I need to stop playing in the jagged granules which have accumulated in my emotional crack. I have sand in my mind vagina if you will. The sages talk of gratitude and I try, but it seems corny to tell the universe I appreciate still having all of my fingers and toes. Still, there is one major thing I am grateful for and that is my kids.
They really are dope as fuck.
I say they are kids but my daughter is freshly 18 and my son is an Irish twins length behind her. I suppose all parents agree that no matter how old they get they are still your babies. Pretty soon my babies will be fleeing the nest and the prospect sucks. I did all I could to prepare them to be self assured and capable adults but the prospect of not having them around is heart wrenching. Hell, they are off for the weekend with friends and I am struggling with the quiet. Perhaps this is why I can’t sleep.
I love those little shits.
Most parents probably feel their kids are great, but f’real. My kids are cool. Old school cool. I don’t mean they are popular amongst their peers or have their fingers on the pulse of whatever is considered cool right now. Their cool emanates from the soul. They just want to chill and talk shit, laugh and engage in a fun way with whatever they are doing.
I don’t want to take credit, but I have heard that most of their friends call me “cool dad” because of my parenting style. This mostly comes out when their friends learn that they have never been grounded and I put no restrictions on them. What can I say, they never did anything that warranted punishment. I figured if my kids made a mistake it was my fault for not paying attention or not teaching them. I didn’t put the onus on them, and I remembered what it felt like to be punished. I hated it so why would I be the person forcing my kids into that feeling of hate?
I am the adult here. I can own my part and theirs.
I didn’t research how to be a father. When I became a dad it seemed pretty easy. I reflected on the shit I hated as a kid and decided I wasn’t going to do that. I also knew that kids don’t misbehave because they are bad and need punishments. Kids misbehave because they want attention or they haven’t been taught the appropriate behavior in the first place. I suppose once in a while a kid is born a complete psychopath but I think more are made by psychopath parents than are born into misbehavior.
I have had the whole argument about spanking with other parents. Nothing you can say is going to make me believe violence instils discipline or obedience. All I can say is people should think of it this way. If your kid was severely mentally handicapped, would you spank them for behaving in a way you didn’t like? My least favorite response is “I was spanked and I turned out alright.” Are you? How many meds are you on?
I think the PHD’s with no kids who write parenting books call it “gentle parenting”, but that’s not really it. I was by no means soft on my kids. They knew if they pushed too hard I was capable of breaking their necks and I got a lot accomplished with the look on my face and the occasional low, sharp bark of “knock it the fuck off”. Mostly though, I just talked to them and treated them like people.
I always saw them as individuals. I didn’t baby talk them or expect them to be anything but who they were. I set the foundation.
“You are a free person. Do whatever you want to do because it is your life, it is not my life. I don’t have to live with the consequences of your choices, you do.”
Then I would explain the consequences of the choices they were about to make. Of course I would make the positive choice look a lot more attractive than it probably was, and I exaggerated the negative outcomes of bad choices, but I still gave them the choice and I stuck to my guns. If they made the bad choice I didn’t intervene unless there was real danger or bodily harm as a consequence. Mainly because life tends to punish bad choices without me having to get involved. If they wanted to do something I would tell them to be careful and to watch out for one another.
It was all age appropriate stuff. I wasn’t allowing an infant to make choices, and even though I tried to avoid it at all costs there was some “because I said so”, but whenever I could I would explain myself and the situation. I gave them more credit than I think a lot of kids get and treated them like individuals and not just dumb kids.
They were aware that as a parent I have responsibilities and they had to conform to certain situations despite what they wanted. My daughter gives me shit about when they were little I would talk yell behind clenched teeth about how “this is not the playground” whenever they would get a little too silly in the store. If they went back to being silly I didn’t threaten or beat them. I let them be silly in the store because it isn’t a big deal.
I let my kids be kids and didn’t give a fuck if some stranger was inconvenienced.
Still, they learned early on that life isn’t fair, but not because I was making it unfair due to running out of patience. Some might say they were spoiled but things weren’t just handed to them. Bad behavior wasn’t ignored, it simply wasn’t ever anything I though needed a harsh remedy. Violence and punishment are a reactive strategy and I was trying to be as proactive as possible. I gave them as much autonomy and freedom as I could at every stage. I was involved and tried to give them information in chunks they could understand and apply. I let them test the world without fear and with the assurance that I would be there to catch them if they fell. I also apologized whenever I lost my temper or made a mistake.
I treated them like free people.
I gave them 4 rules. Rule 1 is different for both. For my daughter, Rule 1 is: Boys are gross. This isn’t a statement about how boys are bad. You can like boys all you want, but you need to understand they are gross. Some are fucking mad gross to the point of being a danger to society, and some are only a little gross. In the end we are all gross, even me.
Rule 1 for the boy is: Girls are complicated. Again, not a statement of good or bad, just a reality. If you like girls you better be prepared to let your life get complicated. If you are a woman and are irritated by this rule, ask yourself if you were irritated by the boys are gross rule and come back to me.
The remaining rules are as follows:
Rule 2: Trust your dad. (helps that I made myself trustworthy)
Rule 3: Work hard.
Rule 4: Have fun.
Pretty easy to stay out of trouble if those are the rules.
They did great. By the time they were in high school they did their own laundry and could cook their own meals. They can manage money and do most of their own shopping. They know what it is they need to do and I don’t have to yell. They don’t do drugs or drink, they aren’t having sex (I think), and they aren’t out there vandalizing or stealing or avoiding me because I am a source of rules and punishment.
They are awesome kids who are fun to be around.
They aren’t in therapy, they aren’t on meds, they aren’t struggling to figure out who they are or what they want out of life. They aren’t under a bunch of pressure to act or be or achieve anything. They are loved for who they are however they are. They are truly loved unconditionally. No matter what, they have an ocean of love to swim in if they want it any time they want it.
Communication is key. I talked to them like people and we still talk like people. Yes I am their father but we also just banter, rant, joke, and talk like we are friends. It is because we are friends. It isn’t all we are, but I hate when people say you aren’t supposed to be friends with your kids. It’s like saying you aren’t supposed to be friends with your wife. I am not a monolith and neither are they. They are allowed to disagree with me. They are allowed to make fun of me. They are allowed to be themselves around me. I am still the boss, but they aren’t afraid of me. They respect me and there is a difference.
I wasn’t perfect, and my parenting style probably doesn’t work for all situations, but it worked out for me. It also put me in a position where I loathe listening to people lament how hard parenting is. That shit was easy. It was a lot of work, but I loved these people and they loved me back so the work wasn’t all that difficult to endure. I think people like to make things harder than the need to be. Perhaps there is some sort of feeling of accomplishment to overcoming struggle so they put obstacles in the path that simply don’t need to be there.
Like how are you going to lose your shit because your kid doesn’t want to put their shoes on?
Let them go barefoot. No one gives a shit but you.
I recognize I got lucky. I got to raise a daughter and a son. They both came out without any chronic medical or psychological conditions. Both are emotionally robust, intelligent, good looking people. I could have been faced with a lot more challenges, and I am grateful.
I am also completely terrified every moment of every day that something bad will happen to them, but I have to let it go. After all it is their life not mine.