accepting ourselves first, both for our own peace of mind and for the example it will set for our children.

Who's with me?

Slowing Down is OK

2010-09-14T19:59:00.000-07:00

Our house has been joyfully crazy for the past few days, as we have six good friends staying with us in our ~900sf apartment. It has been wonderful to have them here; the kids have loved it and we have all been able to use the connection to help refill our love tanks.

Much like me, though, our son Kai is a bit of an introvert. He is capable of and enjoys playing loud games with a lot of people, but he gets his true energy from being alone or with a small number of people playing quietly. It has been wonderful to watch him over the past few days, as he has stepped seamlessly from periods of intense engagement to periods of relative solitude, without excuse or embarrassment. Due, in part, to the fact that he has been allowed the freedom to find his natural style when it comes to being around people, he has developed the ability to self-regulate. When he is with people, it is because he wants to be, not because he feels obligated to be. My little boy is becoming a pretty fantastic person.

What a great lesson for me. I am trying to stay motivated to write my unschooling book while working on Daddy 365, and simultaneously trying to be a good Dad and partner. Recently, I got a small "from home" consulting gig that is occupying my thoughts as well as my time, which is great but adds another level of engagement in a new project. As I watch my son effortlessly guide himself past obligation and into a place that works best for him, I can feel a shift of my own priorities to get back to simple basics a bit. Not sure where that will lead or if it will even stick, but I am definitely thankful for his positive example.

Purposeful Acts of Kindness

2010-09-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

Over the past several days, I have seen each of my children perform brilliant, amazing and thoroughly selfless acts of kindness. Some of the things they did were for friends or family, while some were for perfect strangers. They ranged from deep hugs to time spent, from heartfelt "thank you's" to minor errands and helpful tips. As I was observing these, I began thinking about why they were being some thoughtful and kind.

No one was standing behind them telling them to say "thank you." In fact, no one even suggested or implied that my children should do these things. Most were not even asked for. It became clear to me that the reason they did all of these kind things (which is not just a recent phenomenon, by the way) was for the best reason of all - because they wanted to.

For some reason, they were struck by the desire to do something that someone would appreciate. I immediately began thinking of the catchphrase "random acts of kindness" as a way to explain it. I'm a big fan of random acts of kindness, but in a way I think the phrase is misleading. While the act itself, or the person they chose to bestow it upon, may be "random" in that it was spontaneous, the idea of doing something kind is anything but random.

The kindness which children exhibit on a regular basis, although sometimes hard to see, is rarely random. They perform these acts - getting a glass of milk for their sister, helping clean up the kitchen, hugging you for no obvious reason - as fully conscious choices, for no other reason than because they know that making others feel good makes them feel good. This simplistic view of kindness, unencumbered by the adult sense of "quid pro quo", is pure, natural, and instinctive. But I don't think there is anything random about doing nice things for others simply because it makes them - and you - feel good. It's not random, it is purposeful.

And it is motivating me to be check and see if the motivations behind my own kindness are pure and purposeful, too.

Fun, Not Tradition

2010-09-12T20:43:00.000-07:00

Although Kade turned nine earlier in the week, we celebrated his birthday with a party today at a nearby park. It was a complete blessing; we not only had a number of our local friends join us, but six of our great friends even drove up from San Diego to celebrate with is. It was wonderful.

Our birthday celebrations have undergone many changes over the years as the kids have altered their needs and preferences. Once upon a time, we held a very orderly "play-eat-play-sing-cake-presents-favors" kind of party, but we found that we operate much better with a lot less formal structure and a lot more "whatever." Only one tradition has held firm. On the day Kade was born, as Ginger and I were sitting with him amazed at our home birth experience and this new little dude in front of us, our midwives prepared a small meal for us and placed a beautiful rainbow candle on top to commemorate the birth. Since then, that has been the only birthday candle we have ever used, and it hasn't missed a celebration in nine years. Each year, we light the candle, put it on top of whatever cake-like snack we had, and sing "Happy Birthday."

This year, Kade said "no" to singing "Happy Birthday", and instead asked me - the night before the party - to learn how to play Don McLean's "American Pie" on the guitar so we could all sing that instead.

Talk about a tipping point. With all of the moves we've made, the changes we've undergone, and the traditions that we have jettisoned, my strong preference would have been to have one thing - just one - to hang onto.

But Kade was resolute; it was "yes" to "American Pie", "no" to "Happy Birthday", and that was that. So I learned it, prepared some lyrics sheets and found the music on-line, and put it all together. We did a short run-through in the afternoon, and then all 20 of us sang it out loud before we cut the cake. And we didn't suck.

As we were loading up to come home, I thought about how imperfectly joyful it had been. It wasn't typical, of course, but it was a thorough, quirky blast that just screamed out "Kade." It was his birthday, his song, and his decision. I had my preference, and he had his - but his ability to stick to his guns and just know that it would be awesome allowed all of us to do something new, and fun, and very cool. He opened my eyes, yet again, to what is possible when we turn our backs on what we're accustomed to and embrace something new.

And we still got to light the candle.

Kids Don't Require Perfect

2010-09-11T17:46:00.000-07:00

I've been on a bit of a roller coaster for the past 36 hours or so. I've had amazingly positive things happen that have left me awestruck, wondering what I have ever done to deserve such luck. But there have also been a number of moments, some stretching into longer periods, where I have simply been off my game. Nothing major, I'm sure, but something inside just isn't quite right just now.

For me, it's important to take stock of these mood swings. To some degree or another, I've always had some minor lows to go along with my incredible highs, which I strongly suspect puts me square in line with just about everyone else in the world. There was a time when these bad or sad moods were nothing more than a rough patch that I could drink or otherwise 'medicate" myself through, but those years are long behind me, thank goodness. Then there was a period where I could simply escape from the world for a little while and sleep for a few days, or spend hours at the bookstore, or just sit and watch TV; for some reason, that little rest always worked out well for me. But once I had children, those breaks became a bit harder to come by, at least for the first several years. Being married to a saint helps, of course, but it was still hard at times.

So, back to yesterday. Suffice it to say I was not quite able to be as "there" as I wanted to be for the boys. We actually did do a number of things together during the day: we built an amazing indoor fort, wrestled up a good lather, went to a friend's house to watch Zombieland on a screen so big it could only be defined as "compensatory", and played Mario Kart and Go. But I had several moments where I just felt like I had nothing else to give, like I was running on absolute empty.

Paradoxically, as my emotional reserves decreased, the emotional needs of my boys increased at a similar speed. Let me be clear, I am not talking about meltdown-type needs here; I am talking about basic "Daddy, can you watch me do this" kind of things. It could have been that they needed more because they sensed that my reserves were running low and they wanted to get some of me before the well ran dry. It could have just been that we had a great day and they wanted more. And it could have just been my perception as I grew gradually more tired and unable to be perfect anymore. But either way, their requests increased to the point where I couldn't find the strength to meet them anymore. And that just sucked. After all, I am supposed to be Super Dad, I am supposed to be the Master of All That is Fun and He Who is Constantly Present and Available. The fact that I felt unable to be those things last night made me feel guilty, insufficient, and incomplete. So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I asked them to come into another room with me, took a deep cleansing breath and calmly told them that I wanted to be near them, but that I needed to just be quiet and read by myself for a while. I told them that I was available to help them get food or overcome a problem with the TV or computer, but that otherwise I needed to recharge my batteries. Then I apologized.

And, to my great relief (but not to my surprise), my kids said "You don't need to apologize, Daddy. We understand. You can read if you want. Should we get you some water?"

They knew, they just knew, that all I needed was some time alone and everything would be okay. They would have preferred that I was able to be everything they wanted me to be, but they also recognized that I needed some time alone for a while to recharge. They knew that if they gave me this time, I would soon come back ready to go again. They know I have warts, and they have seen most of them. But they don't see my warts as warts, they are just part of a Daddy who they know loves them and does a pretty great job most of the time. They know that when I am "off", it's never for long and that it's nothing personal. They also know that if I can be off once in a while, they can too - and that I won't take it personally either.

They don't need me to be perfect, they just need me to be real and honest and the best Dad I can be. I can manage that.

Children Need You to Breathe

2010-09-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

Last night, I took Kade to a local gym for his weekly tumbling class. He loves everything about going - the instructors, the activities, the exercise, and yes, the structure. The most important thing for me is watching him enjoy himself as he throws all of his attention and energy into learning and working. It is a joy to behold.

The only really bad part is that this weekly class is one of our few forays into the world of traditional parenting. Some nights, it is wonderful: parents fully engaged with their children, no yelling or threatening, simple play and joy for the sake of play and joy with no expectations or demands. For such kids, and on such nights, you can see how much the kids enjoy themselves and how free they are.

Last night, however, was one of the bad ones.

There was a mom who was dressed like she had just come from work, with her power suit and Blackberry and ear piece. She had a daughter who was in the class before ours, and her son was in Kade's class. While we were waiting for the previous class to finish up, her son was having a hard time waiting for his class to start, and his mom was having a hard time with his hard time. "Sit down", she said, "and behave like you've been taught." Of course, that phrase and others she used, while she typed away on her Blackberry, only served to ratchet up her son's stress.

As I sat and watched, I was interested in a couple of things:

Mom brought something to play with (her Blackberry) but there was nothing for her son to do.
Mom got up and walked around while she was on her phone, but spoke sternly to her son whenever he got up out of his seat.
Mom even brought a banana to eat, but prohibited her son from eating the box of Nerds he brought along because it would "ruin his appetite for dinner."

Personally, I did not see any of his demands or needs - to get up and walk around, the have something to play with, to have something to eat - as being all that much out of bounds. But his mom did, and with each "no" or "sit back down and wait" I could feel this young man's stress level rising.

When the previous class was done, his adorable little sister came skipping out, grabbed his box of Nerds, poured half of them into her mouth, and accidentally spilled the rest of them on the floor.

The boy, as you might imagine, was apoplectic; but the mom, as you might imagine, was dismissive of his concerns and sent him into class with a motivating "Now, behave!" When he got into class, he had a hard time sitting still, following instruction, or paying attention. Most critically, he was visibly upset and not having fun: he came out of class several times crying, with his mom saying things like "Get back in there or I'm grounding you from seeing your friends for at least a week!" or "Let's see how you like when I take away some of your Pokemon." With nothing to motivate him but the threat of punishment, he returned to the class and made the best situation out of it that his little brain and heart could manage.

And his sister? Lovingly snuggled in mom's arms, playing with mom's Blackberry, deep in play and engaged conversation.

It was easy for me to dismiss this lady as a terrible parent, rage against her, and move along; after all, her behavior, the way she handled the situation, simply disgusted me in so many ways. That said, I really have no idea what preceded this event minutes, hours, days, or weeks ago. I have no real idea of what kind of parent she is at all. Maybe her son has needs that she does not know how to fulfill. Maybe the structure of the class, combined with the mom's expectations and the structure of his school day, was simply too much for him to handle. There could be a number of reasons why this played out as it did. To be sure, there's no real excuse for it - but there could be reasons. I simply do not know.

What I do know is that this young man needed something different than what he got. In the heat of the moment - whether that heat was real or merely contrived - his mother was unable or unwilling to step back, take a breath, and consider the needs of her child.

Scott Noelle once wrote something that has stuck with me ever since. To paraphrase:

When faced with a stressful situation with your child, do what the airlines advise you to do every time you fly - put on your own oxygen mask first, then put on your child's.

I love that thought. Ostensibly, adults are better able to deal with difficult situations than children are. Many children may not yet be equipped with the perspective or experience necessary to make rational choices in every situation. Certainly, they are capable of and often exhibit the capacity to make amazingly positive choices in difficult situations. But by doing so they provide us with a false sense of security; because they navigated a challenge well once, we begin to believe that they need less support than they really do. This can sometimes lead us leave them alone to navigate more often than they are able.

That's exactly what happened to this young man last night. He was left alone to entertain himself, fend for himself, rationalize his lack of food, and navigate the challenges of structure and rules when he was feeling angry and uncertain. That is hard to do for adults, let alone children. If his mom had been able to put her own oxygen mask on first - to take a step back, clear her mind, take a breath, and think in context from a place of calm rationality - she would have been better equipped to help her child deal with what he was feeling. She did it with her daughter, after all; once her son went to class and she put down her Blackberry, she was much better and more calm.

I don't exactly know how this story ends. The young man came out of class with a smile on his face, got a high five from mom, and toddled off happily to the rest of his evening. It appeared to me that time away from each other helped calm things down a bit and reset the mood, which I was very grateful for. But while we can save these situations one by one with time and apologies, the hurt and pain can build up over time until no amount of requests for a "do-over" and no amount of make-up activities can lead the child to welcome you back with open arms. For this family, I hope it's not too late. Even though it might have turned out okay for the moment, I wish she had been able to find and don her own oxygen mask first. I hope she finds it next time.

Defending the Status Quo

2010-09-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, my friend Bob Collier posted an article on Facebook that he had found somewhere written by an "expert" who was attempting to defend spanking. Bob added the following comment, which I found simply brilliant:

"I've always found it interesting that spanking is promoted as a means of disciplining children by people who are thereby demonstrating that they have no discipline themselves. Most odd."

Indeed. When I shared this quote on my Facebook page, one of my "friends" chimed in with several vigorous attempts to defend spanking. The crux of his argument was pretty simple. Allow me to paraphrase:

"I was spanked as a child, and I turned out fine. Kids need to be disciplined. How can you possibly justify NOT spanking your kids? Stuff happens to kids; it's their responsibility to get over it."

I'm sorry to say that my response to my former Facebook friend was somewhat less than sparkling, but it sure was honest. Actually, I'm not sorry to say that in the least.

Interestingly, the same thing happened just the other day, as I posted some pro-spanking comments I had found that simply disgusted me; most of them were in the vein of "kids need this, what possible reason do you have for not spanking them?" After I posted this, one of my friends jumped to the defense of spanking. Cooler heads prevailed on that one, but the fact that both of these incidents happened with a week or so of each other got me thinking.

Should I really have to defend my decision not to spank my kids?

I am a man who tries to parent consciously. At each parenting milestone, from birth to cribs to diapers to education, I have paused to learn, listen, reflect, and form my own opinions about the path we should choose. I fully recognize that many - most - of the decisions we have made are far outside of the mainstream, and as such we run the risk of being labeled as "radicals". I don't much care for the term, frankly, which is why you'll never see me using the term "radical unschooling." To me, my choices are not radical at all; they are simply the obvious results of a life lived with conscious questioning and application of what I have learned from experience.

But others, particularly people who do not examine their own choices, are quick to label people who do not support the status quo. Radicals, be they political, religious, educational, or otherwise, are different from the status quo and as such are often viewed with disdain. Those who live by the status quo (I was going to say embrace the status quo, but "embrace" implies that they have thought about it and consciously chosen it, which I doubt to be true) often question all of our choices and the underlying sanity (or lack thereof) that lead to those choices in the first place. When we voice our opinions, followers of the status quo often go on the offensive, demanding that we defend our decisions. To be sure, sometimes they do this in an honest effort to understand - but it sure doesn't always sound that way. Have you ever heard one of these questions?

"Spanking isn't violence, it's discipline. Don't you believe in disciplining your children? Why wouldn't you spank them?"

"What makes you think that children know enough to be responsible for their own learning?"

"If they don't do chores, you will have to do them. Aren't you teaching your children to be irresponsible? Aren't you being a slave?"

Take your pick - unschooling, cloth diapers, home births, discipline, responsibility, whatever - if you have reviewed the common way of doing things and made a different choice, people will question it. And these questions can quickly put us on the defensive, feeling like we have to defend the very choices that we have put so much heart and thought into. There are a number of reasons why we so often feel the need to defend, but for sake of this post let's simply agree that, in the main, we defend because we feel we are being attacked.

It's time to change that.

Instead of having to defend our choices, choices which are based on respect and love, with careful consideration of the long-term benefits and which are well though-out, researched, struggled with, and adapted, how about we ask everyone else to do something pretty simple.

Defend the status quo.

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to not spank my children, how about I ask you to defend the reason why you spank. Is spanking really the only way you can come up with to guide your children? Have you looked at other possibilities? Have you really considered what lies behind your need to have your children behave a certain way? Do you support hitting all people who behave contrary to your preference, or just the ones smaller and younger than you who have little or no standing in our justice system? How do you rationalize the difference between productive discipline and child abuse?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to keep my kids out of the public school system, how about I ask you to defend your reasons why you send your kids to school. How do you choose what your kids need to learn? Why are you blindly trusting your government and school district to know what your kids will need to succeed? Are you comfortable with the fact that you really have no idea at all how they are spending each day? What are your reasons for trusting your children to a system that teachers and administrators agree is broken but have been unable to even begin fixing? Have you learned or read anything about how children actually learn? What is your child's preferred learning style? How does school support and enable them to succeed given their learning style?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to pick up and comfort my child when they are sad or in need, how about I ask you to defend your decision to let them cry it out? What do you think your kids are trying to communicate when they cry? Do you like being left alone when you are sad, with no one there to comfort you? Do you think your kids enjoy being left alone when they are sad? Do you think that there is nothing to gain by comforting them?

Instead of asking me to defend my decision to partner with my children as equals, how about I ask you to defend your decision to limit the choices your children have and behave in an authoritative manner? What exactly are you trying to accomplish by setting rigid rules of behavior for your children? Do you really believe that you know more about how things should be than your children do? Why exactly should your children have to respect you on your terms, while you don't feel the need to respect them on their terms? Do you enjoy being yelled at, restricted, and told what to do? Do you think your children will be able to fully blossom into the people that they want to be if you restrict and punish them when they do things you don't like?

I could literally go on and on. Think about some of your other parenting choices that you may have felt the need to defend. Consider their opposites - the "status quo" parenting options that you could just as easily ask others to defend instead:

Children should be born in hospitals, with an OB-GYN, whose word should be trusted.
Birthing mothers should be medicated to minimize the pain.
Babies should sleep in cribs, in the "Baby's Room."
Babies should be left to "cry it out" so they can learn independence.
Babies need to be trained to sleep through the night so the parents can, too.
Pampers instead of cloth diapers; formula instead of mother's milk.
Playpens, mega-strollers, and SUVs are all necessary.
Daycare is critical for social interaction and parental independence.
Discipline, control, obedience are critical; failure will be punished by spanking.
Television should be limited, and internet usage and videos should be controlled, so the child can be protected from turning into a mindless zombie.

It's the Journey

2010-09-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think I have a little bit in common with Don Quixote, at least when it comes to unsatisfying quests. Yesterday, the boys and I journeyed out to order one of Kade's birthday presents, drop some books off at the library, and try to find a Go board and stones so we could continue to learn how to play. Kade's present ordered? Check. Books returned? Check. Go board? Not so much.

We tried every place here in town we could think of (well, every place except the comic/gaming store that is literally covered in merchandise just thrown wherever it happens to fit - I need to be in a special mood to brave that one.) Eventually, we were at a crossroads; do we go home and order it online, or drive to the mall in the next town (gasp) and look for it there. We decided on the mall. It was a good experience overall, as we got to wander around a bit and enjoy our first Radio Shack experience. But alas, no Go.

Proud of our quest if not a bit verklempt that we failed to achieve our goal, we headed for home. Rather than go home the same way we came, I decided to get a bit adventurous and explore a new path. It was actually pretty nice; we got to see some cool things, and it was very pleasant and rural. But as 10 minutes became 15, and 15 became 20 and then 30, I began to feel pressured that it was taking a bit too long for the boys, who were eager to be home. Without thinking too much about it, I muttered something like "I guess we won't be going this way again. Sorry this is taking so long."

Their response?

"What are you talking about. This was a pretty drive . . . we got to see the mountain that looked like lava was coming out, we saw that cat crossing the road, and we're listening to good music. It's all good, Daddy."

Of course, they were right. Normally, I get the fact that getting someplace is generally far less important than experiencing - and learning from - the journey. I am the guy who tells everyone else that "it's about the journey, not the destination" when I am talking about almost everything life has to offer us. A singular focus on where you are going, literally or metaphorically, often leads you to fly right past doors, exits, or other places that could provide you with new, exciting and enriching experiences; it's called living consciously, and staying off autopilot. But due to some combination of factors - our failed quest, eagerness to be home, other stress or baggage - I was unable to see this clearly yesterday.

Sometimes I truly wonder who's the kid and who's the parent.

"It's not about the destination, it's about the journey." Thanks, guys.

Obstacles? What obstacles?

2010-09-08T10:14:00.000-07:00

Last night saw the three boys - Kade, Kai and I - at home alone until the wee hours. After puttering around playing LARP games and checking on the two eggs we put in vinegar a couple of days ago, Kai asked Kade and I if we wanted to play Go. I have to admit, I had only a vague notion about what Go is. I think I played it once with my aunt and her first husband back about 30+ years ago, and all I remember is that it involved a big board and some stones. Of course, we don't have a Go board or any stones, so I wasn't sure how we would play. And, of course, it was well past midnight and my ability to put all of that together - not to mention learn one of those strategic "lifetime to master" games - was a bit hindered by the fact that my brain was beginning to shut down. But they both seemed so interested in playing. Trying to be supportive, but secretly hoping they would let me off the hook, I simply said:

"Sure. But I don't think we have a Go board and I don't know how to play."

That should work, right? I mean, we really don't have a board, and it does take a while to learn. I expected that they would say something like "Yeah, you're right; let's do something else." What Kai actually said was much different:

"I've been reading about it, and I could teach you pretty fast. You and Kade could be on the same team and I could teach you both at the same time. And we could use . . . this Othello board instead of a Go board. It's not perfect, but it will do for now. Come on!"

I was struck by his energy, passion, and "can do" attitude - but I still had a question:

"Kai, have you ever played Go?"

"No", he said, "but I saw an anime about it and have been watching tournaments on YouTube. I know what I'm doing, Daddy."

And he got out the Othello board, sat us down, and taught us to play Go in exactly the way I would have taught someone brand new to the game - with plenty of examples, infinite patience, laughter, just the right amount of context, and helpful support and suggestions. Admittedly, I struggled with the game; games like Go, Othello, Connect Four, and Chess just do not come naturally to me. But I played as well as I could for as long as I could, until there were no more pieces and no more moves to make. Kade had long since moved on to something else, but Kai had a smile on his face of pure satisfaction, both with the time spent as well as his ability to teach me something new.

As I got up and went to the kitchen, I began to reflect on what had just happened. There were so many "lessons" I could take from that hour: kids are smarter than we think, self-directed learning works, or saying "yes" has power, for example. But what really stuck with me is the fact that where I saw obstacles - no board, no knowledge or skill, no experience - Kai saw only opportunity. He pursued what he wanted with no thought to what would make it harder, but with a creativity that enabled him to improvise solutions and design an argument based on rational facts to overcome my hesitation.

Largely in an effort to make a commitment to helping my children see possibilities instead of obstacles, I wrote a post a while back that included my own version of a parenting manifesto:

“I want you to be happy. I want you to see the world for all it can be. I want you to find the things you love to do and do them as much as you want. I want you to develop your own definition of success, and then pursue it like a dog on a bone. I want you to know that I will support and love you, even if you're down. And I have only one real expectation and hope - that you believe what I just said, and that you call bullshit on me when I deviate."

Last night, Kai reminded me in a glorious way about the power of possibility, and how obstacles often only exist when you view them as obstacles. Thank you, my love.

Time is a Gift that Keeps on Giving

2010-09-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

The other day, Kade found an instructional video on YouTube on how to make a small gift box out of 21 playing cards. He asked me to help him make it (playing cards are challenging to fold with any degree of precision), which was actually pretty simple and took a bit more than ten minutes or so. Now pretty as it is, it's not the most sturdy thing in the world, so I have spent an additional five minutes or so refining or repairing it. So all in all I have perhaps spent a quarter of an hour making the box.

The first day, we played with it for ten minutes.

The second day, we played with it for 20 minutes.

Last night, we played with it for half an hour, as he and I took turns putting items inside the box and asking the other person to guess what was inside. He happens to be quite good at this game, by the way.

It's easy, perhaps even reflexive, for me to look at the time invested in making the box (15 minutes) and the time spent playing with the box (one hour) and determine that it was time well spent; after all, we played with it for four times as long as it took to make it, which is a 400% return on invested capital. Not bad, not bad at all. Time is a very precious resource. We never really know how much we will have, but we are raised from a very early age to use it wisely and to never waste it. So when we spend time, we might to be sure we are getting something out of it. For example, when we spend time at work, we want to be sure we are paid adequately to compensate us for our loss of time. When we spend time at the gym, we want to ensure that our bodies will gain some sort of benefit that corresponds to the amount of time we have worked out. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose.

The funny thing about investing time, though, is that we never can be truly certain of the outcome. Kade may play with this box every hour of every day for eternity, but he could just as easily never, EVER play with it again. If he plays with it every day, then my rate of return on my time invested goes up; if he never plays with it again, then it will stay at 400% forever. But this habit of looking at time as an investment, with required rates of return in order to make our time spent worthwhile, is of very little concern to children. It's not that they don't get the concept of time as a resource, because they do; if you don't believe me, ask a ten year old to wait with you at the DMV some time. No the reason they don't care about time as an investment is because they view the equation differently. To them, the benefit of taking 15 minutes to make a box has noting to do with how long they play with it.

The benefit is the 15 minutes they get to spend with you. Even if the box never worked, broke, got stepped on, was lost, or simply ignored forever is decidedly unimportant to them. What is important is that they asked you do something, and you said "yes" and then took the time to do it. To them, your time spent with them is not time invested, it is merely time connected.

Paradoxically, this time you spend - freely and joyfully given, with no attachment to outcome or focus on rate of return - can yield exceptional returns in quantities that are beyond measurement and in ways impossible to foresee. Why?

Because when you give the gift of your time without expectation, they will ask for more. And the best gift we can get from our children is the invitation to spend time again.

Fun Requires no Teacher

2010-09-06T12:07:00.000-07:00

Our daughter moved out this weekend, which was a "mixed blessing" experience, to say the least. She is close, thank goodness, so we'll still get to see plenty of her. But her absence from our daily lives has created a few voids that I didn't anticipate, like random hugs and "I love you"s that now require a visit or a phone call instead of a 20-step walk.

Of course, it also created a bit of a space void. With an "extra" room in the house, we rearranged a bit and made the master bedroom into a play room. While we're getting things settled, we have a very cushy futon mattress in there that is just perfect for wrestling and bouncing on. That, in and of itself, is fun with a capital "F". But when you add bean bags, pillows, couch cushions, blankets, and every other soft or semi-soft thing in the house, things really take off.

Last night, the boys decided to put the mattress against the wall and spread out all of the soft things on the floor directly in front of it. We then took turns - many, many, MANY turns - running into the mattress at full speed, then bouncing off to a relatively soft landing. We started off relatively slow, and got progressively faster and louder, squealing with each bounce onto the floor. We laughed until we cried, sweated up a storm, and eventually all took a break for milk and juice before starting up all over again. As I watched them, I was struck by the innate pursuit of pleasure they have; we did not have to label this as "play" or "fun" in order to have it be enjoyable, it just simply was. Their desire for fun was unalterable, uncontrollable, and unfettered. It was brilliant.

That got me thinking about spirit. Running into a wall and bouncing off was fun for them, but the fact that no one was trying to "teach" them how to best have fun was probably the best part. With no interference, they could simply enjoy - no expectations, no right and wrong, no outcome in mind, no learning that needed to occur. They needed a facilitator, someone to help them gather the materials and re-set the course from time to time; they needed a partner, someone to share the fun and laugh with; and they needed a friend, someone who they love and respect to watch them and be with them and celebrate the fun with them. What they did not need was a teacher.

Fun sometimes requires a facilitator, a partner, or a friend. But it rarely requires a teacher. It's good to focus on the former and avoid the latter.

The Guy on the Plane

2010-08-27T14:49:00.001-07:00

For most of the past 25 years or so, I have been "out front" of something, in some way or another. I've been an actor, a hockey coach, a Staff Sergeant, a manager, a teacher, a trainer, a class leader, a presenter, a writer . . . always working with people, always at the "front of the room." I have chosen this life, and it makes me comfortable and proud to be granted the privilege of leadership. But despite the fact that I spend much of my life celebrating a variety of experiences with a variety of people, I harbor a hidden secret.

I am an introvert.

Most people assume that if you enjoy being around people, if you are gregarious and charming and outgoing, that you must be an extrovert. However, by strict definition an extrovert gets their energy from being with people, while an introvert gets re-energized by being in relative solitude. While I am comfortable being with just about anyone in any situation, I can't do it for long. I can get overwhelmed quickly, and need to escape just for a little while so I can charge my batteries.

When I was working in the business world and traveling frequently, this was a real struggle for me. When you travel for business, there is an expectation that you will basically jump right off the plane, drive to the office, and immediately engage. Because I'm an introvert, and because my business travel always involved being engaged with people, I developed a bit of an anti-social attitude while traveling. I don't make eye contact with the security people, I don't joke with cab drivers, I don't smile at pretty ladies (although I will usually smile at kids) and I never, ever, EVER, talk to strangers on a plane.

Except for the other day, when I was traveling to Boston to the Northeast Unschooling Conference.

For some unknown reason, despite the fact that I was reading and under headphones, the gentleman next to me decided to strike up a conversation. I looked at him, and it was like looking in the mirror; he was obviously a business man of some type, dressed in khakis and a button down dress shirt, with his little blue blazer and briefcase and laptop and copy of Harvard Business Review highlighted and tabbed in all the right places. I could have just ignored him, I suppose, and perhaps I should have. But I also thought that if I made small talk for a few minutes and seemed unapproachable enough, he might leave me alone.

His questions started out gently and I survived the conversation fairly well until he asked me why I was traveling to Boston:

Jeff: "I'm speaking at a conference."

Random Business Guy, eyeballing my unshaven face, shorts and sweatshirt: "Umm, what kind of conference?"

J: "It's a parenting conference, focusing on education."

RBG, peering down the nose of his glasses and turning to face me: "What, like a public education conference, college prep or something like that?"

J: "No, it focuses on homeschooling actually."

RBG, apparently intrigued: "So, are you presenting curriculum or something?"

Uh oh. Tipping point. Here we go.

J: "No, actually it's about unschooling."

RBG, apparently repulsed: "What the hell is unschooling?!?!"

At this point, I was sincerely regretting my decision to respond to him, choose that seat, board that plane, and make that trip. Although I have had this discussion many, many times, I am usually smart enough to avoid having it when I am in a confined space 7 miles in the air - where I cannot escape. But I put that behind me, and gave him my best child-lead-learning-conscious-parenting-living-in-freedom-public-schools-are-failing-don't-you-love-your-children-won't-work-for-everyone-but-it-works-for-us speech. It was, in my humble opinion, brilliant.

RBG asked me a few questions about curricula, and college, and rules, and control, and then pronounced "There is no way I could ever even think about doing that."

J: "Really? Why not?"

RBG: "Well, because I want my kids to go to school."

J: "Why?"

RBG: "So they can learn what they need to learn so they can do well on the SATs."

J: "Why is that important?"

And on and on we went. RBG went through the chronology of his children's life: good grades, the right subjects, SATs, college, job, marriage, house, children, and retirement, sketching out all of the things that needed to happen in order for his children to be successful in the world. Under normal circumstances, I would have said "Good for you," gone to the bathroom and stayed away for a while hoping that he would forget about me. But there was something about this guy that was so familiar to me, something that lead me to believe that I had been in his shoes not very long ago, that lead me to a very different reaction. I asked him a question.

"You are defining success as monetary, and material, with college being necessary for success and good grades being necessary for college. Do you like that definition? If not, how would you define success in a perfect world?"

He paused for a long time. Several times he started to speak, then hesitated, looking out the window or down at his shoes. I could almost see his wheels turning as he struggled with a question which is critical to our happiness but rarely, if ever asked. Eventually he started to speak:

RBG: "I would want success to be measured on how happy I was, on how I spent my time, on my values and interests and passions. I would throw out this idea that we need the American dream, and probably redefine the dream entirely."

J, sensing an opening: "By that definition, are you successful?"

RBG, wistfully: "Of course not. I wasn't raised that way."

J: "Okay. And how are you raising your children?"

RBG: "Wow . . . the way I was raised, I guess."

J: "Why?"

RBG: "Well, I guess I never really thought about it."

I wanted to hug the poor guy. It was clear that he got a bit more than he bargained for, and that he had some things to go think about.

But the point of this post really isn't the long-term future of RBG. The point is that so many parents never "really think about" the parenting choices they make. They don't always pause to think about what success means, what is necessary and what is arbitrary. They think of restrictions and obstacles, instead of alternatives and possibilities. They focus on the way things were or the way things should be, not on the way things are or the way they could be. They let moments pass by, tipping points in which they could engage with their children but do not. The moments turn to minutes, hours, days . . . and you get the picture.

In short, they don't parent consciously, they parent on autopilot.

When you're single, living a life on autopilot may be unfortunate, but is not likely tragic. When you're married, living on autopilot will likely create some long-term problems that can be challenging to overcome. But living on autopilot when you are a parent can be downright destructive.

Parenting is, hands down, the most challenging thing you will ever do. It is scary, troubling, enthralling, and exciting. It requires long hours, Herculean patience, trust, and thousands of other skills and characteristics that our kids deserve and demand. As such, it absolutely requires – REQUIRES – us to do so much more than simply go through the motions, checking the block at each milestone and focusing on achievement. It requires us to think with our head, lead with our heart, question, learn, listen, and stay in the moment whenever possible.

Regardless of our philosophies on parenting or education – unschooler or not, attachment parenting or not, or anywhere in between - parenting really only requires one thing. It requires us to consider our choices and the impact those choices have on our relationship with our children as well as on their futures. It requires that we parent consciously, purposefully, thoughtfully. And regardless of what choices we make, parenting requires us to "really think about it."

Say it Now, Say it Loud

2010-08-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy that now seems far away, before we had ever even heard of unschooling, our parenting practices were pretty far out of the mainstream. Cloth diapers, washed at home? Check. No vaccinations, no circumcision, breastfeeding? Check. Baby slings? Yep. And more, much more.

One of our least conventional choices has been our decision to co-sleep. We sleep in a family bed, a giant room-consuming contraption composed of two queen-sized mattresses pushed together to form one giant mega-bed. We've been doing this in one form or another from the beginning, and it definitely works for all of us. After a number of different combos over the years, we settled into an sleep order about three years ago that we're all comfortable with: me on the left, followed by Kai, Ging, and Kade. The boys have an option to change, or to have their own room, but they are very happy with the current arrangement. So we're happy, too.

The other night, Ginger was out very late, Annie went to bed relatively early, and the boys and I were flying solo as midnight turned into 1:00am, then 2:00am, and finally 3:15am before the yawns began. As the three of us climbed into our family bed, we quickly realized that Ginger's absence would leave an open space between Kai and Kade. That doesn't really work for either of them; they have always enjoyed having someone to touch while they fall asleep. So I took my seven pillows and quilted blanket over to Ginger's space, and we talked and told stories and held hands until we were all finally and thoroughly on our way to the land of Nod.

As they began drifting off, I found myself enjoying the comfort of being surrounded by these two amazing boys with whom I have shared so much. They have seen me at my worst, for sure, but they have also inspired me to be at my best on so many occasions. And while their love and presence have been comforting to me, I like to think that I have comforted them a few times too. Once they were asleep and I was lying there afraid to move lest I wake them up, I began thinking of all of the times when I was at my best, and I could not help but feel a strong tinge of pride at all that I have been able to do as a father, even though I am far from perfect.

In a culture which, in many way, values quiet humility over pride, allowing yourself a moment or two to be proud of your accomplishments can be a very rare luxury. We are taught to focus on what could be better about ourselves, on all of the things we need to change, and on all of the things we do wrong that prevent us from being perfect. When we do something well, we are taught to be humble about it. Don't get me wrong, humble is good; but when humility and a desire to improve provide an obstacle to being able to see and appreciate your own goodness, not only does that hinder your own self-image and self-worth, it sets a potentially negative example for your children. Think about it; how will your kids ever be satisfied with the amazing things they do if they are not allowed to take pride in them, to celebrate what they are and what they do? I'm not saying that we should demonstrate cockiness, but there is something very relieving and rejuvenating about taking pride in a job well done.

So as I lay there surrounded wrapped in a blanket of security woven by the love of my children, I allowed myself a few moments to remember some of the things I did right in the early years - and I took pride in them.

I am proud of all of the times that I went to sleep with just the boys, reading a few books and telling a few made-up stories, sometimes falling asleep along the way, and sometimes staying awake to hold their hands and caress their heads while they fell asleep snuggled close to me.

I am proud of all of the times I was able let go of my expectations and my arbitrary "must do"s and focus instead on what everyone's needs were.

I am proud of hunting down our pediatrician and knocking on the door to her house when she blew us off about a diagnosis; bet she still remembers that visit.

I am proud of silly songs, crazy dances, dressing up, and weird voices.

I am proud of eating the cookie on the Oreo while the boys ate the centers.

I am proud of the times when my head gave up thoughts of the past and the future and allowed my heart to live in the present.

I am proud of the times when I was the only one who could put my boys in a sling, walk them gently around the neighborhood softly humming lullabies or show tunes, and get them to fall asleep. And I am proud that when we got back home, I would usually sit in a comfy chair and fall asleep myself with them still slung to my body, our breathing patterns falling in together.

I am proud of losing a brand new $60 shirt to a giant milk burp without the slightest concern.

I am proud of the times I lost at races and wrestling, of all the times I played Fire Trucks or Space Destroyer on a piece of playground equipment even though I was the only Dad at the park, and of all of the times I let them bury me in the sand.

I am proud of the times when I said "yes" when I felt "no", when I said "more" when I felt "less", and when I said "thank you" when I felt "you're welcome."

I am proud of giving up an amazing Army career because they wanted me to leave my wife and baby for 12 months.

I am proud of seeing mud and mess and temporary and fixable.

I am proud of the fact that I usually never raised an eyebrow during the thousands of books we read, stories we told, and episodes of "Thomas the Tank Engine" and "Dora the Explorer" we watched.

I am proud of skipping in malls, taking off my shoes in the library, and cuddling little boys who were scared of Santa.

I am proud of riding carousels like a cowboy, shouting "Yee Haw!!!" for three minutes straight while the other grown-ups avoided making eye contact.

I am proud of never resenting changing a diaper; I didn't enjoy it, really, but I didn't resent it.

I am proud of always going back and admitting a mistake, and asking for forgiveness while never expecting it.

I am proud of listening instead of speaking, following instead of leading, learning instead of teaching, and moving instead of digging in.

I am not perfect and I will never be perfect; frankly, I'm not really sure what a "perfect" parent is. I have warts, I have quirks, I have things at which I both excel and absolutely suck. But I appreciate the amazing gift of being a parent, of helping these children through their good times and bad, of being allowed the privilege of watching them grow each day. And even on the worst days, I cannot wait to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

And I am proud of that, too.

Heart is Where the Home Is

2010-08-17T18:35:00.001-07:00

One of the best things about our journey into unschooling has been the amazing relationships we have developed with people who challenge and inspire us. Few families have touched us as fully and deeply as the Higgins-McBroom family, whose example of living in passion and love has been a positive example for so many people. A few weeks ago, I offered to write guest blog posts for some of my friends, and Gail Higgins quickly accepted. Today, she published that post on her blog, Hummingbird Haven. Gail, Broc, Brenna and Logan - you guys shine so brightly for so many. Thank you!

Yesterday afternoon, I took - and remarkably passed - the Oregon State Driver's License Examination. In five to seven business days, I will have an official license from my seventh state: CT, MA, CA, HI, PA, TN and now OR. Since I first learned to drive in 1983, I have had the pleasure of living in 27 different places - one for each year, as it turns out.

So many of my early moves were due to burned bridges; out of options for making it 'work" in one locale, I picked up and moved somewhere else, hoping for a fresh start. Some of the moves were due to the military or other jobs. In fact, I could list and explain each one of the moves in a way that would make sense to even the most analytical mind.

But in truth, all of the moves were to some measure related to the fact that my heart was exploding with a passion to do something different with my life. For me, living in one place was completely stifling. I never felt like I was being pushed away from a place due to people or circumstances; it was just that there were so many other places to go, and people to meet, and things to experience, that I could not justify staying in a place of relative safety and security while missing out on what life had to offer me. I loved having a roof over my head, but struggled with the concept of a single, solitary home; I simply wanted my home to be much larger than a house, much larger than a town. I wanted home to be less of a physical place, and more of an emotional one.

The idea of "home" is an intriguing one. Our culture is filled with references to home, be they pithy (be it ever so humble, there's no place like it), faux-inspirational (it's where your heart is), subdued (it's where you hang your hat), wistful (you can never go back again) or practical (it's where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.) For many of us, the sense of "home" is deeply rooted throughout our family histories; with all of the complexities of modern life, the idea of having a home to return to as a refuge is comforting at worst, rejuvenating at best. We like to think of home as the place where you will always be accepted, where things can be the way we want them to be, the one thing which we can control and upon which we can rely. Stability, in any form, can indeed be a good thing. Surrounding ourselves with things that are familiar, that provide us with good memories, can comfort us, inspire us, and keep us fairly sane.

In our family, however, we view things a bit differently. When I first met Ginger, I somehow sensed that she had a bit of a restless spirit. There was something about the gleam in her eye, the edge of excitement in her voice, that made me realize that a life spent with her would be a life of adventure. She lived life tangibly, and she viewed every experience - good or bad - as a necessary step on her journey toward being who she truly was. When I said "I do", I knew I was in for the experience of a lifetime. And what an experience it has been. We have moved, changed jobs, had children, lost friends, seen amazing sights, and essentially lived life through our senses. We have made a thousand decisions with our hearts, based on what feels right. At various times, we have also made "head" decisions in which our brains overruled our passions and interests. These decisions have always been right on paper, but rarely have felt right in practice. The heart is a mysterious, often elusive muscle that may steer us in directions that are unforeseen but rarely in directions that are wrong for us. By trusting that our hearts will lead us to what is right for us, we have lived a life of learning, laughing, and loving; not without challenge and troubles, mind you, but a life lived out loud. We have lived in numerous states, towns, and houses, but throughout all of our journeys we've had only one real home.

Our home is not a place with walls and couches and papers and entertainment centers. Our home is, simply, the way we live our life. Home is the abandon and trust through which we engage with our life. It is the spirit with which we learn, and experience, and grow. It is the peace with which we connect with the people around us, and where you are surrounded by things that comfort and challenge and intrigue us. It is the pursuit of the chance to be the happiest we have ever been, where we are the "us" we can be and the "us" we wish to be. Home may be a physical place for some, but for us home is a state of being, like a roller coaster with no real end, with our love as the car keeping us safe and our hearts as the track guiding us ever higher.

A home is - or, more critically, COULD be - a giant amusement park of your own design. The question is whether you want to design it with your head or with your heart. Designed with your head, an amusement park is likely to be similar to the parks you've actually visited; a few thrill rides like roller coasters, with some more subdued ones like carousels. There might be games, and shows, and food, and very short lines; there would certainly be no shortage of fun. But things would likely be be safe, too. There would be beginnings and endings, maps and hours, some sense of limitation in terms of size and scope, and rules about who could go on which ride.

A park designed with your heart, free of your own pre-conceived notions about the way things "should be", would likely look very different. Such a park would never close, and it would have no fences or borders. It would not need to cordoned off from the "real world", and would take up as much space as you could imagine. It would be filled with the rides you wanted, not because they seemed right, but because they were the rides that you enjoyed riding. It might have games and shows, but it might have activities that were completely different, activities you could fully participate in like making movies or music, blowing glass or flying kites. And oh, the roller coasters . . . coasters with no real ends, where you could get on or off wherever and whenever you pleased, that stretched for miles and wound through mountains and over water.

For us, the world of what could be, of learning and experiencing new things, is what gives us comfort and strength - and the courage to try and do more. The world of possibility is our refuge from a more regular, staid life. The world of possibility provides us with energy, memories, and inspirations that many people draw from a more traditional perspective on "home", but which for us emanates from the heart and from new places and experiences.

It could be that the old axiom of "home is where the heart is" is actually true. But I tend to think of it in just the opposite way: your heart is where your home is. Your heart may lead you in directions that are unfamiliar, uncomfortable, or scary. But it also will lead you in the direction of your passions, your interests, your wants and needs, and your truth. It may lead you to a new state, a new town, with new friends and experiences. But if you gain joy and comfort from experiencing what life has to offer through all of your senses, your heart may be the best home for you. Where you choose to live is only important in relation to how much that place feeds your soul.

I've Walked Many Miles in Your Shoes

2010-08-13T08:29:00.000-07:00

Back when I was firing people for a living, I received some expert advice on how to approach these "final meetings" with compassion. The advice was pretty simple, actually: "Never forget that you have had weeks or months to get comfortable with this decision. You've talked about it, tried to help them improve, and made a very thoughtful determination. But it will come as a shock to them. Where you had weeks to prepare for the finality, they have had seconds. Respect the fact that people rarely respond well to new ideas, especially ones that seem crazy to them."

I loved that advice when I received it, and I appreciated it every time I sat across from someone and let them know that they had to leave. I was able to speak with compassion, not anger, and give them time to collect themselves in a very human way before we had to move on to reviewing their final paperwork and collecting their badge. It helped me, to be sure, but I think it also helped them a little bit as well, as they got just a little bit of time to collect themselves.

Over the past few years, I have tried to adopt the same approach with people outside the workplace who disagree with my viewpoints. Let's face it, my ideas about raising children, connected parenting, and unschooling are markedly different from the those of the majority of parents in the Western world. I know that, and I accept it. I have had many years over which to develop my views, starting long before I became a parent. Some of my ideas are relatively new to me, but they have all been grounded in an overall philosophy and approach to life that has been a quarter century in the making.

The point is, I did not just simply read about unschooling and connected parenting one day and suddenly become blindly evangelical about it. I read about it, considered it, discussed it, observed it, tried it, cried about it, had ups and downs, learned more, committed to it, and tried again. I approached the small educational pieces first, then the whole life pieces such as TV and bedtimes. I spent weeks, months, and years agonizing about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I gave my ear to the naysayers of my choice as well as the supporters. Living this way was a careful, deliberate decision made after a substantial amount of reflection, study, and trial.

However, I do try to keep in mind that my approach to parenting is "radical" when compared to what the vast majority of parents in our society believe. Like the people that I have fired in my career, I have had many years to be at peace with my decision, while they have simply read a few snippets over a few days. Is it any wonder that they disagree and think I've lost it? Is it any wonder that they feel the need to educate me on how very wrong I am?

Of course not; it is completely natural, and frankly expected. When people don't know what you have gone through to get where you are - or when they don't care to learn about it - it is only natural that they will make judgments or assumptions, particularly if your viewpoints are quite different from theirs. Since parenting and education choices are important to most every parent (even the parents who make ones that I disagree with), there is likely to be significant tension between parents with vastly different perspectives. I get that, I deal with it daily, and I don't mind it a bit.

But I think that most truly reasonable people attempt to do something pretty simple when encountered with new ideas: they seek first to understand, then to be understood.

"Seek first to understand, then to be understood" is a very powerful concept; it originally came from management guru Stephen Covey, if memory serves me. When practiced well, it emphasizes the importance of compromise and of learning vs teaching. It is also quite disarming; some people just expect to argue, and when you ask them questions about their point instead of driving your own point home, they don't know how to react. But because it is unthreatening, it is a great way to start a dialog, a free exchange of ideas in which even new and threatening concepts are given voice and consideration.

I love it when people actually ask me questions - when they seek to understand - about my viewpoints on parenting and unschooling, because it indicates to me a certain respect for my views. It says to me "I may think you're crazy, but you have devoted more time to thinking about this than I have. How did you ever come to such a perspective?" I periodically receive comments or emails calling me crazy, and to the senders I say "bring it." I've seen crazy up close, and I know the difference. As long as you're calling me crazy in the spirit of wanting to learn more, I am fine with it.

Somewhat less palatable are the emails and comments I periodically receive that seem to want to "teach" me about why my viewpoints are wrong. These notes would hold much greater weight if the sender had devoted as much time to considering the philosophies behind my views as I had, or even if they had indicated a willingness to learn about them. While I recognize how "threatening" my views are to the mainstream, I don't think I am attacking mainstream parents at all; I am questioning them. But I am questioning them from place of knowledge. I have been that parent who works 60+ hours a week. I have sent my kids to school. I have tried ignoring their needs so they could "learn" to be independent. I have tried judging the quality of their learning experiences, and I have tried instilling my own values into them. I have forced bedtimes and food and TV. I have yelled. Everything a traditional parent does, I have done. Once I became cognizant of it, I did not like it.

So I learned about different approaches. When I first encountered unschooling, especially whole life unschooling, I came away amazed at how irresponsible and insane these people were; I mean, educational choices are one thing, but no bedtimes? Treating Sccoby Doo as the equivalent of history books in terms of educational value? Didn't these parents know that they were setting their kids up for failure in the real world?

But instead of attacking them, I asked questions; I sought, very hard, to understand their decision. I came to realize that I did not necessarily want my kids to prepare for the "real world", because the real world is far from a flawless place. Instead, why wouldn't we want to prepare them to change the world for the better if they choose, rather than how to operate in a world that was defined by others? Couldn't the world use a little change? I came to understand that the subjects I "learned" in school, while customary and certainly nothing at all like Scooby Doo, taught me virtually nothing. I was taught about World Civilizations and Trigonometry, even though they may not have had any relevance for what I wanted to do or was passionate about. Hell, I have an MBA and don't know the first thing about that stuff, because it's not important to me to know it. All it does is make me a hit at Trivial Pursuit, and it's called "trivial" for a reason.

If you read what I write or hear what I say and disagree, welcome to the debate; I hope you find it enriching. If you have questions about my choices and what has worked for us, I'm happy to offer anything I can. I've had many years to get used to what I'm doing, and you've had perhaps only a few minutes. I have virtually limitless compassion if your questions are coming from a place of curiosity and peace. But if you're coming just to call me crazy, please seek first to understand. If you are inclined to attack my thinking, just know that I have walked many miles in your shoes; I have lived the life you're living, learned about it, fully experienced it, and made a different choice. Have you walked even a step or two in my shoes? Do you even know where I keep my shoes? If you want to try them on to see if they fit, I'll hand them to you. But if you just want to trample on them, please move along.

What's Your Availability?

2010-08-05T11:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had a unique opportunity to observe my children in their natural habitat - at play. I play with my boys each day, and although some days are better than others we are able to play together in some fashion most of the time. Yesterday, we decided to head to the local waterpark for a full five hours of fun. I was really looking forward to it; no TVs, no phones, no Gameboys, no outside distractions - just me and them and water and laughter. The first hour was great, as we went down water slides and splashed each other into oblivion. But then I cut open both of my feet on the diving board, which is a long story that shall go untold except to say that my ego wrote a check that my "cool factor" was unable to cash. With two open cuts, my pool time was over. Of course, I knew that the boys wanted to stay for the remaining four hours. So, with a firm commitment to staying as long as they wanted and with absolutely no available distractions like an iPhone or book to keep me busy, I did what I should be doing all the time.

I watched them. I was too far way to talk to them, or to hear them, or to correct them. I was free of any sensory observation other than what I was able to see. I could not hear them, so if they argued I couldn't rob them of the opportunity to work things out themselves by trying to be a referee. I could not hear them talking, so I couldn't judge their thoughts by offering my own insights and opinions. Most of the time I could not even see them, so I could not make "helpful" suggestions about what to do or how to do it. All I could do was sit and glimpse them periodically. Sometimes they were together, sometimes they were apart. Sometimes it appeared that they were having a challenging time, but for the vast majority of the four hours they got along, shall we say, swimmingly.

If you ever have the opportunity to simply watch your children, free of distractions and judgment, take it. What an amazing gift. I had nothing to do but watch and learn from them, to see their worlds as they saw it, to experience the joy of unfettered play. Because I had nothing to distract me, I was perfectly engaged and focused on observing. Because I could not control anything, I was at perfect peace. And because they were alone together, they were perfectly and completely free - free from guidance, free from judgment, and free from influence. I felt like I got an opportunity to not merely spend time with them, but to truly experience them as the amazing young people they are.

On the way home, we were talking about how much fun they had and I mentioned something about the fact that they were in the pools for four hours straight without even coming over to me once. My oldest son said something very profound: "Daddy, we didn't come over because we didn't need anything. But we always knew you were there in case we did." As I reflected on his words last night, it became clear to me what he was talking about: my level of engagement with him was less critical than my availability to be engaged.

In a world of seemingly endless distraction possibilities, it can be hard to disconnect and stay available to our children or ourselves. The internet has given us so many marvelous advantages, as we now have access to ideas and information at the touch of a finger. We can chat with friends in real-time across thousands of miles; we can play games on our Wii or Playstation, with people in our own home or people from different countries. We can find out what's going on in our local community this afternoon, this week, or this month, and plan accordingly. We can watch movies on our iPads, and we can write our thoughts and ideas on "paper" and then send them instantly to friends and strangers. We use technology to learn, to inform, to connect, to entertain, and for hundreds of other purposes. And, overall, that's a good thing.

That said, I do wonder sometimes what this technology has meant for families. It can help keep them connected, of course, especially when they are spread out in different states or countries. But in some circumstances, it can build artificial walls around connectedness as family members flock to their own rooms, their own games, and their own computers without taking the time to look into each other's eyes and connect with each other. It's not just the kids; parents are just as likely to spend time on their Blackberries and iPods, playing Farmville or checking status updates on Facebook, or writing blog posts, as examples. The problem really isn't the technology itself. Nor is it the way we use that technology, for the most part. No, the problem occurs when we, as parents, find it impossible to disconnect.

Why is disconnecting important? Because it gives you an opportunity to both be available to and experience your children.

With the variety of other things that require our attention - finances, our partners, family and friends, ourselves and our passions - finding time for everything can be challenging. Technology can help us manage all of that, providing the tools we need to both juggle and escape from our busy lives. But it is one of life's true ironies that the more we cram into our lives, the greater our need to escape from it in order to relax. So as our stress levels increase, we find that even our "leisure activities" become commitments for which we are willing to sacrifice. We've trained ourselves to fill up our spare time with something, be it technology based, reading, crafting, or other hobbies. It's okay to sacrifice some things in pursuit of leisure; after all, we need leisure in our lives, and it is critical to connected parenting that we make some time to pursue our own interests, both as a positive example for our kids and as a sanity outlet for ourselves.

But when we focus on these pursuits to such an extent that we become unable to break free from them and be available to our children, we're running risks on multiple levels.

Now, I am not suggesting that we should be held captive to our child's every whim, or that we should immediately drop whatever we're doing to get them something they need. I am suggesting, however, that we should be able to stop what we are doing long enough to connect with our children to be sure we fully understand what they need, or to be able to pause long enough to let them know how soon we'll be available. And I am definitely suggesting that, when our stress is high and our need to escape from it both intense and immediate, we still have a responsibility to consider the relative importance of surfing Facebook or responding to an email as compared to the expressed or observed needs of our children.

Imagine the following conversation:

Child: "Daddy, can you get me an ice cream cup from the freezer?"
Ten seconds pass.
C: "Daddy?"
Parent:"Hmm . . . ?"
C: "Can you please get me an ice cream?"
P: "Uh, yeah. Gimme a minute."
Three minutes pass; the child hears you tapping away at the computer.
C: "Are you going to get me that ice cream?"
P: "Excuse me? I said I'd get in a minute. Can you please be patient for a sec?"
C: "Never mind. I'll get it myself."
P: "Fine, I'll get it. I don't see why you couldn't wait."

From a parent's perspective, we are involved in what we're doing and we don't see why our child cannot wait a few minutes and respect the fact that we're busy; after all, look at all the things we do well during the day. Why can't our kids see that? Haven't we earned the right to enjoy a little free time to ourselves? Of course we have.

But from the child's perspective, he can't see why he has to ask for something three times that, were you not on the computer, you would have gotten in a heartbeat. He has heard "wait a minute"s that have turned into 15 minutes hundreds of times. He is likely frustrated at his perception that you think your email is more important than he is. He wonders why you get aggravated when he doesn't respond immediately to something you ask, yet he is supposed to sit patiently while being ignored. And he thinks about all of the good things he does during the day and can't figure out why you can't see them, too. Most parents don't want their kids to feel this way, of course. But the potential for the child to feel hurt and unimportant is only part of the picture.

The real danger occurs when, because your child believes that you are unavailable to them, they stop asking. They will not always ask. And the more we are unavailable to them, the more likely it is that they will see lack of availability as a typical trait and adopt it for themselves, respond in kind, and leave us to wonder what the hell happened.

Making ourselves unavailable, if left unchecked, inhibits our ability to experience life in partnership with our children. It can cause us to see our relationships with our children as one more thing on a to do list, one more thing we have to make time for. It can lead us to spend our time simply transacting with our children, or interacting with them in "quality time." We can end of conducting the "family business" we feel we need to conduct in order to stay connected to the degree that we find, on the whole, acceptable. We can end up living our relationships with our children through drive-bys and sound bites. We try to find time between all of the "to do"s to squeeze in a special moment, perhaps a laugh or a smile.

We may like our children, love our children, and interact with them. They will not always want us or need us, no matter what their age. There are days, even weeks, in which they don't ask us for much of anything and don't want to interact with us. But even though they may not want us right now, that could change on a dime - and we need to be there, available and engaged, ready to go, when they do change. When we are unavailable to them, we miss out on the privilege of experiencing our children. That not only robs them of all of the benefits of true and deep connectedness. It robs you of of it as well.

Beyond Expectations

2010-07-30T16:48:00.000-07:00

Thankfully, I have plenty of friends who are willing to rescue me with new ideas when my writer's bog rears its head. I wrote this one for Rebecca Irwin McClure at Home Learning Victoria. Rebecca, thanks for the inspiration!

Things are interesting for us right now. I quit my job, we moved 1,000 miles north, and we’re spending our days in a completely different manner than we’re accustomed to. It’s a time of great change, to say the least. Change is scary for many people, but over the years we have seemed to thrive on it for some reason. Change can be hard because each change comes with a new set of expectations for all of us, individually and collectively. But for us, change also presents an opportunity to be introspective and ensure we’re on the right course, that our needs and wishes haven’t allowed us to drift too far from what is important to us or from the direction in which we were headed. Of course, change is much easier to navigate when it comes free of expectations of how things “should” turn out.

But it rarely does. And those expectations can be very powerful, very tricky things.

Some of our expectations are focused only on ourselves, such as expectations of what our lives should be like, or how we should be behaving or performing. For example, it's easy for me to think back to all of the expectations I once had about how a family is supposed to operate. In my head, I had mapped out exactly what it takes to raise a child, be a husband, have a productive household, and be an accepted member of society. For me, it was pretty simple, really. Dad works, mom works; breakfast as a family with a healthy meal; lunches and book bags all packed the night before; kids on the bus and doing well at school; work being hard but rewarding; home by 6:00, kids all there, dinner together then chores; some time to play, then homework; then time to brush your teeth and put on your PJs, and off to bed by 9:30 or so. Of course, the kids would play sports, and I'd be a member of the Jaycees, mom would be on the Chamber of Commerce.

These expectations helped me in some ways, I suppose; they provided a clear picture of what things might be like, freeing my mind from needing to obsess over the various ways things might turn out for me. But they also provided a barrier, at once deep and tall, that I spent many years attempting to overcome. Over time, as the notions of what “could be” took root in my mind and in my heart, these expectations transformed my ideas of what “could be” into commitments to what “must be.” And “must be”s, of course, are highly dangerous. They restrict our ability to learn from our experiences because we already think we know the best path. They lead us to feel trapped, unable to alter destinies or even circumstances because we cannot see beyond them. They rob us of being able to see the possible because we already believe we know the probable. Simply put, they put blinders on us that limit our ability to see any further than whatever construct we have become comfortable with.

All people deal with this, to some degree or another. When you’re single, dealing with the negative aspects of expectations can be hard. When you’re in a committed partnership, it can be exceptionally difficult and potentially damaging. But when you’re a parent, it can be downright destructive unless you apply conscious effort to minimizing the expectations you have of yourself, your partner, and – most critically – your children.

Letting go of the expectation we have for our children is neither easy nor for the faint of heart, because these expectations – sometimes in the guise of hopes, dreams, wishes, or needs – often reside in places that we don’t even know about. We recognize the benefit of allowing our children to set their own parameters around tidiness, but mutter under our breath while we pick up their Pokemon cards. We understand that there is exceptional learning potential, and therefore exceptional value, in virtually everything they experience, yet we let out a sigh of relief and watch with them when they choose the History Channel over Cartoon Network. We get the importance of allowing a child to live their life through their own rhythm, but we ask them to go to sleep earlier. We know that they will fall down many times, but we expect that to stop by a certain age so they can be responsible people.

And then we try to sit back and let all of that happen naturally. We live with our needs, hopes, wishes, and expectations and convince ourselves that they are invisible to our children. We allow ourselves to believe that we can be disappointed without resentment. We allow ourselves to believe that we’re okay with the concept that every experience has value, even if it’s a “bad” one. We allow ourselves to believe that we can have expectations of our children, but that we can hide them well enough so as to prevent our kids from feeling the negative effects of those expectations.

But we can’t.

Wanting something – for yourself or for others – and then not acting on it is one of the hardest things we attempt in life. It always manifests itself in some way, usually right smack dab in the middle of one of our own blind spots. We are addicted to the things we want in our lives, and are generally powerless to control those addictions for long even if we are aware of them. We hope that someone will love us, so we do everything we can do be attractive to them. We wish we would be accepted, so we change ourselves to be more acceptable. We dislike the way someone else speaks or behaves, so we roll our eyes or sigh under our breath when they say things. We don’t do these consciously; they just happen. It’s a lot like riding a bike, actually; you ride along in a straight line until something catches your eye, and as soon as you look at it you immediately begin to drift that direction. You often don’t feel yourself drift toward your hopes and expectations until you’re off the road, but others see you drift immediately. It’s never invisible to them, only to you.

When we invisibly drift toward pre-conceived expectations we have of our children, we are not giving them the trust and tools they need to make their own choices and set their own course, thereby putting them in the exact same position as we were once in - unsure, fearful, with their parent's definition of happiness and success. So what’s the answer?

Try to alter your expectations, hopes and dreams for your children away from specific “head” topics – college, degree, marriage, money – and into looser “heart” ones, like happiness, peace, love, and passion. Because our expectations manifest themselves in ways that are visible to our children, “head” expectations are likely to push them down the path toward pre-defined traditional education choices and careers, with fewer opportunities for radically different choices. But “heart” expectations can take many guises. These types of expectations could lead them to college and corporate career, to be sure; but it is far more likely that this would be a path of their choosing as opposed to a path of convenience. It could also lead them to travel the world. It could lead them to a quiet career in the arts, or an “out loud” life doing things that we – and they – cannot even imagine yet. In other words, it can help them view their lives as ones of freedom and choice in which success is defined on their own terms and in their own time. It can help them see what it possible, rather than what is impossible or pre-ordained. And it can help them see that success when defined by the heart is more lasting and joyful than when defined by the head.

A few years ago, I wrote an oath to my kids. I revisit this oath whenever I feel off track or when I feel like my expectations of my kids are getting in their way.

I want you to be happy. I want you to see the world for all it can be. I want you to find the things you love to do and do them as much as you want. I want you to develop your own definition of success, and then pursue it like a dog on a bone. I want you to know that I will support and love you, even if you're down. And I have only one real expectation and hope - that you believe what I just said, and that you call bullshit on me when I deviate.

Now, those are expectations that I – and they – can live with.

Impromptu Blog Carnival: "I Am That Dad"

2010-07-26T16:02:00.001-07:00

In response to an impromptu blog carnival today, inspired by Flo Gascon and started by Ronnie Maier, here's my submission. The subject? "I'm that Dad/Mom." Hope you decide to give it a whirl, and post a link to the "justabaldman" group on Facebook if you can.

I am that Dad. I am that Dad who goes swimming when he is tired, because he knows that he'll get more energy as soon as he hears his children's laughter. I am that Dad who makes a hot dog smothered with bacon and pepperoni at 2:00am, because it's what sounds good to his child right now. I am that Dad who will sit in a coffee shop and play Monopoly for three hours or until I lose, whichever comes first, because when I can be patient I can learn new ways to have fun. I am that Dad who goes to three stores to find their favorite ice cream when they lose one too many rounds of Mario Kart, because ice cream heals more tears than words do. I am that Dad who says "yes" when my youngest wants to buy a zippo, because he really isn't very likely to burn down anything too important. I am that Dad who can wipe a butt with a smile, because wiping it with a frown sucks for both of us. I am that Dad who is never perfect, but who tries his best every day to stay connected with his life, because I am not perfect and have no desire to pretend to be so. I am that Dad who is honest and real, despite my warts, because my kids will all have warts and I want them to grow up without fearing them. I am that Dad who is unafraid to sing loudly with the windows open because life should be celebrated in freedom; who is willing to have his toenails painted, because all little girls need to be able to paint outside the lines; who will wrestle seven kids at once in a public park, because it's okay to get a public ass-whooping every now and again; and who speaks in his Monty Python voice while walking through a nice restaurant, because people are way too fucking stuffy and I don't want my kids to think that they have to be that way when they grow up. I am the Dad who loves my kids enough to question the status quo behind everything from our education system to traditional parenting styles to my own abilities and struggles, because my kids deserve that and so much more. I am the Dad who cries at certain commercials, because certain commercials are touching and we all need to recognize the value of a good cry. And I am the Dad who knows that he doesn't know best about much, except for about the fact that his partner and kids are simply amazing. I am THAT Dad.

Nearly 100 moms and dads participated; check out the links to all of their blogs by clicking on that handsome fella below.

In Pursuit of Better

2010-07-24T15:51:00.000-07:00

My friend Jean Dorsey was looking for guest posts on her blog, and I offered her this one. I'm publishing it here as well in case she decides it's crap and takes it down. Thanks, Jean, for letting me drop a few opinions on your site!

A couple of days ago, there was a thread going around on Facebook that asked about the differences between parenting in an unschooling family vs parenting in a traditional family. This is a very insightful question, I think, because it gets to the heart of what "radical" unschoolers have been saying for years: unschooling can be far more than just an educational alternative. It is, for many people, an outlook on life that emphasizes freedom and choice, not just in terms of learning but in virtually every aspect of our lives: access to information and experiences, behavior, food selection, and bedtimes, among many others. There are few rules or "have to"s in this way of life; instead, we lead lives of principle and choice. That's not to say that parenting in this environment is hands off; in fact, it requires a level of introspection and engagement that can be challenging and, periodically, maddening. It demands much of the parent: time, passion, understanding, patience, letting go, and true deep connection.

What it does not demand is perfection. But some parents still try to be perfect, despite the fact that perfection is unattainable. We love our children, we connect with our children, we respect our children, and we support our children. But to do so in a manner which is both authentic and true means that we have to start from wherever we actually are, not from where we wish to be.

Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and I just do not feel it. I still want to be a Dad, and a good one; but it just seems so elusive. Perhaps I am afraid, or disappointed, or even depressed. Perhaps I want a day just for me, free of the wants and needs of other people. Perhaps I have so many things on my "to do" list that I feel I need to devote some dedicated time to getting things done. Or perhaps I am just tired and a bit burned out. Regardless of the reasons, when I get this way I am much less likely to meet the needs of my family, let alone myself. Because my reactions get shorter and my patience wanes, my children can sense that something is wrong often before I am ready to acknowledge it myself. And when I finally do recognize my mood, and the impact it has on those around me, it usually leads to one overarching thought.

I am living a lie.

I write about being a good dad, I talk about being a good dad, and I speak at conferences about being a good dad. And sometimes, I'm just not that good. Why should anyone listen to what I have to say if I'm not walking the talk?

If you have ever felt this way, I encourage you to please give yourself a break.

Inherently, we know that there is no such thing as perfect. We accept that in our professional lives, in our athletic pursuits, and in our relationships with our friends, family, and partners. But when it comes to parenting, we serve under the illusion that perfection is attainable. We learn techniques designed to help us relax so that every response can be perfect; we arrange our schedules so that we can put off our own interests until our kids are drained or asleep; we run from need to need and from question to question, demanding of ourselves that we be fully engaged and responsive. We try to earn the title of "Super Mom" or "Super Dad" all the time. Now, most of that is okay, of course; if the antithesis of trying to be perfect is not caring about our children's needs at all, then I'll continue to try and be perfect. But being imperfect is only half the battle.

The real hard part is dealing with being imperfect. When we make a mistake, be it raising our voice, making a cutting comment, or making a judgment about our children's needs or wants, we let it consume us. We beat ourselves up, questioning not only our performance in the moment but our fitness as a parent altogether. We lose our ability to be objective about all of the amazing things we do each day, all of the things that create an environment of peace and harmony. We imagine nightmare scenarios about all of the ways we are damaging our children, and we place the blame squarely on our own shoulders, leading to remarkable bouts of self-doubt and feelings of unworthiness. But in doing so, we are forgetting two critical things.

First, parenting a child in joy and freedom is, quite simply, one of the most challenging jobs in the world. For many of us, it is different from the way we ourselves were raised. We may be trying to do it in the face of resistance from partners, family members, and other parents. Our children may have needs which are challenging to meet - needs which, in some cases, are precisely the reason why we didn't turn their education over the strangers in the first place. And we do this while facing many of the same pressures faced by traditional parents: financial hardships, physical limitations and disabilities, and multiple children with competing interests. Parenting is hard, and unschooling is advanced parenting. Our path was not the one of least resistance, it was the road less traveled - and many of us are on that path in relative solitude, with only our wits and our hearts to guide us.

Second, we get caught up in the "pursuit of perfection" instead of in the "pursuit of better." "Perfection" requires that we make no mistakes, that we have no bad moments, that we have no off days. "Better", however, allows for growth. It requires introspection. It enables us to live in the moment of each experience, unencumbered by expectation of our own performance, and to learn from that experience. It enables us to be connected to the changes that occur in our own lives and in the lives of our children.

If we try to be the best parents we can be - connected and peaceful and thoughtful and supportive - while being able to learn from our mistakes, our children will gain a marvelous insight into the world the way it truly is. Few things are perfect, and many people have destroyed themselves and others in the pursuit of perfection in various forms. But ultimately, as both people and parents, we are judged less for our imperfections than for the ways in which we respond to them. If we can learn from our mistakes; if we can humbly and truthfully apologize for the hurt and misunderstandings that our mistakes have caused; and if we can provide understanding and forgiveness for the mistakes of others, we can set an amazing example of real-world authenticity for our children. This will help them see us a being more human, which is beneficial for them and for us. But more critically, it will help them realize that they themselves do not need to be perfect either, and that it is okay to have bad days and make mistakes. And if we as parents can demonstrate how to respond to our imperfections with humility, sincerity and commitment, our children will be able to learn it too. They will learn that it is okay to give themselves a break and accept themselves for their successes as well as for their warts.

So, Super Mom and Super Dad, give yourselves a break, too. Recognize the challenge of what you're doing and commit to the pursuit of better, for you and your children.

Choices

2010-07-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

A number of years ago, I had the privilege to attend a leadership training class designed for new supervisors. While we did a number of exercises and activities designed to increase our skills in dealing with a wide variety of potential conflicts, the most powerful part of the class for me was the discovery and understanding of my preferences and behaviors as a leader. The ability, or desire, to be introspective and attempt to gain an objective view of your behavior with an intent to improve is an essential skill for any leader. Doing so helps us understand the impact of our actions on others, creating a level of connectivity that can eventually lead to understanding and trust. While this is important for military, corporate, or civic leaders, it is absolutely critical for parents.

One of the exercises we did was particularly compelling. It required us to write a list of ten things that we "had to" do; we actually had to use the words "have to." I do not recall exactly what was on my original list, but it included a healthy mix of things I wanted to do, and things I did not want to do. As an example, I wrote "I have to try harder to make my marriage work", which I really did not want to do, and "I have to start exercising more", which was actually a goal that I was excited about.

Once our lists were completed, the instructor asked us to do something simple; replace the words "have to" with the words "choose to."

It was eye-opening. Suddenly, instead of thinking about how I "had" to improve my marriage, I began thinking about whether or not I would choose to do so. Instead of thinking about exercise as a chore, I began to view it as a choice. In fact, I began to see that every one of my ten items, including things that I thought were out of my control, were now within my power to change. They had always been within my power to change, of course, but for many of us that power is difficult to trust, difficult to believe in, and difficult - if not impossible - to wield.

Over the intervening years, I have felt trapped by circumstances many, many times; in relationships, financial issues, parenting and partnering concerns, career goals, interests, etc. My experience tells me that most of us feel trapped at one point or another, as we wrestle with our upbringings, schemas, and circumstances in our attempt to reconcile what we desire with what we feel we are able to accomplish. If unresolved, over time this can lead us to feel victimized by circumstance; we resign ourselves to embody statements like "there's nothing I can do", or "it is what it is" and try to struggle along with the disappointment of being unfulfilled.

When I was struggling along through life in my early 20s blaming the whole world for my misfortune, my aunt gave me a nice slap one day by telling me that I was using my perception of my upbringing as a crutch, an excuse that prevented me from taking responsibility for changing what could be changed. That stung, and it took me many years to understand her point. Certainly, there are certain situations in which there really is nothing you can do, and where "it is what it is." And there are, without a doubt, many horrific experiences in life that may be impossible for most people to overcome. In such situations, there may truly be few, if any, real choices.

But when our default response to something challenging or negative is that we "have to" accept it, and that we can never change it, we may well be selling ourselves short and setting ourselves up to allow the circumstances in our lives to control our beliefs, behaviors, and attitudes. We may be defining our lives, and our own roles within our lives, in terms of "have to" instead of "choose to." In such an environment, it is easy to blame others and to deflect criticism and responsibility. I guess that's okay for some people.

But for parents, I'm not sure it's good enough.

Our children and partners demand more, yet many of us spend at least part of our days lost in a world of "must"s and "need"s that aren't necessarily real. We focus on these things without searching for a clear path to the choices we have and what is actually possible. I wonder what prevents us from making these choices each day. Is it our upbringings, in which some of these choices were not valued? Is it the input of other parents and friends? Is it our concern or preoccupation with the overwhelming administrivia of our lives? Is it selfishness? All of these, alone or in combination with other factors, may inhibit our ability to see the power we have in our lives. But it could actually be much more simple; it could be because we have not ever taken the time to consider the types of choices we really have, and to commit to making them with a positive view in mind.

If we are able to see that we do have choices in our lives, and become aware of what those choices are, we can then begin to make incredible choices that allow our relationships - and therefore our own lives - to blossom. We have thousands of possible choices every day, in each interaction and thought we have regarding our children, our partners and ourselves.

We can choose yes over no; we can choose connection over distance; we can choose joy over fear; we can choose peacefulness over anger; we can choose discussion over mandate; we can choose alternatives over direction; we can choose freedom over rules; we can choose to be thoughtful instead of arbitrary; we can choose curiosity over judgment; we can choose play over work; we can choose giving over receiving; we can choose partnership over filial piety; we can choose laughter over grumpiness; we can choose letting go over control; we can choose understanding over fear; we can choose action over apathy, and we can choose love over hate.

When we are able to see the choices we have and then begin to make the ones that build relationships and confidence, we can have a significantly positive impact on our families and on the people around us. The reactions and responses of our children and partners are like mirrors in which we are confronted with the power, both positive and negative, of the choices we have made. The choices we make are important for the emotional health of our families, for certain; but the very fact that we are able to model our lives as lives of choice sets an example of self-determinism and positivity that our children are likely to both enjoy and adopt.