Tag: parenting

Father’s Day musings

From an early age, I wanted to have children someday. Yet at the same time, I wondered if I could be a good parent. When I was in grad school, I got to know a couple who seemed to be doing an exceptional job at parenting. One day, I asked the mom her secret. She said something like, “I don’t ever pretend to be anything but human.” She was honest with her kids about her ups and downs, her shortcomings.

That may be the best single piece of parenting advice I ever got, and I’ve tried to remember it. A veneer of perfection doesn’t work. Own mistakes. Apologize for them. Learn from them.

Along the way, I’ve developed some additional — correlating — strategies. I certainly don’t claim to be an expert, just someone who has taken an empathetic approach to the responsibilities of parenting.

Near the top of the list is: Affirm your children. There are opportunities to do so in matters big and small.

Don’t talk down to them. Offer honest, age-appropriate answers to their questions.

Spend time with them. This time needs to include reading to them beginning when they are infants.

Always make sure they know you love them.

Try to avoid being arbitrary. Strive for consistency. This isn’t always easy, but keep at it.

Also difficult but important: Teach them to do what’s right, because it’s the right thing to do, not to avoid punishment. Don’t teach just by talking. Be a role model.

Another thing that’s tricky is finding a balance between doing enough and not doing too much for them, being protective but not overly protective. Certainly, if there’s a danger, you step in and take charge. But there are also times when it may be best to give them room to take initiative. They need to feel accomplishment; they can learn from mistakes.

One-hundred-percent success in parenting is not guaranteed. It’s not even possible. When falling short on any of these goals, it’s a good idea to accept being human. Learn and carry on.

As I look back, I see my own failings as the toughest part of raising my children. It’s too easy to recall specific incidences in which I could’ve done a better job. Or maybe I couldn’t have, but I wish I had.

This feeling is easily mitigated, however, by looking — objectively — at the fantastic adults my children are today. And, notably, this includes their being great parents. I’ve said, often and recently, “I must’ve done something right.”

Further, an advantage of now being in the looking-back stage is that selective memory takes over. Memories of unpleasant aspects retreat to the background. Many good times — and overall joy — are what I remember most.

Embarrassment — a legacy?

A number of years ago, a local classic rock radio station advised, “Turn the volume up and sing along loudly. Embarrass your kids.”


It’s probably in the nature of the job for parents occasionally to do or say something that their offspring find embarrassing. Some may do so more often than others. Usually, it is unintentional. Sometimes the purpose may not be to embarrass the son or daughter, but there’s no thought given to avoiding the embarrassment. I’ve been on both sides of this, as you likely have also.

Sometimes the embarrassment is delayed.


There were two times etched in my memory in which I was laughed at — to the point of mild embarrassment — for doing something I had learned from my parents.
They fixed fried eggs sunny-side up. They cooked them in bacon grease. To get the top sufficiently done before the bottom overcooked, they used the frying pan spatula to splash the hot grease up on the egg. It was a rapid, continuing motion for a few moments.


I was using this method, as I always did, one morning at their house. A visiting member of the extended family observed and said bemusedly, “You’re going to beat that egg to death.” Now, aside from the fact that I was not touching the egg at all, I was blindsided by a critique of my following what seemed a perfectly good way to get my eggs just so.


When my father stirred sugar into his coffee or tea, he rapidly moved the spoon back and forth, making a not-unpleasant ringing sound as the spoon rhythmically hit the sides of the cup or glass. I adopted this same method, it never occurring to me to stir any other way. Until . . . .


Late in my college years, I was about to enjoy a glass of iced tea with a couple of other people. I put in some sugar and stirred as I always had. I had never noticed any reaction from anyone up to that point. This time, however, a peer smirked as he watched (and listened).


After those two incidences, I never again fried an egg or sweetened a beverage using those methods. There have been times when I’ve repeated something my parents said or did something I learned from them that caused me embarrassment, and I’d wished they’d set a different example. Yet, in these instances, I didn’t, and still don’t blame my parents, from whom I picked up the techniques, for my embarrassment in these situations. My resentment is reserved for those who chose to react as they did.