Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Children as art
My father turned 100 today. I miss him though I'm not sure he knows it. I took him for granted when he was alive and I'm sorry about that. Towards the end of his life I began to question mine, and, I think inevitably, my mother and he took the blame for what I didn't like. During that period they were kind and generous enough (I hope it wasn't naivety) to gather up and give me all our correspondence that they had collected from when I went to summer camps. It was damning! When I complained that my camp councilor was bullying me, my mother told me my father had worked himself to the bone so I could enjoy a summer in the sun, and that if I didn't have anything nice to report, to make it up! I've told that story a hundred times to show how insensitive they were, but the truth is that sometimes I feel the same way about my own children. I seem so spoiled and so ungrateful for what I've had, so I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to my parents. They weren't all that bad. In fact, they were pretty darn good! They fed me and housed me and loved me. That's all we can or should expect...the rest is up to us.
But there is an art to rearing children, one that is undervalued and to my mind, poorly understood. When my children were young my parents told me that parenting was a matter of good instincts and that I didn't have them...that if I gave them my son and two daughters for just two years they could really do something with them. My wife had convinced me several years earlier that we should take parenting lessons, and after harumphing for an appropriated time I finally consented. We studied the theories of Haim Ginott and I was a thorough convert. I read all his books and more. I was completely convinced that we needed to learn how to be good parents, that it didn't just come naturally, and that my mother and father were a perfect example of that.
Now my children are grown, (and quite successful, thank you very much.) Today my father would have turned 100 and I'm not as sure as I was when he was alive and here to criticize. He certainly didn't do what Haim Ginott would have done, but today his three sons spent an hour on the phone together reminiscing. My father was an accountant but he really wanted to be a teacher. We hated him for trying to teach us and refused to listen, but in the end we really did. And though we've spent the better part of our adult lives trying to figure out how he screwed us up so badly, we're really not that bad. We all have good lives with our first wives and with good children and grandchildren who all love each other. So it's not about instinct or knowledge, it's about love and respect. My father was a good man who loved and respected us and that's the art of being a good parent.
Happy birthday Dad.
But there is an art to rearing children, one that is undervalued and to my mind, poorly understood. When my children were young my parents told me that parenting was a matter of good instincts and that I didn't have them...that if I gave them my son and two daughters for just two years they could really do something with them. My wife had convinced me several years earlier that we should take parenting lessons, and after harumphing for an appropriated time I finally consented. We studied the theories of Haim Ginott and I was a thorough convert. I read all his books and more. I was completely convinced that we needed to learn how to be good parents, that it didn't just come naturally, and that my mother and father were a perfect example of that.
Now my children are grown, (and quite successful, thank you very much.) Today my father would have turned 100 and I'm not as sure as I was when he was alive and here to criticize. He certainly didn't do what Haim Ginott would have done, but today his three sons spent an hour on the phone together reminiscing. My father was an accountant but he really wanted to be a teacher. We hated him for trying to teach us and refused to listen, but in the end we really did. And though we've spent the better part of our adult lives trying to figure out how he screwed us up so badly, we're really not that bad. We all have good lives with our first wives and with good children and grandchildren who all love each other. So it's not about instinct or knowledge, it's about love and respect. My father was a good man who loved and respected us and that's the art of being a good parent.
Happy birthday Dad.
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