Simplicity Parenting (35 page)

My friend Kathy mentioned that her nine-year-old son, Sam, was having some trouble at school. Casually she described a phone call from Sam’s teacher, but her voice betrayed more emotion than her words. Evidently Sam was questioning his teacher’s authority, making sarcastic comments out loud or under his breath, and rolling his eyes in response to things that she said. “That’s just not Sam,” Kathy said. Maybe not, I thought, at least not entirely, not yet. But it sounded very much like Eddie, Sam’s father.

A financial analyst by trade, Eddie’s passion is politics. He is one of the brightest, funniest men I know. But his wit is biting and acerbic, and he spares no verbal punches for some of the politicians in office. The target of Eddie’s most caustic and cynical comments was an American president whose term began the twenty-first century and extended for most of Sam’s life. It seemed to me quite understandable that Sam was having trouble respecting an authority figure in his own life, after years of hearing his dad call the president a variety of names (with
idiot
on the top of the list). Sam didn’t hear the reasoning or policies behind his dad’s opinions, but he did hear the derision. He didn’t understand party politics or campaign promises, but he picked right up on his dad’s cynicism and disrespect. Sam’s nine-year-old versions of the same things—sarcasm and disrespect—were not serving him well in the fourth grade, not in the least.

One aspect of talking less is realizing that what children mainly hear, in your wash of words, is the current of emotion running through them. And what they understand, more than the details, or any words we could possibly use, are our actions. When we speak of others with respect—whether it’s our mother, bus driver, the president, or the man at the checkout stand—no explanations or distinctions are necessary.

Do you love the times you live in? We project a general sense of optimism to children when we talk less (with them) about things they may
not understand and definitely have no power to affect. The details are often lost on them, but the way we move in the world determines their view. We may not be crazy about this or that politician, or the politics in our workplace, but as adults we know things change. We know we have the recourse of our actions and our vote.

When we talk less, we convey a sense of confidence and competence in the world, a world where people strive to be just. There’s less need to explain, expound, justify, clarify, or qualify—and our meaning is clearer—when we pay more attention (as children do) to the tone of our words and our actions. When I remind myself about “talking less,” I sometimes think of the character Atticus Finch in
To Kill a Mockingbird
. In the midst of a difficult, even scary situation, it was his calm and consistent manner more than his words that spoke to his children. Such security is priceless. It is a solid foundation. It helps a child through those dark nights when, in your ham costume, you can’t see clearly.

It points ahead to the promise of a better day.

True, Kind, Necessary

Most every wisdom tradition cautions for the wise use of words, acknowledging their tremendous power to inspire
and
to wound. This might be most obvious on the world stage, where the words of someone like Martin Luther King Jr., can echo through history, capturing an era and galvanizing change. But I see the power so much more commonly wielded in the family. Through the noise and bustle of daily life, a parent’s words can help shape the way a child sees the world, and, most important, sees themselves. In our era of spin and counterspin, when words are parsed and split, where news stands beside opinion and embraces blogs, meaning is often drowned out. Just as it’s hard to cherish a toy lost in the middle of a mountain of playthings, when we say less, our words mean more.

One of the best filters I know for talking less has been attributed to (among others) the nineteenth-century guru Sai Baba, Socrates, the Bible, Quakers, Rotarians, the poet Beth Day, the Sufis, and an early-twentieth-century Unitarian sermon. Known by various names, including the Threefold Filter, it forms the basis of “Right Speech,” one of the pillars of the Buddhist Eightfold Noble Path. You could probably find an echo of it in every religion and culture, and like most basic truths, it’s easier to remember than it is to put into practice. I find that this filter
works wonders for parents, wherever and whenever they remember to use it, in helping them speak less, and more consciously.

Before you say something, ask yourself these three questions: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?

True
. Gossip and hearsay will fail the first filter every time. This filter alone is worth its weight in gold. By asking ourselves if something is true before we say it, we also notice how often we pass off exaggeration, opinion, and supposition as truth. Imagine the “verbal load” of your home—all the words that swirl around, whether they come directly from family members or are brought in from outside. Now imagine a basket at the front door for the rejects, the words that can’t come in; in it are all of the unsubstantiated, nasty, hurtful, mean things that people say about one another. With the filter in place, is there more air, more quiet in the home? By filtering your own speech you lead by example, but you can use this as a guide for what you will listen to as well. “Hey Mom, did you hear about the Andersons, and what their mom did?” “No, but first, Kiki, is it true?” “I think so … Amy told me, and I think her dad is maybe their accountant or something like that, or at least he used to be, so he would probably know.” “No, darling, that doesn’t sound like truth to me. I don’t want to hear it.”

Kind
. Is it kind? If what you are about to say has passed the first filter—it is true—it must still pass a test of compassion: Is it kind? Some things that are true still do not need to be said, if doing so would be hurtful. Bullying wouldn’t exist if kids used this filter, but adults have to model and reinforce it first. If a bully’s most common weapons are put-downs—taunts or criticisms—parents sometimes engage in the same behavior—through words and body language—under the guise of instructing or motivating a child. Where I see parental overinvolvement, I very often see put-downs.

Sometimes in my work, whether in family therapy or in a school setting where there are bullying issues, I challenge parents to go on a three-week, self-imposed put-down diet. By being more conscious of the put-downs they use with their children—the judgments, the names, and the characterizations (“You always …” and “You are so …”)—they begin to see how “admonishing” and “challenging” can feel a lot like bullying. “Is it kind?” is a critical filter, and home is a wonderful place to put it into practice. What better place to set a standard of kindness to
others and to one another? When we have to instruct our children, as parents, it helps to remember that even difficult truths can be said with kindness. Is it kind?

Necessary
. I think of this as the verbal “clutter” filter. Is what I am about to say necessary? Is this now my sixth pass at an explanation, and my kids stopped listening during my third? I don’t take
necessary
to mean that everything we say has to be instructive, or have some larger educational or inspirational purpose. Instead, I take
necessary
to mean “more important than silence.” What enables us to read a word is the white space all around it, and without some intervening quiet we couldn’t hear a thing. Silence is important, especially in a noisy family in a noisy world. And noise is self-perpetuating, so if your kids grow accustomed to a “noisy norm” they will always try to create and maintain that level of clamor. There, I’ve scared you. Let’s agree to the obvious: that silence is important, wherever and whenever we can find it. Given the importance of silence, the clutter filter, “Is what I am going to say necessary?” should clear the air in your home even further.

“Is it necessary?” will be most helpful in guiding your own speech. As your kids begin to notice that you are saying less, they will listen more. But it is tough to use this one as a filter for what you will listen to from your kids. Necessary? “Dad, I was thinking about space travel and I realized that jet packs might work even better on your shoes than on your back.” “Mom! Quick! There’s a ladybug in the bathroom and it’s the same one I saw when I was five! It is in the
exact
same spot, only now I can’t remember its name!” Necessary? Yes, actually, these probably are “necessary.” “Please, please Dad, can I have it?” “Mitch, I said no. You’ve already asked me twice; a third time is unnecessary.”

This three-part filter is beautiful in its simplicity. I sometimes jot down the words
—true.kind.necessary—
on my calendar or notebooks, just so I can carry them through the day. Like everything worthwhile, it takes practice to consciously erect these filters somewhere between our minds and our mouths. Luckily, as parents, we have many opportunities a day, every day, to practice.

Backing Off—Work Together

Here’s another “mathematical equation” I’ve noticed in the parent-child dance of involvement. Very often, in two-parent households, when one parent is overinvolved in their child’s life, the other parent is underinvolved.
I need to reiterate that this isn’t always the case. Sometimes both parents are equally overinvolved. Like a shared hobby, they both insert themselves into every aspect of their child’s life.

However, from what I have seen working with families for the past twenty years, the scale of involvement is often tipped toward mothers. Hyperparenting dads tend to be more achievement focused, overly involved in their child’s academics or athletics, or both. More often however, it is the mother who is overinvolved, and her concerns for her child are often generalized, perhaps orbiting more around issues of social adjustment. Worry often overshadows joy, as was the case for Annmarie, when a couple’s involvement with the tasks and concerns of child rearing becomes increasingly imbalanced.

What might Annmarie’s husband say about his experience of fatherhood? The word I often hear from dads is
calm
. A sense of calm is what they strive to provide to the joint task of child rearing. Stepping back, being “laid-back,” trying to “take the long view;” these expressions come up frequently as men explain what they perceive to be their role in the parenting dynamic. Their goal is a sense of balance, but very often the result is a lack of involvement, and increased isolation and anxiety for their spouse.

Numerous books have been written about gender roles in parenting today. For all of the differences between Annmarie’s and her mother’s child-rearing experiences, the biggest is often not even mentioned, given how widespread the change has become. In addition to shouldering primary responsibility for child care, Annmarie also has a job, while her mother did not. With such a seismic shift between then and now, there have been numerous aftershocks in gender relations, and the division of labor in child rearing.

These issues are well beyond the scope of this book. Sociological theories are being developed while, in almost any setting where parents get together, experiences and ideas are being exchanged, compared. The balance of power and responsibility within the home is in a great state of flux and adjustment.

What I have noticed, and what I feel compelled to mention, is that the experiential scale of parenting—anxiety versus joy—is tied to the “scale of involvement” between the spouses. In my experience, it is more commonly the case that the mother is overinvolved. What I have seen, though, is that when the father steps up, many mothers are able to take a welcome step back. These adjustments take time, as habits of work and responsibilities are ingrained, but the results are usually well worth
the effort. A better balance of involvement benefits the partnership. It also simplifies parental involvement in the children’s lives, reducing anxiety as the duties and concerns of parenting are spread on a wider, stronger base.

I have found that the most effective adjustments to a parenting balance of involvement are made in small, practical steps. Debates can be waged, and philosophical manifestos can be drawn up, but they very often wind up wedged behind the dirty clothes hamper; a hard-won document now covered in dust bunnies. Where positive, lasting changes have been made I’ve noticed the beginning was often the kitchen counter, or the bathtub. Of the many parenting tasks that must happen every day, dads need to move some to their side of the “full responsibility” list.

Every day, if a lunch is to be packed, it will be Dad packing it. Bath time is Dad time. And where the child or children’s lives intersect with other groups (a babysitter, school, a playgroup), Dad should find a consistent role. Exclusive provinces (or nearly exclusive) need to become Dad’s, so his efforts are part of “doing,” not “helping.” So that, in the child’s eyes, Dad is the “go-to” person for that slice of daily life, not the occasional “substitute.” So that, for Mom, trust and ease make inroads into every day. Her grip loosens.