“Dude, you can live with us if you need to!”

My childhood buddy, Tim, blurted these words when I told him my parents were divorcing. I was 17 years old at the time, and to this day I appreciate his dramatic concern for me.

But I had to smile and remind him: “I’m not becoming an orphan. But thanks for the offer.”

Tim’s offer was tempting. His parents, Jerry and Ann, had been like a “second Dad and Mom” to me for years. Although I enjoyed a healthy upbringing and loved my parents, Tim’s house became the neighborhood “hub” or hangout, especially for boys, during my childhood. The main reason? He had three brothers—Cary, Bryan and Brendan—who loved to play pick-up sports.

The brothers and a group of neighborhood buddies would play street hockey out front, ping pong in the basement, and/or card games in the kitchen nearly every day. During a few of those early years we even played ice hockey on a backyard rink, and Jerry would help me tie my skates. Even before we knew we were hungry, Ann would provide a vat of chili or a pan full of bacon to be devoured by growing boys.

My Second Mom — the “boy whisperer”

Looking back, Ann was especially gifted as the mother of four boys. Somehow she navigated all that roughhousing and trash-talking (along with all that equipment) with grace. And her skills as a nurse helped with all the minor injuries compiled along the way.

You could say Ann was a “boy whisperer.” She often used humor to cope with the chaos surrounding her. For example, she hung an attractive sign above the toilet in the basement bathroom that read: “My aim is to keep this bathroom clean. Your aim will help.”

One of her favorite stories about raising four boys involved her son Bryan when he was young. On a particularly frustrating day as a tired mother buried in childcare, she lamented aloud that she always thought her life would be filled with fame and fortune. Then she heard Bryan’s little voice try to encourage her.

“Guess you have to go to Plan B, Mom!” he said.

Ann would always cackle at that punchline, displaying just how much she loved her boys—a different kind of family wealth.

Ann was not all food and games, however. Whenever we stepped out of line, she would gently nudge us to be better people by saying “hear—hear.” That was her way of getting our attention. What she was really saying was “Have a conscience at the base of all that goofing around.”

No doubt my childhood friends and I didn’t thank Ann enough back then. But that is what made her well-attended 80^th birthday party so special several years ago. Because Ann had “showed up” for them as boys, many of those neighborhood buddies “showed up” for her decades later. I have never seen so many grown men (including myself) proclaiming their gratitude to one woman for positively impacting their boyhoods.

During our many toasts to Ann, it was as if she had created a “Fifth Son” Olympics in which we were all competing. Of course, she had already won the gold medal in the “Second Mom” event. One guy even called Ann his “Second Mom” in front of his “First Mom,” who looked on approvingly because she was Ann’s friend and former neighbor.

Appreciate “Second Moms and Dads”

Sadly, Jerry passed away many years ago, and Ann passed more recently. Perhaps the most poignant image from Ann’s memorial service featured many of those same grown men “showing up” again to carry her casket. That is the power of a “Second Mom.”

Although “second Moms and Dads” don’t get a national day of recognition, maybe they should. So be sure to think about the people who may have acted as “second parents” in your childhood. Try to thank them, if possible. Hopefully, you can also serve as a second parent to some of your children’s friends. Be a host, coach, teach, carpool, tell stories or just plain show up and listen to them.

Tim’s offer for me to join his family back in a moment of crisis when I was 17 made me realize I would always have both a first and a second home in this world. Many decades later, I visited Ann in a nursing home, shortly before her passing. When she saw me, her eyes lit up and she whispered: “Vin-Man.” That was one of my nicknames in childhood, and hearing her say it made me feel like a superhero. 

In essence, that’s what “second parents” do. They make children feel special and show them they have a second home if needed. Hence, “Second Moms and Dads” are like Plan B. So here’s to Plan B!   

Let’s admit it: Most of us hate going to the doctor. In fact, parenting and self-care are often at odds.

This is especially true in the chaotic early years when all parents struggle to find time to use the bathroom in peace much less exercise, see friends, and visit the doctor. Mothers in our culture are frequently reminded to practice self-care, but I’m here to urge increasingly involved fathers to do the same.

Though dads tend to feel less guilty than moms about taking time for themselves, one particular area of self-care we need to improve on is seeing a doctor.

A 2016 Cleveland Clinic survey found only three in five men, ages 18 to 70, get an annual physical. A little more than 40 percent go to the doctor only when they fear they have a serious medical condition. Those are some frightening numbers.

I can speak to the stereotype of men avoiding doctors from personal experience. I was one of those “I hate to go to the doctor” guys, too. But several years ago, I told my wife half-jokingly: “I’m either in the best shape of my life, or I’m dying.” I had finally been working out again, and I was excited to be losing weight. Freshly 40, I had spent nine long years as a stay-at-home dad, so it was thrilling to return to some “me” time.

But then I kept losing weight.

The self-care stumble 

Over three months I lost 15 pounds. Also, I began to notice frequent stomach aches, often followed by diarrhea. I started to worry. Admittedly, as a guy with a hate for going to the doctor, it probably took me longer than the average human to notice these rather dramatic changes.

Then came the kicker.

I was in the yard and bent over to pick up a rake. On my way up, I got dizzy and nearly fell over. Finally, I knew this was more than just “how 40 feels.”

I saw a gastroenterologist who performed a blood test and biopsy before pronouncing the verdict: celiac disease. His nutritionist explained celiac disease is a genetic intolerance of gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye, barley and other related grains. Gluten damages the villi in a celiac’s small intestines, which leads to malnourishment and a variety of symptoms — e.g. diarrhea, weight loss, fatigue, migraines and depression among others. Symptoms can appear anytime during a celiac’s life.

What I remember most was the nutritionist’s statement, “It’s not that bad. Just avoid things like beer, bread and pasta.”

What?

For an Irish boy married to an Italian girl, she just eliminated 80 % of my diet! Immediately, I visualized an atlas of my past culinary pleasures I would never be able to revisit: the Buffalo chicken wing, the Philadelphia cheese steak, the Chicago deep-dish pizza.

Many with celiac disease never get diagnosed

But after researching the disease and the growing dietary options, I realized I was lucky this was my only problem. My good fortune was soon reinforced at my new hangout, the health food store.

When I mentioned I had just been diagnosed with celiac disease, an acquaintance asked, “Oh, does your whole life make sense to you now?” I nearly got dizzy and fell over. What? No, I thought. Now my life makes no sense. My whole life was going just fine!

But I learned she knew people whose lifelong health problems were cured after they were diagnosed with celiac disease. So then I felt grateful for 40 years of reveling in gluten. (Specifically, no beer in college would have been tough to swallow.) So if any unexplained symptoms apply to you, consider asking your doctor about celiac disease since many people go undiagnosed.

Now that I’m gluten-free, I’ve regained a few pounds and feel healthy. It’s also nice to fit back into my pre-stay-at-home dad clothes. However, you know you’ve been a stay-at-home dad too long when you put on a button-down shirt and your daughter asks, “Dad, why are you dressed all fancy?”

After my health scare, I consider such a moment a little reward for going to the doctor.

Editor’s Note: This article about men’s health and the fear of going to the doctor was originally published in 2017. Photo: “Doctor greeting patient” by Vic, licensed under CC BY 2.0)

Years ago, when my children were young and I was frustrated with them at a park, an older mother of teens said to me dismissively: “Little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems.”

I have a request: don’t be that parent!

First, it doesn’t help the parent of young children. Second, each family is unique and may or may not experience more problems during the teen years, or “teenhood.” Third, such statements contribute to the unfair mythology about teenagers that Kenneth Ginsburg outlines in his new book, Congrats —You’re Having a Teen! Strengthen Your Family and Raise a Good Person.   

Ginsburg laments that so many books about how to raise a good teen are pitched as “survival guides.” This combination of dour books and “uninvited ‘wisdom’ offered from bystanders” means “far too many parents approach these years with dread,” he writes. In turn, “too many adolescents learn their stage of life is worthy of an eye roll and, worse yet, that they are disappointing their parents just by growing — a process they couldn’t stop if they wanted to.”

While Ginsburg acknowledges that parenting a teen can be challenging, he provides three ways for parents to approach their children’s teenhood with a healthier mindset:

1. Teenhood: Simply another stage of development

In many ways, teenhood is like toddlerhood. It’s a natural phase of child development in which the words “no” and “why?” return. But while toddlers test our patience, we tend to understand their antics as part of their development. So why don’t we apply the same understanding to our teens?

As Ginsburg explains, “It is an active decision — and one that preserves our relationships — to choose to place certain challenging aspects of our parent-teen relationships in the context of development.” For example, moodiness is part of a teen’s development of empathy and sensitivity. Challenging authority is “a critical step in their control over choices.” Their occasional rejection of their parents is also part of their growing independence and, as much as possible, should not be taken personally.

2. Parent teens with a long view

Parents should remember their children will be adults for far longer than they are teens. Ginsburg states: “When you are caught in the moments of parenting, it is easy to forget that you will eventually have an adult-adult relationship with your child for longer than you have an adult-child relationship with your teen.” So you want to focus more on values and personal qualities than on individual performances and grades.

He recommends parenting for the type of “35-year-old” you envision your child to become or for the “second job” your young adult might apply for in the future. As he explains, “once you realize you’re raising your teen to have the skill sets needed to land that second job, you’ll let out a deep breath of relief and begin parenting about the things you care about: social and collaborative skills. Love of learning. Curiosity.”

3. Express unconditional love for your teen

Even though teens can behave in ways that make parents wince, it’s important for parents to believe in their children’s “best selves.” Ginsburg explains that “when young people become more adult-sized, we stop appreciating the miracles of development or mistakenly believe teens need our feedback less.” But he recommends parents “continue to see their strengths” and notice acts of kindness and idealism.

One way for teens to nurture their “best selves” is through volunteering opportunities. Ginsburg notes that “adolescents who learn that they can make a difference in others’ lives or in the well-being of their communities gain a motivating sense of purpose. They receive reinforcing thank-yous instead of the low expectations too many teens endure. As they experience how good it feels to give, they’ll have less shame when they need to receive, because they’ll have learned that the giver does so not out of pity but out of purpose.”

Late in his book, Ginsburg highlights the two-way nature of teen development. As parents nurture their teens’ growth, the parents continue to grow as well, which can be deeply satisfying for everyone involved. He notes: “Teens want to know they are adding to your life. If you focus only on grades and good behaviors, then many teens apply too much pressure on themselves to fit into a mold of your making. When, on the other hand, you genuinely cherish watching them develop their interests and hone their values, they’ll know they please you by being their best selves. When you appreciate their sense of wonder and the rapid pace at which they are learning, you can allow them to be your teacher. They will relish knowing they are contributing to your growth.”

In other words, “big kids, big development” for the whole family. 

Raise a good teen photo: © LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS / Adobe Stock.

Ever wonder what American parents could learn from the cultures of non-Western hunter-gatherer communities? Scientist Michaeleen Doucleff did. She reports her findings in her recent book, Hunt, Gather, Parent: What Ancient Cultures Can Teach Us About the Lost Art of Raising Happy, Helpful Little Humans.

Significantly, instead of just studying these cultures, Doucleff and her 3-year-old daughter lived among them. “None of these cultures are ancient relics, frozen in time,” she notes. They are still contemporary families with cellphones and televisions, but they do have “deeply rooted parenting traditions.”

Ancient wisdom from north of the Arctic Circle

From Inuit families above the Arctic Circle, Doucleff learns how to foster young children’s emotional regulation during temper tantrums and misbehavior. The key for parents? Stay calm and quiet as much as possible.

Doucleff describes Inuit parents in these situations in near-robotic terms. “Whenever children are upset — crying and screaming — the parents say very few words (words are stimulating). They make very few movements (movement is stimulating). And they show very little expression on their faces (again, emotion is stimulating),” she writes. “Parents aren’t timid or fearful. They still have a confidence about them. But they approach the child the way you might approach a butterfly on your shoulder: Gently. Slowly. Softly.”

When parents respond with calmness and quiet, “we give the child the opportunity to find that response in themselves,” Doucleff writes. “Over time, this practice teaches the child to regulate their emotions and respond to problems in a calm, productive way.”

When I first read these lines, I thought “no way”! How does a parent remain calm in the storm of an upset child? Doucleff acknowledges it takes much practice, but the long-term result will be worth it.

For example, during a child’s tantrum, “in the calmest, lowest-energy state possible, simply stand near the child, silently, and show them that you are close by, supporting them,” she writes. Upon a child’s misbehavior, try to “keep your expression flat. … look into the horizon above the child’s head or to their side.” As long as there is no imminent danger, try to “stay neutral and show them that you have zero interest in that behavior.”

In metaphoric terms, when parents respond to an angry child with calmness, they refuse to pick up the tug-of-war rope. Rather than yells breeding yells, calm breeds calm, eventually. To model emotional regulation and lower the energy of the situation, Doucleff recommends using imagery in your mind or humming a favorite song.

After calmness returns, the parent and child will be much more able to address the problems causing stress. This “wait-to-fix strategy” might result in a variety of resolutions. Doucleff borrows one idea from psychologist Larry Cohen in which problems are brought “into the play zone.” For example, “you and the child act out, in a lighthearted way, what happens when she won’t go to bed and you get angry or upset.”

Emotional regulation fosters helpfulness, autonomy

Two other ancient cultures Doucleff learns from are Maya families in Mexico and Hadzabe families in Tanzania.

Doucleff notes Maya children are known for their helpfulness, especially regarding household chores. She learned Mayas value toddlers as participants in family life. They invite young children to join them in their work around the house. As she notes, “toddlers everywhere are eager to be helpful — very eager.”

A toddler helping with chores like cleaning, sweeping, and folding laundry can slow parents down and create a mess. However, Mayas view the mess as an investment. “By encouraging the incompetent toddler who really wants to do the dishes now, then over time, they’ll turn into the competent nine-year-old who still wants to help,” she writes.

The children’s participation in meaningful, family-oriented chores makes them feel a sense of belonging. If children are kept from participating, they learn “their role is to play or move out of the way.” They also “will come to learn that helping is not their responsibility.”

The parenting lesson Doucleff learns from the Hadzabe families echoes the ancient Inuit advice: stay quiet as much as possible. Strive for minimal interference with children’s natural development.

Doucleff explains the Hadzabe “parent from a different vantage: they believe children know best how to learn and grow. Anything a parent says — the vast majority of the time — will only get in the child’s way.” She learned that as a parent she needed to “‘wait-a-bit’ before you instruct, direct, or issue a command.” (In fact, in playful fashion, the Hadzabe nicknamed her “Wait-a-bit.”)

Doucleff suggests an experiment for today’s parents: “Take out your phone and set it to record for twenty minutes. Count how many questions, comments, and demands you make to your child during that time.” You may be surprised. Also, try hard to develop children’s autonomy by letting them “order at restaurants, set up after-school activities, settle disputes with friends and, when possible, talk with teachers, coaches, and instructors about successes and mistakes.” If we embrace such a less-is-more, “low-talk parenting style,” we can “join the millions of parents around the world—and across history—who step behind the child, wait-a-bit, and let the child make their own decisions . . . and their own mistakes.”  

Photo: © Odua Images / Adobe Stock.

Did you know that what we call the “fall colors” of leaves are actually their glorious “true” colors? The leaves don’t change to new colors in autumn but instead revert to their original colors. I learned this years ago when my oldest daughter asked why the leaves change color.

As a way to bond (and hide my ignorance), I suggested we search the internet together for information. We found that, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, “the four primary pigments that produce color within a leaf are chlorophyll (green); xanthophylls (yellow); carotenoids (orange); and anthocyanins (reds and purples). During the warmer growing seasons, leaves produce chlorophyll to help plants create energy from light. The green pigment becomes dominant and masks the other pigments. … As days get shorter and nights become longer … the fading green allows a leaf’s true colors to emerge, producing the dazzling array of orange, yellow, red and purple pigments we refer to as fall foliage.”

Equipped with this knowledge, we annually observe the emergence of fall colors differently. It’s a richer, more wonder-filled experience for our family. I thought of this phenomenon and its relationship to parenting while reading Alexandra Horowitz’s recent book, On Looking: A Walker’s Guide to the Art of Observation.

In the book, Horowitz takes 11 neighborhood walks with different experts to experience the same scenes with different eyes. The results are remarkable. Horowitz realizes “I had become a sleepwalker on the sidewalk. What I saw and attended to was exactly what I expected to see” and nothing else.

From a geologist, she learns “limestone, a popular building material, is full of the shells, remains, and other traces of ancient animals. … Taking this in, my view of the street was entirely changed: no longer was it passive rock; it was a sea graveyard.” From a field naturalist, she learns “even when you see no bugs before you, even when the ground looks still and the air looks clear, they are there.”

Learn through how children observe the world

Most relevant to parenting is what Horowitz learns about observation from her 19-month-old son. For him, a walk is “an investigatory exercise that begins with energy and ends when (and only when) exhausted.” An infant “has no expectations, so he is not closed off from experiencing something anew.” Also, the relative absence of language enables very young children to “sense the world at a different granularity, attending to parts of the visual world we gloss over; to sounds we have dismissed as irrelevant.”

Horowitz views a child’s acquisition of language in paradoxical terms. She acknowledges that language is key to a child’s development and navigation of the world. Hence, language could be compared to the necessary green pigment that fosters growth on leaves. But Horowitz also laments that the naming of objects in a child’s environment gradually limits his or her ability to observe and perceive additional aspects — or what might be called the environment’s true (and masked) colors — more fully.

She notes the bittersweet onset of language for her growing toddler. “I knew I did not have long before words, enablers of thoughts but also stealers of idiosyncrasies, muted his theatricality. And so our family had together created a fluid vocabulary of expressions, facial and bodily, that could be applied to a new situation,” she writes.

This poignant passage no doubt triggers every parent’s memories of those infant-to-toddler days when sounds were not yet words. One of my daughters at that age would repeat the sound “ta-doo” in varying tones. For weeks the family tried to discern the meaning of the sound. Then, one day, an older cousin simply said: “Maybe it just means ‘ta-doo.’” Somehow that settled the debate.

Improve your observational skills  

Every parent also remembers entertaining formulations from their children’s early language days. My older daughter once told me: “Dad, I’m a little bit big and a little bit little.” My younger daughter once wrote in her journal: “My dad has hair on both sides of his head and nothing in the middle.” That last one burned a little bit.

Selective attention is necessary for life, but parents should try not to narrow their attention too rigidly. Follow the example of very young children before language development. Try to maintain an open mind that does not allow habit and expectation to become blinders that restrict understanding.

A great way to embody this message might be a family nature walk this fall. Slow down and inspect the surroundings together. Keep a sense of wonder about all that reveals itself — like those “true colors” in the trees that the pandemic cannot cancel. Try to keep seeing the world with fresh, unmasked eyes.

Observe autumn photo: © Volodymyr / Adobe Stock.

If you have teen daughters, you may be very familiar with eye rolls. You may also have frequent moments of frustration, confusion, and a feeling of irrelevance. But fear not. A new book by Kimberly Wolf says an eye roll means you’re engaged in your daughter’s life. This can foster her confidence immensely in her adolescent years.

In Talk with Her: A Dad’s Essential Guide to Raising Healthy, Confident, and Capable Daughters, Wolf writes “if your daughter shuts you down, that means you are right where you need to be: present in her life. It may seem like she’s not listening to you, but she can hear you, and that’s what matters most.”

Wolf’s book is about “finding your own father-daughter communication style,” which can become trickier during the teen years. She encourages dads to look for common interests with their daughters and “facilitate shared screen-free experiences.” These, she writes, naturally lead to healthy conversations. Examples include playing sports and board games together, hiking, cooking, making art or volunteering.

Wolf recommends dads and daughters try to “bond over wellness.” For example, one father she interviewed runs with his daughter but they have a “no-headphone rule.”  The result is “a compound bonding opportunity, incorporating discussion, connecting over shared interests, and setting a positive fatherly example” of self-care. In a similar way, my teen daughters and I have bonded over biking. Our rides have produced many fruitful conversations.

Some conversations are harder than others

Granted, sometimes dads and daughters need to have difficult conversations to address conflicts. In these situations, Wolf recommends deciding on a time and a time limit.

“Having a start and stop time can help you consciously contain conflict, compartmentalize the conversation, and move forward with the rest of your day,” she writes.

This strategy can also be helpful when stressful topics like the college admission process need to be addressed. In our house, we came to an agreement that the time for those discussions was on Sunday nights. If I brought up the topic outside that schedule, I risked an eye roll.

Two difficult conversations that Wolf feels dads are especially well-equipped to have with teen daughters involve over-apologizing and insufficient boundaries.

“It’s important that we catch girls if we think they are being unnecessarily apologetic, overly people-pleasing, or sacrificing their own feelings and needs for others,” she writes. Wolf laments the “nice girl narrative” because it can make girls wary of setting boundaries or taking time for themselves.

“Kindness is usually an excellent value to emphasize to your daughter, but she needs to know that if a relationship or dynamic doesn’t suit her, it’s OK to set a respectful boundary and move on,” she writes

“Converse” by writing cover letters together?

One of Wolf’s most intriguing suggestions for dads of teen daughters is simple: “Write some cover letters with her.”

She recommends beginning the process as early as 8^th grade. “Highlighting our best personal qualities doesn’t always come naturally, and we can never get too much practice talking up our strengths,” Wolf writes.

Upon first reading, I balked at this idea. It seemed like it would add pressure to teen girls already stressed out about grades and the college admission process. But Wolf’s point is that simply the practice of girls thinking about both their academic and non-academic skills — and how they could communicate them — can be invaluable to their self-confidence.

Wolf suggests a girl could consider a dream position and write a cover letter that “references skills she currently holds that would qualify her to be a productive team member.” Along the way, her dad could point out qualities she may be overlooking about herself. Ironically, many of those personal traits were likely discovered during those “bonding over wellness” conversations that happened in the past.

Personal, moral confidence through cover letters

Another way to think about the cover letter idea is to make multiple cover letters together. These would be not only academic and professional ones but also personal and moral ones. For example, help your daughter think about what experiences and milestones have shaped her life so far. And how has her identity grown over time? In larger terms, who is she, and how does she know that? Such reflections go far beyond the usual listing of accomplishments needed for high school and college applications. They often turn into fodder for application essays and job interviews in the future.

It’s important for dads to remember that, as Wolf explains, research suggests “women self-promote and self-advocate less often than men do.” Dads of teen daughters can help change that by fostering what I would call “cover letter confidence” that no one can take away. In other words, talk with her for sure, but also write with her.

Fittingly, Wolf ends her book with the voices of teen girls providing advice for eye-roll-suffering dads.

One girl notes: “It takes time and patience to develop that strong relationship with your daughter, but once it is there, it stays.” Another gives a simple but helpful reminder about how dads can build their daughters’ confidence: “Make sure you tell us when you’re proud.”

Photo: ©be free  / Adobe Stock.

“You’re OK,” utter many parents instinctively when a young child falls or bumps his or her knee. Typically, the child is unsure at first whether an actual injury has occurred. But the parent’s assumption that all is fine, combined with a lack of evidence (like blood), magically keeps the child from distress. Instead of crying or fretting, the child often follows the parent’s cue and moves on.

Now picture a child seemingly misbehaving. The typical parent’s first utterance is not “You’re OK!” Rather, it tends to be a way of conveying “you are not OK” morally — e.g., “Bad boy (or girl)! There goes my (insert unhealthy label) child!”

This is where it’s helpful to consider one of the best parenting mantras I’ve ever read.

When a child appears to misbehave, “attribute to the child the best possible motive consistent with the facts.” This quote comes from Alfie Kohn’s 2006 book Unconditional Parenting: Moving from Rewards and Punishments to Love and Reason. (Kohn notes he learned the mantra from feminist and philosopher Nel Noddings.

Create auspicious cycles, not vicious ones

In those first moments of a child’s apparent misbehavior, Kohn say parents should refrain from catastrophizing, labeling or overreacting. For at first, “we usually don’t know for sure why a child acted the way he did.” Reasons beyond just “badness” may be at play. These could include immaturity, a lack of skill or an innocent desire to explore.

Another reason to attribute the best possible motive: parents’ beliefs about the child can create a self-fulfilling prophecy. As Kohn writes, “Children construct a theory about their own motives based in part on our assumptions about their motives, and then they act accordingly: ‘You think I’m just plain bad and need to be controlled all the time? Fine. Watch me act as though you’re right.’”

Rather than the vicious cycle of bad behavior that labels can foster, Kohn says assuming your child’s best motives from a young age can develop an “auspicious cycle” of moral development. He adds: “We can help kids to develop good values by treating them as though they were already motivated by those values. They thereby come to believe what’s best about themselves and live up to our trust in them.”

Because I’m a former English professor, Kohn’s parenting mantra reminded me of a similar formulation from the world of poetry.

‘First thought, best self’ parenting

The Beat Generation’s Allen Ginsberg believed in the poetic phrase “first thought, best thought.” For Ginsberg, the first thought humans have about a subject is usually the most truthful, authentic perception. His poetic philosophy championed spontaneous, uncensored lines as a way to describe reality most purely.

Granted, parenting is much different than writing poetry. And many parents’ first thoughts probably should be censored for the sake of our children. But a related, more fruitful revision of Ginsberg’s formulation for parents might be “first thought, best self.”

“First thought, best self” parenting would practice what Kohn preaches about always assuming a child’s best motives. It would also foster the growth of a child’s “best self” by fueling the “auspicious” cycle of self-esteem. In the process, we would be parenting with our “best selves” as well.

Of course, “first thought, best self” parenting is easier said than done. It is very challenging to slow our instincts, revise our assumptions and shift a mindset. But what if the facts do not end up being consistent with a child’s healthy motives? Then the misbehavior must be addressed.

But that initial moment of a parent’s reaction to children’s behavior is very important to their future morality and self-esteem. Just as we reassured children they were physically “OK” when they were little, as they grow we should also reassure them they are morally “OK.”

A final benefit of assuming a child’s best motives when they seemingly misbehave: as they grow older, they learn to attribute the same good motives to the people in their lives. For example, when their friends or even parents do things they don’t like, agree with or understand, they learn to consider possible reasons for such behavior rather than assume the worst before more facts are known. Our modeling can nudge children toward fairmindedness that fuel even more auspicious cycles. Ideally, we can help children learn to make their first thought with their best self.

Photo: © Miljan Živković /Adobe Stock.

“I want to apologize for my generation and the world we have created for you.”

A mentor of one of my teen daughters made this statement a few years back. When my daughter first told me about it I understood his mindset. His apology was well-intended. It had been an especially crazy media week featuring stories of environmental disaster, civil strife and political rancor.

But then I thought again: No! Don’t model such pessimism for the next generation! That just makes us part of the problem. If adults can’t envision a better future, how can we expect children to have hope?

Finally, a larger question emerged: How did we get to this defeatist point?

Neverending news cycle wears us down

No doubt one culprit is the media saturation many of us have allowed our families to experience. On the national level, the onslaught of the 24/7 news cycle is hard to tame. On the personal level, the onslaught of social media, texts, e-mails, snaps, posts, tweets, etc. is also hard to tether — especially for teens. In a sense, many of us are becoming human media outlets stuck in a forever “breaking” news cycle of our own lives. Even new brain metaphors like “my mind doesn’t have the bandwidth for that” and “my mental batteries need recharging” show the technological seepage.

The result? We end up living way too much in the present, with no time for reflecting on the past or envisioning the future. Hence the anxiety of my daughter’s well-intentioned mentor.

So what can today’s parents do? I discovered some answers in Madeline Levine’s recent book, Ready or Not: Preparing Our Kids to Thrive in an Uncertain and Rapidly Changing World.

Levine notes “it is the velocity of change that we find truly head-spinning” in today’s media-dominated culture. Consequently, anxiety “is now the number one mental health disorder for both adults and children.”

“Old” solutions to the media saturation problem

For Levine, one road to a better, less anxious future for children leads to the past. “For most kids, having something resembling an old-fashioned childhood — playing outside, meeting challenges without constant parental interference, being bored, having chores, taking some risks — is far more likely to build the kinds of competencies kids have always needed and that will be particularly important in the future,” she writes.

Another way of thinking about such “old-fashioned” remedies for media saturation is to divide them into body and mind strategies. Physically, parents can try to foster more non-tech, slowed-down family time. These strategies include:

• age-appropriate chores
• projects
• volunteering
• nature walks
• arts and sports.

Granted, technology has many beneficial uses at home. However, children need boundaries. Boundaries help their physical development beyond looking at screens.

Psychologically, Levine recommends parents revisit a tool from the past.

“While it may sound profoundly old-fashioned, never underestimate teaching your kids the value of a good attitude,” she writes. “That means teaching and appreciating optimism, empathy, gratitude, self-reflection, humility, and enthusiasm around challenges and diverse points of view.”

She calls for parents to model an optimistic “explanatory style,” or “the manner in which we habitually explain to ourselves why things happen and what they mean.”

In addition to expressing optimism, parents should provide context. This helps “reframe” media narratives for children to provide more balanced perspectives. For example, in our house we have talked about the eventual endings of the 1918 flu pandemic and the 1960s nuclear gamesmanship as ways to cope with recent scary headlines. Reflecting on historical traumas that eventually passed helps lessen everyone’s anxiety about the present and future.

The “new” power of increasingly involved fathers

Late in her book, Levine models optimism for the future by noting the positive impacts of increasingly involved fathers. The continued redefinition and expansion of modern fatherhood — whether working or at-home — bodes well for all families.

“In a popular quip, the scientist Alan Kay said, ‘The best way to predict the future is to invent it,’” Levine notes. This quote reminded me of years ago when I attended the Annual At-Home Dads Convention, which I highly recommend. At the conference, one of the presenters joked that full-time at-home dads are like “fathers from the future.”

It’s ironic that Levine offers some old-fashioned advice to “future-proof” today’s families. But in a statement that contrasts with my daughter’s well-meaning mentor, she practices the “good attitude” she preaches.

“We want our children to run toward adulthood eagerly, not cringe from it or burrow down in our spare room for years,” Levine writes. “We want to reassure them that, even in our unpredictable era, there’s always a way forward to a fulfilling life.”

In other words, “the future isn’t a tide that’s going to crush us, it’s a wave we’re a part of.” Don’t let media saturation make your family forget that.

Media saturation photo: ©photoschmidt/ Adobe Stock.

John Madden. Betty White. Bob Saget. The somber news of celebrity deaths has been relentless over the past few months. Against the backdrop of the ongoing pandemic, each name seems to hit harder than the previous.

Then came Sidney Poitier, the celebrated Bahamian-American actor. His death struck me the hardest.

Poitier was one of my late mother’s favorite actors. More importantly, his The Measure of a Man: A Spiritual Autobiography was the last book my mother recommended to me, via her landline phone, before her own death five years ago.

A lifelong reader, my mother lost her ability to read books in her 80s due to macular degeneration. But she moved on to audio books, and she encouraged me to listen to Poitier’s famous voice narrate his life story. I’m glad I listened to her and Poitier.

Early in the narration, Poitier reveals he was so frail as a newborn that his hardened, impoverished father obtained a shoebox that could function as a casket if necessary. Fortunately, Poitier gradually grew, and his mother ordered his father to throw the shoebox away. By the end of the book, Poitier builds to a grand, sobering-yet-also-inspiring statement: “The only thing we know for sure is that in another eight billion years it will all be over. Our sun will have spent itself … but you can’t live focused on that. … So what we do is we stay within the context of what’s practical … what values can send us to bed comfortably and make us courageous enough to face our end with character.”

Listening to that conclusion made me re-appreciate why Poitier became a celebrated actor.

Personal celebrities deserve re-appreciation, too

After reflecting on Poitier’s impact and death, I decided to reconnect with one of my own long-forgotten though still-inspiring personal “celebrities.” My 10^th grade English teacher, Rich, was the first teacher to expose me to mind-expanding novels like Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 and Richard Wright’s Native Son. His class also featured a writing contest that I happened to win. I have viewed myself as a writer ever since.

When I called the number I had for Rich from years ago, things did not start well. He thought I was a telemarketer because I reached his landline rather than his cell (Rich is in his 70s). But after he realized it was me, we launched into a wonderful conversation about the old days and the new days. As our conversation ended, I considered how fitting it is that he still has a landline. Symbolically, people like your favorite high school teacher still have landlines to your heart. They are the forgotten celebrities. They had an outsized, larger-than-life impact on your actual past, not just your virtual, TV-viewing past.

Re-appreciating Rich inspired me to try to reconnect with some of my children’s forgotten celebrities — e.g., the gymnastics teacher who taught them life lessons and the volunteer coordinator who treated them with dignity. In the process, the family value of gratitude has been modeled and reinforced.

A final reason to re-appreciate your family’s personal celebrities sooner rather than later is simple. As celebrity deaths teach us, it is easy to forget the impact they had on us. Thanking them again before it’s too late helps us practice the values that, in Poitier’s words, “can send us to bed comfortably and make us courageous enough to face our end with character.”

Photo: © Konstantin Yuganov / Adobe Stock.

I have a hate/love relationship with holiday decorating. While I often hate the cold process of retrieving the garland, tinsel and all those other items from the bowels of our family’s basement, I usually love the warm finished product: a house ready for the holidays.

This year, however, my “basement dive” was brightened by an object I came across for the first time in many years. I found a plastic black top hat like the one worn by Frosty the Snowman. In that moment, a series of memories sped through my mind like a magician’s interconnected handkerchiefs.

The hat had been part of a “build a snowman” set given to our family by a friend when my two daughters were tweens. The set included black buttons for a face and rounded sticks for arms. My youngest, Lindsay, especially loved the idea of making snowmen in our yard. That gift led to many snow families appearing in our yard during the next several winters — all punctuated by Lindsay’s sheer joy as she would pose next to them for pictures.

“This hat belongs in the Hall of Fame,” I thought to myself. That’s my phrase for a special section of my basement containing various items from my children’s early childhood — e.g., princess shoes, art projects, and crayon diaries, among others.

As I made my way across the basement, I also thought about a prized possession from when I was a tween. I grew up a baseball fanatic, and at that age I played for a team called the Falls Greenhouse Yankees. Our family vacation that year was to a place I considered sacred: the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y.

I remember enjoying all the exhibits about my baseball heroes, but my most significant memory is when my usually frugal father agreed to splurge for a souvenir. My choice? A miniature baseball bat complete with the logos for a Louisville Slugger and the Baseball Hall of Fame. It’s even made of real wood. That souvenir has been prominently placed in every home I’ve lived in since childhood. I guess you could say the bat from an actual Hall of Fame is now part of my personal Hall of Fame.

Hard to predict what will become treasured heirlooms

What I’ve learned from the black hat and mini-bat is that you never know what objects from a child’s life will become magical, memory-laden family heirlooms years later. So I always encourage parents to hang on to some “special” family objects for a while, though many will not make the final cut for a variety of reasons.

The family objects that survive, however, often become like props from famous movies that thrill collectors with their ability to conjure up full-bodied memories of individual scenes. The scenes symbolized by family heirlooms are from the home movies we play in our minds when we remember the past. In the spirit of the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie books, you might say if you give a parent an heirloom, he or she can’t resist remembering all the warm associations it evokes.

Another reason to save a few of the objects from your children’s early years is to create more opportunities for intergenerational bonding in the distant future. As we know, we live in a high-tech, highly disposable culture that has moved many childhood experiences into the virtual realm. One result has been a decrease in outdoor, low-tech, hands-on childhood activities like playing baseball and building snowmen.

The black hat and mini-bat in my basement, however, have built a bridge between the childhoods of my daughters and me. Their snowmen melted several years ago, and my baseball games ended several decades ago. But the magical remnants are still here for us to savor together.