Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one on teaching generosity to your child comes from 2017.

You don’t have to look too far to see a world where people are selfish and lack the socialization to show concern for others. People often put themselves before community interests. It’s disappointing, to say the least, especially since we spend whole chunks of our kids’ childhood trying to give them the opposite values by teaching generosity, kindness and humility.

Preschool and early elementary school are — as author Jerisha Parker Gordon notes in The New York Times about the flip side of teaching her daughter to always be nice — obsessed with sharing, taking turns and learning cooperation. Yet, it’s a skill set in very short supply among adults. What are we to do?

For young kids, this contradiction can be confusing. Not only in the way that the grown-up world actually operates but also in their own social world. There, we teach kids to sometimes sacrifice their own justified preferences and independence for the sake of the group, however, how often do the adults they see and hear do the same? Neither approach is — strictly speaking — correct. It’s not always about the group and it’s not always about the individual. Our culture is filled with the push-pull of that duality on a daily basis.

I’ve noticed lately that I’m extremely proud of my kids when they stand up for themselves. It’s a function of multiple inputs: the rise of helicopter parenting that we’re working against, my own sheepish personality tendencies, and our constant encouragement to socialize. When they step up and assert their own dominance in an appropriate situation, it sends a chill of happiness down my spine because it means we’re raising well-rounded, aware kids.

Generosity lessons vs. life lessons

The dynamic is different for each of my children, though. 

For my son, as a “stereotypical” little boy, it’s often working against a physically active mentality where simply asking him to keep his body and mouth calm and quiet is a major task. Slowing him down to show empathy or let others go first is a major accomplishment.

For my daughter, her struggles to be generous in spirit often come from having her desires thwarted or a lack of inclusion hurting her feelings. As frustrating as it sometimes gets, her ability to speak up for herself is something I don’t want to go away. When someone cuts in line in front of her, she’s completely right to tell them it was her turn first. The trick is getting her to channel this when maybe it’s not so clear-cut that she’s justified.

I suppose, in the big picture, it’s better to create overly generous kids given what we’re working against as a society. But no matter what kind of generosity we hope they take everywhere with them, being equipped for the nasties out there is our duty as parents as well. The ungenerous can neither get them down nor become their obsession. Find like-minded people, lead by example, and ignore the haters. That’s a difficult lesson to learn in the tiny world of school and friends where we wish to be liked by all and win over even the harshest critic.

Generosity coupled with independence is a hard lesson for most adults. I always joke, politically, that people need to go back to kindergarten and learn the basic concepts. At the other end, we have kindergarten students who are working on sharing and equality just fine — but many of these kids need a dose of confidence and skills for working through their complicated feelings about socialization.

The best way we can show them how to navigate the waters is to do it ourselves. Our kids are constantly watching us for examples. Let’s be the kind-but-firm people they need.

A version of Teaching Generosity first appeared on Newfangled Dad. Photo: © oksix/ Adobe Stock.

Broadly speaking, it’s good we teach kids a few basics of safety. Not every parent is equipped to responsibly handle potentially dangerous situations. So we create very general guidelines that apply to most. That’s cool.

And kids should be learning about things like unwanted touches from others. Though there was a discussion at the preschool drop-off about getting everybody onboard with using the same body part names as used in the school lessons. But we all handle these things a little differently.

However, when the school sent home the “Never-Never Rules” that they’ll be studying soon I cringed a bit. Here they are:

• Never ride on wheels without wearing a helmet.
• Never cross the street without checking all ways for traffic.
• Never play with fire.
• Never touch a dog without asking the person in charge.
• Never use a sharp tool without an older person’s help.
• Never touch guns.
• Never ride in a car without wearing a seat belt.
• Never go in water without an older person watching.

As I cycling advocate, I object to the first item on this list of rules being “wear a helmet.” Really?! You’re going to put something as innocent and mundane as bicycle riding on the same list as “never touch guns?” OK. Fine. As a person hoping to eventually improve our bike culture to the point where we no longer need helmets (a la the Dutch), I get the need to balance the immediate risks with sending a larger advocacy message that biking should be fun and so safe that no helmet is necessary.

I could make the same argument for a number of items on this list though. Parents teaching their kids to use tools responsibly. Outdoor education that involves learning to properly start and put out a campfire. The exceptions are obvious. Yes, there are even some folks out there teaching their young kids to responsibly handle a gun.

For most families, we’d probably rather have the Never-Never Rules drilled into our children’s heads and give them with the freedom to “unlearn” them than allow unsuspecting kids to stumble into injury or death. But I can’t help but look at the Never-Never List and wonder when childhood got so … milquetoast.

Would I let my kids ride in a car without a seat belt? No. I won’t even let my kids cross the street by themselves because we live in an urban area. However, I’m not sure that riding around on the sidewalk in front of our house on a scooter belongs on a list of otherwise potentially deadly actions.

A version of this first appeared on Newfangled Dad. Photo by Whit Honea.

We’re standing in a house somewhere in Minnesota. It has two more bedrooms than our condo in the Chicago area. It has an extra bathroom (and a half), a yard with a built-in barbecue, basketball hoop, two-car garage and property taxes so laughably low that it’s hard to believe this all comes for about the same price as where we live now.

My third- and first-graders are running around claiming bedrooms for themselves and, for a brief second, it’s hard to think of any of the reasons keeping us where we are in suburban Illinois. A casual curiosity to see what we could get on budget during a long weekend getaway visiting family has turned into a serious examination of our lifestyle and how we want to live in the future.

From the moment my oldest was born, we’ve known our 100-year-old apartment couldn’t be home forever. Four people, a dog and a frog can only live in a tiny two-bedroom space in one of the most expensive areas of the United States for so long. Yes, we love the community and take pride in its history, diversity, values and activism but it has slowly become something we’re less sure about.

Our village has fallen short in several ways that leave us wondering if this is a pattern to expect going forward. We’ve not given up on it completely, but we occasionally browse the local real estate ads hoping to find the rare, affordable three-bedroom home. Maybe it’s partly because we can then tell ourselves that we tried to find another home here. Maybe it’s to make it easier to tell our friends that we’re not moving away and never looking back.

Having the hard conversation about moving

Over the past few months, our family has had a few of those “car conversations” that parents know too well where a deep, complicated topic comes up on the way to somewhere and you find yourself sitting in a parking lot talking about it because now seems like as good a time as any. We’ve tried to begin the mental preparations of asking our kids to leave the only home they’ve ever known. It’s especially hard on my son who never wants to go anywhere or do anything. My daughter, on the other hand, told me after we returned home from our Minnesota trip that she wants a porch swing — something impossible in our current circumstances.

My daughter was in a unique Spanish immersion program for kindergarten that has a waitlist. My son has a laundry list of ethnic food establishments that cater to his finicky tastes. We can have Indian on Tuesday, authentic tacos on Wednesday, Thai on Friday, and gourmet pasta at a kids-eat-free place on Mondays. We can walk to multiple transit stations, the local food co-op, and the free weekly festival just a few blocks up our street.

But the world is a big place. How do you teach a child that there is both positive and negative in the comfortable and familiar? How do you, as an adult, weigh your love of wide-open, natural spaces with a love of busy, compact city life?

And, in an especially tricky conversation in the Trump Era: how to factor in the political consequences? How do you raise children to be multicultural and global citizens in a red state? What does raising a feminist daughter look like away from an urban area where she may not see the same examples of equality? What if the population where you want to go is mostly white? Is being close to extended family really important? If moving to a new location involves the purchase of a second car, how do you create the spreadsheet of pros/cons to figure all of this out? There are finances and existential questions.

And then comes the ever-present, comforting weight of staying exactly where you are.

Leaving offers exploration and discovery

So far, our tactic has been to emphasize moving as exploration and discovery. There are billions of people in the world, thousands of cities, hundreds of countries: why not try to encounter some of them? Yes, the job market has to be OK and we’d probably appreciate less harsh winters or a less flat landscape than Minnesota offers. But, ultimately, the people who keep saying the same thing to us over and over and over again are probably right: moving is not going to get easier when they’re older. Indeed, the longer we stay, the more enmeshed we are. If we’ve ever had visions of living abroad or in the mountains or on a beach then the time is probably now.

Even if that means saying goodbye to our local custard shop. We’ll probably find another and have new memories of stepping up to a new window and ordering our new “usual.”

As a dad, it’s tough for me to imagine finding a new group of fathers to hang out with, a new group of cyclists to ride with, a new group of people so active in a different community. But the internet helps. For as much as we like to bash the way social media and screens affect our lives, I know that 2018 promises many more connective opportunities than in the past no matter where we go. Whether it’s finding an expat network abroad or a group of trail runners who like to hit the woods on weekends, I can’t imagine how difficult, isolating and daunting a move would have been pre-internet. People did it, but now you can have a reply within 10 minutes to a “hey we’re new please meet us at the playground” post.

I’m thankful to belong to a group like City Dads. We’re in, what, 30 cities now? If I need to find a good beer almost anywhere in the nation, there’s a waiting network of friendly guys online or in real life who can help our family navigate new waters. And City Dads Group is one of many such organizations. We’re blessed to live in an era where finding people with common interests and common experiences is … common. Maybe I’ll see some of you soon.

Moving photo: Jason Lander on Foter.com / CC BY

My hometown in Ohio had what I thought was a heartwarming story a while back about preschoolers who were upset with fracking in the state’s only national forest. So they sent drawings to officials involved in the process to be included in the public record. (A chilling testimony for the future, if you ask me.) It was a great piece on young minds caring about the world.

Then I read the comments.

I wasn’t surprised that many people leaving messages blamed the parents for brainwashing. Or worse. They painted the preschoolers in the story as innocents who could not possibly understand the complicated economics of natural gas extraction. To the internet, these idealistic kids were being used by adults for political purposes. It never occurred to these cynics that a 5-year-old could have their own moral compass or their own ideas.

I’d seen the same thing during a campaign to pass our local school referenda. When students organized to march and hold a rally asking voters to protect their favorite classes and teachers, their profound experiences were denied by some in the community who saw them as grownup tools to tug on heartstrings. It wasn’t children protesting what they saw as injustice and talking about how their lives had been impacted by the arts — it was interpreted by some as a cheap emotional gimmick.

In recent weeks, we’ve seen these same kinds of charges leveled against students calling for tougher gun control laws in the wake of the Feb. 14 mass killing that ended 17 lives at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla. Some will throw more shade at these children Wednesday when tens of thousands of students are expected to participate in the National School Walkout, a movement organizer Women’s March Youth EMPOWER says is “to protest Congress’ inaction to do more than tweet thoughts and prayers in response to the gun violence plaguing our schools and neighborhoods.”

I’m here to tell you that children have agency.

We reduce children all the time. Our society sees them as needing protection, too naive to make decisions, too removed from the real world to understand. We often deny them the truth — sexual, ethical, or negative — when really it’s a lie we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel good. If we just wait to expose them to the “real world,” we can preserve their … dignity? Prevent the deep cynicism we suffer?

Children protesting means they are questioning norms

My daughter is a fierce opponent of litter. I have no clue why. I didn’t tell her to constantly pick up garbage around the neighborhood, her school, at the park. She’s gotten a message or two about protecting the environment, cleaning up after herself, and being kind to animals and people. Litter, however, stirs in her a level of anger that I myself don’t quite understand. Just yesterday as we were walking from the car to her gymnastics class she picked up two pieces of trash along the road. I’ve come to accept that she cares and praise her for it. She has an opinion about it I’ll never shake. It’s positive. It does the world good. We adults forget sometimes.

One of my favorite answers to my kids’ questions these days has become “that’s another complicated thing the grownups are arguing about.” I no longer sugarcoat tough topics as above their heads. I do my best to try to present both sides to them — fairly — and then ask them what they think.

Actually, it becomes an exercise in trying to explain why the adults are debating. Because, often, they’ll see the obvious answer and need a fuller articulation of why anybody would ever take the other side. Like fracking. A 5- and 6-year-old probably do need some help understanding why an adult would want to pollute and spend the effort taking out of the ground a fuel that is dying as an industry yet somehow remains so important to our society. Why isn’t everything solar? Why do our cars still run on dirty gasoline?

Because here’s the real issue … when we answer kids’ questions honestly, you realize the hoops adults must jump through mentally to arrive at the present circumstances. That’s not necessarily an attack on adults. We all are blinded by our years of adjusting to culture, politics and history. We can’t remember what it was like to look at a problem completely fresh and not be bitter and jaded about the whole thing.

Adults, please quit treating children — especially older children — like they’re not capable of making up their own minds. Quit treating them like they can’t handle the world. Maybe it’s you who can’t handle the world. Maybe you’re afraid of the how much the world has beaten you down. But don’t put that on them. Children deserve the opportunity to see the world for the first time and come to their own conclusions about it. They’re not always being manipulated or foolish. Sometimes they know better than you.

A version of “Children Protesting” first appeared on Newfangled Dad.

A mom at preschool was admiring my daughter’s short hair the other day. She complimented the adorable style and turned to her own preschooler — a girl with shoulder-length hair — to encourage her to get the same cut.

“It’s so cute and so easy and comfortable,” the mom said. “Don’t you want to cut your hair into a pixie cut like that?” Her daughter resisted a bit.

“Yes, it is all that,” I told her. “But are you prepared for it?”

I think I genuinely shocked them with my brief warning.

My daughter wanted short hair. We were encouraging and the kids’ salon we use has a stylist who does an amazing job complete with berry-scented glitter and free hair clips as we leave. My little girl feels great about herself and proud of how she looks, all sparkles and shine.

This is the same little girl who frequently refers to herself as a “he” in the third person and wears boyish hand-me-downs from her older brother. You may find her playing with trucks or digging in the dirt with bugs crawling on her. But she usually can be found dressed in pinks and purples, watching a princess story or playing with ponies. She’s comfortable in her skin and being herself.

So this is more about me. Because I’ve asked my daughter how it makes her feel when people in public assume she’s a little boy.

“I don’t care,” she said.

“It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“No, I like my haircut,” she said. Even while day-after-day the grocery checkout lady, the waitress, the stranger at the playground looks at a 4-year-old with short hair and assumes things.

Sometimes we let it go. Especially with her older brother along, the concept of brother-sister comes up quickly. Or, when we’re ordering food, a simple “she’s going to have the chicken fingers” leads to a realization that the speaker has made the wrong guess. Some people are rightfully embarrassed and say so.

No real harm.

My older, wiser, more experienced brain understands the deeper implications, though. You’ve outwardly judged a tiny 4-year-old person based on exterior features. When in doubt, you defaulted to a list of easy, deeply held cultural assumptions about the way female beauty and personhood work. My daughter isn’t old enough to comprehend the full insult of how you’ve reduced her experience as a young woman to the way she comes off to strangers as feminine.

The real shock to the mom who complimented my daughter is that we’d all love to think those old, backward attitudes no longer exist. We’re more enlightened. We live in a progressive community. Many times these are women who are making the error. We never realize how deeply formed these biases, stereotypes, and attitudes are until such a simple, simple mistake happens. Hopefully, it’s a mistake that makes us question why we’re making any snap judgment about someone’s gender, race, etc. We’ve come to rely on shorthand, but when that shorthand fails us it’s a powerful lesson in politely asking if one is unsure rather than stepping on toes.

My daughter’s (yes, adorable) pixie cut isn’t going to end our deeply held cultural discrimination. But encounter after encounter does make me realize how hard I’m going to have to work as a father to keep her comfortable in her own skin like she is right now. My job isn’t to protect her from all this … my job is to prepare her that, from here, it’s only going to get tougher.

A version of this first appeared on Newfangled Dad.

My youngest starts kindergarten this fall. It’s the end of the Daddy Era and there has been some pushback.

I began to dip my toes in the job market earlier this year. It’s more of a casual browsing and applying for positions that interest me. Yet, the refrain from my kids is still: “No, we don’t want you to work!”

As luck would have it, I found a part-time gig. I work a few days a week at a local nonprofit that manages the historic preservation of a few of Chicago’s architectural treasures. It lets me collect a paycheck without jumping into the deep end of the work pool. I get to educate the public, be involved in the daily operations and cover a number of duties because of the small size of the organization.

To be honest, the pay is far less than I would want if the job was full-time. It’s far less than I was making when I left my previous job, pre-children. That is, sadly, a fairly normal part of the 2017 job search environment. (I highly recommend the Slate piece called Why Can’t Americans Get a Raise? for more information.)

But returning to work after being a full-time caregiver for several years is difficult. How do you figure out what you would have been making if you hadn’t left the workforce. Where do you come back on the salary ladder? Do you assume raises over the five years you were missing? Do you seek the same pay rate you were getting previously? Do you count your parenting experience on your resume?

Frustrations in finding work to go back to

Let’s pretend being an at-home parent is a paid, full-time job. It would be fairly lucrative and full of high-level responsibilities if I worked for a business rather than our family. We just don’t get paid. Er, we are … but in cuddles?

One of the most frustrating things about the current job market is the lack of transparency from employers posting available jobs. There’s often a lengthy application process: registration through the organization’s website, importing attachments, creating a cover letter, listing skills, etc. And for what? A job you’re not sure you really want — especially when you don’t know how much it pays. Hardly anybody puts the pay upfront in the ad. It sets up some awkward conversations when the job turns out to be at half your salary requirement. You can’t really say, “This sounds like a great opportunity if you were paying twice as much.”

Many employers want employees who can work evenings and weekends, not take time off, not have other activities, etc. If you have a family, finding a position where you get some work-life balance and can figure out reasonable childcare options is nearly impossible.

Unfortunately, many jobs out there — at least in the Chicago area where I live — are low wage. If you’re willing to work part-time for under $15 an hour, the world is yours. Good luck if you’re raising a family and need a decent salary, benefits, and an employer who doesn’t expect 50 hours a week out of you because you’re involved with your kids’ activities, you volunteer or have hobbies, and you still have to cook dinner and pack lunches. Those dishes won’t wash themselves, you know.

The U.S. economy is a tricky thing now. On paper, it looks great. Unemployment is very low to the point where companies are begging for workers. On the other hand, wages are low and job conditions not conducive to the 21st century parenting lifestyle of swim lessons, parkour practice, and helping out a few hours a week at the local homeless shelter. Friends? Good luck.

The new “lost” generation

I guess I’m one of the “lost” people. Experts are spending much time and many resources trying to figure out where our generation went. I’m a prime, work-age male who was in the workforce … then I was suddenly gone. Obviously, not all of us decided to become stay-at-home fathers. But even with a college education (and, in my case, a year of graduate school), the jobs out there are lackluster. Many men are in the “gig” economy going from one freelance thing to the next. Hustle.

As the article I linked to mentions, a decline of unions is part of the cause. Unions were once a bulwark against not being paid what you’re worth. As unions have declined, it’s harder and harder for individuals to step up and ask for a high salary. We just raised the minimum wage to $10 an hour in Cook County — hardly worth getting out of bed. Your entire paycheck barely covers expenses and bills. I understand the frustration out there.

Meanwhile, it’s easier for companies to not hire. Or, rather, companies “under hire”– keeping people in low-pay, hourly, part-time work to fudge against the benefits and higher wages they’d need to pay for a full-time employee. Companies would rather not take a chance on training a good candidate who comes to them without all the necessary skills. They can, literally, scan hundreds of resumes waiting for the one person with the right experience who’ll take their low pay. It’s ugly and immoral. But it is reality.

It’s the same shell game played by businesses. They pay low wages to workers who then turn to government programs for aid (welfare, food stamps, etc.). Then we’re told they’re lazy and not working hard enough for being on government aid! Really it’s taxpayers floating money to make up the difference … propping up ailing businesses who would otherwise probably not exist if they had to pay employees what they’re actually worth.

I know I’ll probably not end up in some six-figure, 9-5 job. At least not in one that won’t force me to sell my soul to Satan himself. But I sure would appreciate something that would allow me to still spend most evenings and weekends with my family and allow me to contribute my half of the egalitarian-minded family budget. I’ll never quite catch my partner who has two graduate degrees and has spent 15 years with a globally known corporation.

Something that isn’t insulting, perhaps, though? If you’re hiring, let’s talk.

Photo: PublicDomainPictures.net

Our mother-daughter and father-son split Saturday morning was one of necessity. We had to solve for multiple events happening at the same time.

Mama and daughter were up early that day of the Women’s March, packing snacks and deciding what to wear. Mama had furiously knit three of the famous “pussyhats” out of pink yarn — for friends and for my daughter. She’s now making three more for friends as far away as England while my daughter continues proudly wearing hers to school all week.

As they left the house for the train station that morning, my son was putting on his Cub Scout uniform and I was trying to find the neckerchief slide that was not on its usual hanger.

My son’s Pinewood Derby car would win no trophies that day. But we had already spent, probably more time than was justified working on a block of wood with wheels for a 1^st grader. We’d gone to the Scout Store to have it cut because, frankly, I’m not the dad who has a lot of hand tools. We’d sat through a 45-minute presentation by a guy who’s been doing Pinewood Derby for 50 years to learn how to make his car speedy. This would not be that car. We would, however, go to the craft store and buy paint and weights. My son did the color and I did the horrible insertion of wheels. Confession: I had to keep them from falling off by screwing the weight over top of the axles.

As my son and I drove to our elementary school for the race, we saw groups of teen girls walking toward the train station ready with their hand-made signs for the march. Mama and daughter had picked up a “We The People” sign from the home of a local mom the night before to go with their “Defend Dignity” poster with the flower-in-her-hair woman.

We made final preparations when we arrived and turned in the Pinewood Derby car. It would run six heats before awards could be given. It was a long wait between each heat and during this time I felt guilty for not being out in the warm sun of a rare beautiful January day in Chicago. I felt guilty for not being there to support the women in my life, my morning Pinewood Derby wait punctuated by text messages that my 5-year-old daughter was disappointed that due to enormous crowd she may not get to march. My girl refused to leave, Mama wrote, until she got to walk holding her sign.

Women’s March affected more than moms

But then I saw all the moms at the Pinewood Derby supporting their sons. And I read social media posts from dads who were at the Women’s March supporting their wives, mothers, aunts and sisters. I’d have been there with a pink hat on if I could have, but my son needed me, too. I had to be there to say something when the look of disappointment came that his car was slower. To coach him on improvements for next year. To see him cheer so loudly for his friends — that made me proud of him the most. I wondered if the Pinewood Derby moms also would have rather been at the march.

The more I reflected on that family divide we’d made, I felt like maybe it reflected the reason for marching in the first place. Families get done what they need to get done and make the difficult decisions that have to be made. It happened to be that we’d split up, boys and girls going separate ways, but for other families the support took different forms. And that ability to figure out what works for your family and do it is the reason the women in my life, who I am so proud of, were doing what they were doing. Some families do not have the same opportunities and ability. That must end.

My favorite part of Saturday, Jan. 21, 2017, was coming home. We took turns hearing each others’ accounts of their day and everybody in the family listened. Excitement swelled in their voices when they thought of a new thing to remember. If there was ever a thing to defend, that’s it to me.

It’s hard to not view the presidency of Barack Obama through the lens of parenting.

For many Americans, President Obama has been like a father. Offering a positive example, as he did in his farewell address  in Chicago last night, encouraging us to better ourselves and our world, staying cool and calm when the weight of the world has been on his shoulders. For others, he was what inspired us to have children ourselves. Nine months after the celebration and joy of Grant Park in 2008, there was talk of the “Obama babies” who were being born as symbols of the new hope for the nation: diverse couples, immigrant stories, and embracing America’s future majority-minority demographics.

My own two children have never known a time when there was not a black president. While not themselves Obama babies, they certainly were born into and are products of the optimism of the Obama years. On Election Night in 2008, the economy was in turmoil and possibly headed for another Great Depression. The housing market collapsed. The stock market fell. The jobs market left millions out of work. And President Obama and Congress turned it all around to produce the longest period of consecutive job growth in U.S. history.

Millions didn’t have health care and now they do. You could be kicked out of the armed services for being gay then and now you can’t. LGBT Americans can now marry thanks to the Obama years. The crime rate hit its lowest level ever during the administration. We’ve largely not been at war. We have not suffered any 9/11-like acts of mass terrorism.  There have been no major American government scandals. We’ve seen peaceful relations restored to old enemies like Iran and Cuba. We’re more energy independent and have seen the growth of renewable energy. We’ve expanded our national parks. We’ve expanded the role of science. We’ve decided to go to Mars.

It’s been eight years of steady progress forward not only for the United States but for civilization, generally. Not everyone has seen prosperity and peace, for sure. But global violence and poverty is down.

And, of course, all this is under threat. Let’s not sugarcoat that. Perhaps the greatest success of the Obama years are that they existed at all. They’ve been unprecedented moments in American history where we’ve come closer than ever before to living the full set of ideals we have as a people.

Through it all, President Obama has been a true leader. A statesman. A humble, educated man who always keeps a positive vision no matter the mud thrown at him or the lowest instincts of the very people he’s trying to bring tooth-and-nail into the 21st century. Finally, he bought an intelligent, composed, role-model family to live in the White House.

More than anything, I want my kids to remember what their childhood was like under these conditions. I have no clue what the next administration may bring, but I do know that I’m proud to have had a president they could look to as an example of the highest, best version of humanity. If my kids turn out half as smart, half as dedicated to others, half as patient, half as enlightened as the President Obama, I will consider myself successful as a parent.

Nobody else is going to be Barack Obama. Let’s remember these good times in our minds and maybe one day we can replicate them again.

A version of this first appeared on Newfangled Dad.

If you want to see an improvement in your kids’ level of responsibility and behavior, you may want to get a dog.

That’s completely opposite the usual logic, right?

Most of the time, we question whether children have the level of maturity and intelligence to care, feed, train, etc. I get it. I was right there. We had some serious doubts about how my 4-year-old and nearly 6-year-old would handle us getting a 50-pound greyhound through a rescue group.

When my kids were babies, we had a greyhound — a white with red brindle older girl — who tolerated them as long as we kept them far away from her. It wasn’t mutual love by any means. But it was our family for a while until the dog passed away. In the meantime, we’ve enjoyed several dog-free years which I now think of as both free and empty. The ability to leave the house for long periods of time without a care isn’t necessarily a greater feeling than that of a wagging tail greeting you when you arrive home.

When you get a dog, it brings something to your lives. It makes something click. And I think my kids have figured that out without any kind of spoken conversation about it. You may get an “I love you” or catch them gently hugging their new friend. But, mostly, it’s a change in their habits.

Don’t get me wrong. My kids still fight and yell and have careless moments of forgetting their manners. But they’re learning quickly. Our new greyhound, Maggie, is teaching them things that we’ve tried but failed to get across. When we used to ask them to pick up toys it would fall on a deaf ear. When Maggie chews up a Lincoln Log because they didn’t pick it up as soon as they were done playing, it drives home an immediate point. You can’t take it out on the dog … the dog was just doing what it does. That becomes your problem — your failure — that you’ll remember to correct next time.

We were careful to select our new dog based on her reaction to the kids. Maggie doesn’t mind loud noises, extra smothering, hands all over her, or a gang of small voices all trying to talk to her at once. That’s important because no family should just run out and bring home any animal. Maggie is gregarious to the point of us being able to take her to a crowded concert in the park during the first week we’ve had her. She relaxed on a picnic blanket while families around us ate dinner and thumping music filled the air. This dog has been through a lot so she takes most things in stride. She’s been to Texas, Alabama, Florida, a kennel in Chicago, a foster home, and now us. I’m not entirely convinced she thinks she staying. But I also think she realizes she’s got it pretty good if she’s “stuck” here. So far, we’ve gotten quite a few contented sighs as she sleeps on the couch — things a truly nervous dog wouldn’t be doing.

These kids though! They feed her, they play with her, they go for long walks (the rule is they have to hold the leash, though), they snuggle her, they try to teach her a few tricks, they use quiet voices and keep food off the floor. They pick up their things and they’re careful to watch the dog to make sure she is safe and doesn’t get into trouble. It’s really quite amazing. They’re quite proud of her and are eager to tell anyone who’ll listen about it. Their favorite fact seems to be that Maggie will steal their shoes.

When Maggie’s foster family e-mailed to check on her recently, I replied that was I surprised at how mellow Maggie is. We’d been expecting a hyper, energetic 2-year-old but that’s only part of the truth. She definitely has a playful personality when she wants. Most of the time she’s easygoing and, frankly, a little aloof. My wife, at one point, even wondered aloud if she’s depressed.

I’d say that’s not the case given how clearly she enjoys a great many things around her. It’s more of a dog Zen. She’s the ultimate in family stability … things come and go and she remains steadfastly aware and taking it in but doesn’t react. She sleeps. She eats. She plays. She gives great kisses and begs for rubs. But mostly she just chills.

And the best part is it’s rubbing off on the kids.

A version of this first appeared on Newfangled Dad.

“Get a dog” photo credit: Let’s take a nap via photopin (license)

“Dad,” my son said as he looked at me from across the living room while I performed the daily ritual of going through his backpack after school. “I’m a little bit upset with you, Dad. Just a little.”

It was a very calculated tone to his voice. Determined. He’d contemplated things and ruled that whatever happened it was decidedly my responsibility.

“Oh, really?” I replied.

“You forgot to send my library book to school and it was book day.”

Never mind that just that morning we’d had a conversation before school about whether  he wanted to put the book in his bag — just in case.

(By the way, it’s a book about a fire truck in question here: I’m Brave by Kate and Jim McMullan. We highly recommend anything by the pair if you love picture books about vehicles with big personalities.)

“The librarian said we could keep it for TWO weeks,” he said.

“OK, if you’re sure,” I said. Apparently that was the moment of it becoming my problem. I should have insisted he take the book with him because we all know that insisting a 5-year-old do something he’s already said no to is the best parental policy around.

So I got a polite talking down about my failures as a father. How that’s OK because the teacher said we could bring the book to school tomorrow if we forgot.

I chose not to interject that “we” actually didn’t forget and that it was he who decided to leave the book at home. I took my medicine and promised to make sure he remembers his library book the next time he has one home.

But I definitely learned my lesson. Never trust a kindergartener to accurately repeat what his teacher said. He can’t tell time let alone the difference between one week and two.

And note to my dad friends out there: If your child says he’s “just a little mad at you,” be thankful. It’s better than the screaming, kicking tantrums of former times. Your kid has mastered anger management, and is displaying maturity in communication skills and articulating cause and effect plus appropriate levels of severity. It just doesn’t feel that way when it’s happening.

A version of this first appeared on Newfangled Dad.

Photo: Grrr! via photopin (license)