Science and religion are on a collision course in my household.

Religion. Science. Are they independent or intertwined? How exactly do you explain the confluence of the two subjects to three children under age 6, especially when they’re the ones who bring it up?

Naturally, I explained the evolution/creation issue as well as I could, thoroughly confusing my kids in the process. The screenplay goes thusly:

Scene: A father and his three kids are driving to a park in a late-model SUV

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Hey Dad, I have a question. Who were the first people?

DAD: Well, that’s a good question, babe. So, if you read the Bible, it says that the first two people were a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. God made them first.

But, if you talk to a scientist, he or she might tell you that the first people came from monkeys. That’s known as evolution.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Wait. Monkeys are people?!

DAD: No, but long, long, long ago, monkeys started to kind of change into people.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: So when I was born I was a monkey?! Cool!

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Ugh. You were never a monkey.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Dad just said …

DAD: Well, bud, that’s not exactly what I said. See, with evolution there’s this thing called genetic mutation and it takes years and years and years to happen …

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: [Confidently] The sun is old.

DAD: Yes, the sun is old. So, kind of like as many years old as the sun. It takes thousands and thousands and millions of years. Imagine if a monkey had a baby and that baby had a baby and that baby had a baby…after that happens for years and years, monkeys could become people.

Now, some people say that just the Bible is right and others say that just science is right about evolution.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: I think it’s probably the Bible. Right, Dad?

DAD: Well, what if they’re both right? The Bible says God took six days to make the Earth. But who knows how long a day in God’s mind is? I don’t. And I can’t act like I have a clue about that. Maybe a day for God is like a day for us. Or maybe a day for God is like a million years for us. I have no idea. But I think it’s possible that God set in motion the science that made monkeys become people over a very long period of time.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: [Semi-satisfied grunt of approval.]

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Hmm … [10 seconds pass by] … Yeah, but why doesn’t Curious George have a tail?

DAD: I think we’ve had enough hard truths for one day. I’ll explain how PBS and the publishing industry lie to you another time.

About the author

Matt Norman, an at-home dad of three, is a former organizer of our Austin Dads Group chapter. A version of “Debating Evolution, Creation” first appeared on his blog, And So It Has Come To This, and then here in 2018.

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Photo by Lewis Roberts on Unsplash

It’s about time to declare my parenting style because, apparently, that’s everyone’s business.

I learned this through the “Parenting and Faith” Sunday school class at our church. Not that I’m that active in that class as I should be. Truthfully, I’m not active at all. I mean I don’t ever go. My wife goes now and again, but, right or wrong, I haven’t filed the class into the “must do” part of my brain. Besides, Micah 6:8 says, “What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” It doesn’t say anything about getting kids ready an hour before worship and then fighting to get the 2-year-old to go tearfully into the nursery for a couple hours.

Anyway, we’re off topic and I don’t want to make God angrier than s/he already is with me. (What up, Jesus!) One of the leaders of the Sunday school class sent out an email asking for discussion on an article in The New Yorker about so-called “free range kids.” Well, here we go…

In theory, hell yes! Raising free-range kids would be awesome. Let ’em do what they do and learn from it without me having to intervene? Uh, yeah. I’ll take it.

Similarly, in theory, helicopter parenting keeps your kids safer, which is also awesome. Follow them closely to make sure no harm ever comes to them and be there to teach lessons the way I want them taught? Yeah, that sounds good, too. But as my good friend and mentor, Homer Simpson, notes, “In theory, communism works. In theory.”

Creating my own parenting style

My kids are young so I can’t say how I’ll feel when they’re old enough to, say, walk or bike to school, but right now I fall somewhere in between the two contrasting parenting styles, but a good bit over on the free-range end of the spectrum — and that’s a direct result of how I was raised. Although I’m sure there wasn’t a name for this parenting style in the 1980s, I’m going to call it “FreeRange-Ocopter Parenting.”

I have no doubt my parents kept a good eye on me when I was a kid, but more often than not, they did so without my knowledge. One of my best friends growing up lived toward the back of the neighborhood and I lived in the front — probably about a half- to three-quarters of a mile from door to door. We routinely rode bikes to one another’s houses starting around age 6 or 7. I distinctly remember the feeling of freedom as I rode my Huffy down the hill where Wild Rose Drive met Hickory Hollow Lane, the wind blowing against my face. The trip probably took me five to eight minutes, but it might as well have been an hour. I was out on my own and it was awesome. What I didn’t know was that my mom and my friend’s mom would call one another to let the other know when he or I arrived. A little parenting from the free-range column, and a little parenting from the helicopter column.

When I was an older, my parent-drawn borders expanded. They let me ride to the creek a few miles away. Usually, my crew of friends would take our BB guns and target frogs or pinecones in trees or each other whatever else. (In the interest of full disclosure, sometimes one of us would bring a .22 rifle. I doubt my mom knew that was happening. Surprise, Mom! Thanks for reading!) We were almost always given a time to return and check in at someone’s house — usually mine. I’m sure there were times that letting me go out and explore, even close to home, made Mom nervous, but she still let it happen. When I was old enough, she even let me drive seven of my friends 40 miles in our station wagon  across Houston to the Astrodome to watch the Astros play — and made us call on our briefcase cell phone as soon as we were in the parking lot.

My parenting style in action

Freedom with limits. That’s what FreeRange-Ocopter Parenting is about. Here’s how I practice it right now with my 2- and 4-year-old (4YO):

4YO: Hey Dad, can I run to that tree over there?

Me: Go for it. I’ll time you.

[Child runs 20 yards away, comes back]

Me: 20 seconds! Great job!

4YO: Can I run to the fence over there?!

Me: Go for it!

[Child runs 200 yards away while I make the 2 year-old stop throwing mulch on other kids. I am not watching the older child run across the park and back but I know where she is and what she’s doing. I can look up and see her at any time. She’s fine, and she feels like she’s been on a huge adventure.]

See how easy that is? Freedom with limits. As the kids get older and more responsible, the limits are expanded. If they break my trust, the limits contract.

Give it a try. If you’re a helicopter parent, you might feel scared. If you’re a free-range parent, you might feel oppressive. But think about how your kid will feel — trusted, adventurous, free.

Of course, this is all subject to change when the kids can drive.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Matt Norman, an at-home dad of three, is organizer of our Austin Dads Group chapter. A version of this post first appeared on And So It Has Come to This.

Photo: Emma Frances Logan on Unsplash

I’m one of those parents who gave his kid a weird name.

I know. It’s kind of weird. The wife and I weren’t sure about it either. In fact, there are days when I’m still not sure we made the right decision.

Our first two kids have regular names. Sure, they’re kind of hipster-cool/over-popular, but we like the names we gave them just the same. She’s Harper: Her name was inspired by author Harper Lee and musician Ben Harper. He’s Wyatt; we gave him a laid-back name that could fit easily on the nameplate of a future judge’s office or on a blue-collar work shirt.

And the Weird Name is …

Then there’s our third child.

His name is Hawk. “Hawk? Like the bird?” asked my mother.

“No. His name is Parker,” Wyatt flatly stated.

“That’s not a very great name,” Harper lamented with tearful eyes as she met him for the first time.

Wyatt was almost named Hawk, but we chickened out. We just couldn’t pull the trigger. It was a little too weird. We went with choice 1B, and we haven’t looked back. There was no second guessing. No one asked where we came up with the name.

When the new baby was born and the doctor announced that it was a boy (another boy!), we already had the name picked. Before I cut the cord, my wife asked, “Are we going for it? Is this Hawk?” Still stunned at the miracle of birth, I replied, “I think it is.” Cord cut; baby named; destiny spun into motion.

We named him Hawk because we like the name. We named him Hawk because we’re sure it won’t be a hindrance for him now or in the future. We named him Hawk because, quite frankly, we think it’s a badass name. We named him Hawk because we could and because we wanted to. It’s not a family name. It’s not a “normal” name, but it’s his name, just the same.

So, yes, like the bird, Mom. And no, his name isn’t Parker, Wyatt, even though that’s the name you lobbied hard for. As for whether Hawk is a very great name — time will tell, Harper.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Matt Norman, an at-home dad of three, is the organizer of our Austin Dads Group chapter. A version of this post first appeared on And So It Has Come to This.