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Would You Make Your “F” Student Wear a Sign?
Recent parenting news focuses on the dad who shot bullets into his daughter’s computer for misusing Facebook and a father who sent his 7th-grade kid with a sandwich board announcing the three F’s on his report card. In an interview, the Miami-area 7th-grader, Michael Bell, Jr., said he planned to do a lot better after spending time at a busy intersection where people could see him in all his shame.
Is this tough love or too tough? While I accept that it’s entirely possible that the two aforementioned dads might have felt that the ends would justify the means, my worry is that, whatever short-term gains a parent might get in pushing a child to act more responsibly, the long-term reality is that more bad stuff could happen. Much of this feels like parenting theater, discipline for a YouTube world rather than truly effective character building.
Like a lot of parents, I get to the end of my rope. I’ve yelled, jumped up and down, even tugged out the power cord on my teen’s laptop (while making sure I wasn’t actually damaging it). What did it do for me? It scared my child for a minute and made me look foolish and out of control. So, I apologized for my behavior without condoning my son’s (he had played a video game instead of doing homework for one too many times). And then we talked about ways he could balance his priorities better. This included my commitment to checking his daily planner more regularly to help him manage his time. I won’t do his homework for him, but I can assist in getting him more organized, at least for a little while.
My plan — my hope — is that by returning to a calm, civilized approach, I’m teaching my son how to weather frustration as well as mistakes in judgement. I don’t want my child to feel shame — I want him to feel in control of his responsibilities for his own sake.
Guest Blog: 3 Most Common Parent-Kid Fights and How to Stop Them
By Vanessa Van Petten
When I was a teenager it felt like my parents and I got in the same fights over and over again. After working with thousands of teens and parents I have realized that there are several common fights parents have with their teens. Below, I have described these three fights and offered some solutions for stopping the argument cycle.
1. The “It’s Not Fair” Fight
Examples:
- Older brother gets to stay out late with his friends. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
- Parent gets to have soda, child does not. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
- Teenager cannot buy new outfit for dance because it is too expensive. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
Emotional Intent: When you hear a teen talk about how unfair something is, what they are often feeling is, “I am not important or special enough.” If you feel like your teenager is constantly arguing about justice or fairness, they are most likely feeling like they are not being heard or cared about enough to get what they want. Of course, this is usually not the case. In the examples above parents would be worried about safety, health and money, while teens feel like they are not as important as their sibling, that their parents do not understand how important the dance is, and so on.
Solutions: The best way to stop the “it’s Not Fair” fight is to address the emotional intent. The best way to do this is for parents to push into the “it’s not fair” feeling from their children instead of pushing against it. For instance in the new outfit example a parent might say to their teen, “I hear you think this is unfair, will you tell me why?” A teen will most likely respond, “You buy stuff for yourself all the time,” or “But I deserve this dress.” These answers are important because it will show the parent the emotional intent behind the upset and feelings of injustice. If a parent addresses these by saying something like, “I could see how you feel like us not buying this for you is about you not feeling worthy. But the truth is we are trying to save for the big vacation we are taking this summer—which is for all of us. I know how important this dance is for you. Maybe we can get you a new pair of shoes or…” then the fight is stopped.
2. The “Treat Me Like A Grown-Up” Fight
Examples:
- Teen wants to be able to stay out late with friends. Parents say no. Teen thinks they are being treated like a child.
- Teen wants to go away for Spring Break, parents say no. Teen thinks they are being treated like a child.
Emotional Intent: Most fights during the teen years are actually based in this ‘treat me like a grown-up’ motivation. The earlier you can catch and address it the better it will be. It derives from the fundamental pulling away that comes with a teen trying to assert their independence.
Solutions: It is very important for parents to discuss reasons for decisions that are making a teenager angry. This way teens are sure to understand the real reasons for a parent’s choice. Another great way to help teenagers get less upset in fights surrounding their maturity is for parents to help teens feel mature in other ways. For example, perhaps parents do not want their teen to go away for the whole Spring Break because they want to have family time. A great way to address this with teens is to say clearly, “We really want to have family time with you, but we know you are getting older, so how about you do a weekend camping trip with your friends for one of the weekends.” This teaches teens you trust them, but it is all about balancing needs.
3. The “We Are a Different Person” Fight
Examples:
- Parent wants their teen to join band, teen doesn’t want to.
- Parent expects higher grades and when teen doesn’t do well, a huge fight ensues.
- Teen does not keep room tidy, parent gets upset when guests come over.
Emotional Intent: Often times teenagers tell me that they will purposefully keep their room dirty or choose unapproved hobbies just so they can be different from their parents. Parents frequently misinterpret room cleaning or bad grades for laziness, when something deeper might be going on. Teenagers often will ‘misbehave’ or fight with parents simply to show them that they are their own person—even if it gets them into trouble.
Solutions: First, it’s important to make sure that you do want your child to be their own person. Be careful not to push expectations or your own goals onto your kids. Second, make sure teenagers know that some of the requirements you have for them (good grades a tidy room for guests) are not to make them feel less like an individual, but for them to have more choices in their future and to present a nice home to guests. I recommend parents being very direct with teenagers about their need to be ‘their own person’ you might be surprised what common fights are actually based in this emotional intent.
Overall, fighting can be stressful, but teenagers often tell us that ‘fighting’ with their parents is their way of discussing issues. Look at fights as a way of getting to know a new aspect of your teens and be open with them about hoping to stop harmful cycles.
Vanessa Van Petten is one of the nation’s youngest experts, or ‘youthologists’ on parenting and adolescents. She now runs her popular parenting website, RadicalParenting.com, which she writes with 120 other teenage writers to answer questions from parents and adults. Her approach has been featured by CNN, Fox News, and Wall Street Journal. She was also on the Real Housewives of Orange County helping the housewives with troubled teens. Her new book, Do I Get My Allowance Before or After I’m Grounded?, was just released in September 2011 with Plume Books of Penguin USA.
Posted in Adolescence, Blog, Books, Child Development, Family Man Recommends, Teens, Tweens
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Dating Dad: Solo Journey
By Eric S. Elkins
I wasn’t able to give much thought to my own vacation until Simone was on the bus to summer camp, headed into two-and-a-half weeks of adventures. Adventures I’d only learn about via the occasional letter and by scrolling through hundreds of photos on the camp’s web portal, looking for hints that she was enjoying herself.
The days before she left were fraught with preparations — gathering up the needed clothing and equipment for the session; coordinating with her mom to make sure we’d made the right purchases and had collected sufficient underwear from both houses; pre-addressing and stamping envelopes to make it easier for her to write to me, her grandparents, her aunts and friends. There really wasn’t time for me to start compiling my own pre-vacation to-do list.
But after she was finally on the bus, both of us waving nervously to each other, with me suppressing tears until I was walking through the emptying parking lot, I pointed my car to Target, and spent the next half-hour gathering up travel supplies. By the time I got home, I finally got to work building out a list of stuff that had to happen before I hit the road. It was extensive.
The plan for my trip stemmed from a conversation I’d had with the Peach in late spring, actually. We hadn’t spoken for several months, and decided we were past-due for a catch-up. The Peach and I are still friends, and we enjoy meeting up every once in awhile to share the latest stories and developments. This time, the plan was to meet for tea at one of my favorite spots, then go to a yoga class with her favorite teacher.
I was thrilled to see her as she came into the shop, and I jumped up to give her a hug. After the usual pleasantries and updates, we got to talking about Simone’s latest exploits, and I mentioned her upcoming trip to overnight camp.
“What are you going to do with yourself while she’s gone?” The Peach asked.
I told her I hadn’t come up with anything satisfactory yet. I knew I wanted to run away somewhere, but the thought of another solo trip didn’t really appeal to me, and I’d been stalling. I told her that I didn’t mind traveling alone, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who makes small talk in some bar with a group of like-minded travelers. So that meant, no matter where I went, I’d share a lot of meals with a book and beer.
The Peach smiled, not really believing that I’d be very long without making new friends, but made a suggestion — to attend a yoga retreat center in Costa Rica. She and her sister had been there a couple years ago, and she thought it would be perfect for me.
“The meals are communal, so you’d be able to eat with people and get to know them if you wanted to, but you could also have your alone time. You’d get to do yoga everyday, and really have some time to unwind!”
My email inquiry was answered within an hour of sending it, and I was presented with a package that was truly irresistible — a yoga and surfing vacation, with three vegetarian meals per day, and a daily shuttle into the seaside village of Puerto Viejo. I paid my deposit and used miles to book my ticket before I had time to over-think it and talk myself out of the trip.
So there I was, two days away from an 11-night solo getaway, and I hadn’t done crap to get ready. I was only interrupted from my flurry of activity (finalize work stuff and take care of requisite deadline deliverables, shop for a raincoat and wicking clothing, arrange pet care, do laundry, pack, get recommendations for the couple of days after my time at Samasati http://samasati.com ended) when I took a moment to browse through the aforementioned web portal and found a photo of Simone, smiling with her new bunkmates. I broke down, the sob escaping my chest involuntarily, and I couldn’t stop weeping for a good twenty minutes. By the time the heaving and sobbing tapered off, I was sitting on a dining room chair with my head in my hands. I was so relieved to see that smile, and so heartbroken to miss her so much already. It took me a few more minutes to launch myself out of the chair and get back to it.
And, damn, the trip was a stunner. I’m still processing the time I spent in Central America — I’ve returned with the sort of existential questions that only an extended period away from the familiar and mundane can bring.
I spent the first week at the retreat center, in the jungle above the Caribbean. Samasati is both rustic and refined; although my bungalow was elegant and beautiful, there were still geckos running along the ceiling and the occasional prehistoric-looking insect crawling on the wall. Where there wasn’t wood paneling was open air, except for screens instead of glass. So basically the whole little hut was a giant screen from waist level on up.
It took me longer than I would have liked to fall asleep that first night. I was super-conscious of the sounds of the jungle, and laying there in the darkness, I couldn’t get comfortable. The loud buzzing of insects and spooky calls of night birds was louder than pleasant white noise.
Every once in a while a faint breeze would just barely cool what little exposed skin I allowed out from under the white sheets of the bed, and a thin film of perspiration made the pillow stick to my face. A couple times in the night, I’d wake up with a start and pull the flashlight from under my pillow, flipping it on and shining it around the cabin. But waking up early that first morning, to the lion’s roar of howler monkeys in the trees above me and the smell of rain and leaves and earth washing through the screens, I was filled with a sense of contentment.
Of course I made friends the very first day — it felt almost like I was at my own grownup summer camp. I shared meals with a fun, diverse crew of travelers, went to sunset yoga every night, and did some decent surfing. I didn’t go on most of the excursions with the group of guests that fell in together (except for one night of carousing in the little beach town), and though I felt like I was a bit of an outsider for that, I also knew I’d made the conscious choice to do my own thing. Some mornings, I’d write my next novel for hours at a time, watching the rain fall in sheets all the way down to the ocean.
On one of my surfing days, I met a French woman and a Spanish guy, and ended up drinking beers over a delicious fish taco lunch with them. The Spanish dude and I even spent a day hanging out; the morning chilling in the courtyard of his hotel in town and then riding bikes down the coast to spent the afternoon on a pristine white sand beach, splashing around in the waves.
When my time at Samasati was over, I took a shuttle back to San Jose, then navigated the gritty Coca Cola bus station to purchase a bus ticket to the Pacific Coast. I’d expected a painful, sweaty 4.5-hour ride to the beach city of Quepos, and when my assigned seat turned out to be next to a mother with her wiggly toddler on her lap, I sighed, took out my book, and hoped for the best. But the trip was easy, and a mere three hours, and of course the little boy and I got along great. By the time I hit Quepos, I was feeling pretty happy with my decision.
Because that was a big takeaway for me — traveling alone can be a blessing and a curse, when it comes to making decisions. Sure, you get all of the autonomy you want; which means the freedom to just do the things that appeal to you. You don’t have to answer to anyone else’s needs or travel quirks, which can be extensive sometimes.
But you also don’t have anyone helping you decide what you want to do. And, as a classic Libra, I can be pretty indecisive, over-thinking my options, and second-guessing my final decision. When a group of my new friends at Samasati invited me to join them on a horseback riding excursion, it just sounded sweaty and buggy, and I declined. But they came back that evening with hilarious stories and a sense of camaraderie that I missed out on. I don’t regret taking that day to write another chapter of my next novel (http://twitter.com/13thClock), but I do wonder what I missed.
The other thing about having a travel companion is that you’re less likely to make stupid or unsafe decisions, like wandering through a large city late at night trying to hunt down some dinner. Or leaving your raincoat on the bed of the hotel before heading into a national park and getting drenched through, underwear and all, when the torrential downpour comes out of nowhere.
Overall, the trip was good for me, mostly because of the things I was missing — someone to enjoy and share the trip with, hugs and the human touch, meat, vodka, a steady flow of data and communication via phone and computer. I came home wondering how I could take some of the healthy living that I’d been forced into and build it into my daily life.
I’m struggling, because it was too easy to fall back into pre-vacation patterns. But I’m awake and aware, and though the changes may not come all at once, I can still strive to regain elements of that zen contentment and lifestyle, and to integrate them into our lives.
Simone starts middle school in a week. We’ll both need all the help we can get.
Eric Elkins’ company WideFoc.us (http://widefoc.us) specializes in using social media and ePR strategies to develop constellations of brand experiences, delivering focused messages to targeted segments. He’s also the author of the young adult novel, Ray,Reflected. Read more of his Dating Dad chronicles at DatingDad.com , or tell him why he’s all wrong by emailing eric@datingdad.com.
Subtext
By Gregory Keer
In my youngest son’s preschool, the teachers furnish the cubbies with slips of paper that say, “Ask me about…” followed by a tidbit regarding each child’s activities.
One day at pick-up, I asked Ari about building a fort with his buddies.
“How did you know I did that?” Ari inquired guardedly.
“I read it on the paper from your teachers,” I replied.
At this, my son broke into tears, “I don’t want to share all my secrets!”
Because I prize the uninhibited daily accounts I usually get from Ari and my loquacious middle child, Jacob (8), this was a serious blow I blame on the influence of my eldest boy. Benjamin (11) keeps secrets better than a Cold War spy. During countless car rides and dinners, he’s had the same response whenever we’ve asked him what he did for his day: “Nothing.”
In the early years, we wised up and got the scoop from his instructors, other parents, and his friends.
“Benjamin had to sit on the rug in front of Ms. Renetzky,” one girl told us about him in kindergarten.
Luckily, he’s been a largely low-maintenance child, who laughs readily, still cuddles a little while watching TV with the family, and shares his iPod downloads with us. Frankly, we like him a lot.
But as he climbs the ladder of adolescence, that penchant for saying little is driving my wife and me bonkers. Making matters more complicated are the hints from other parents about Benjamin’s burgeoning interest in girls and leaks from teachers about his lapses in diligence.
We’ve tried to crack his Keanu Reeves affect with face-to-face conversation. I’ve had several talks about the birds and the bees without so much as a flutter of feedback. To no avail, I’ve tried humor and bellowing to learn what he does while he’s at school or hanging out with buddies.
This is why we’ve begun to rely on the very mechanism that makes Benjamin tick – technology. We eventually gave in to a cell phone under the condition that we had full access to monitor it. And while we’ve had our trials of making sure he’s safe from wayward adults and overly mature contemporaries, we’ve become fans of this device because it’s given us a remarkably effective means of communicating with our thoroughly modern son.
Here’s a sample of the texts we’ve discovered our son has sent and what we’ve done in response:
“Don’t tell anyone, but Jimmy likes you a little.” This led to a discussion about everything from what “like” means to an 11 year old to what you should do if you and your best friend “like” the same young lady. It also forced me to learn that kids no longer call someone “cute” because it means they “like” another person a bit more than I heretofore thought “like” meant.
“My parents took my phone away. That’s fine because I can still use the computer.” We took the computer away too. The crucial benefit of my child’s attachment to his technology is that I can take it all away to teach him some lesson about being kinder to his family members and doing his chores.
“I just forgot to tell you about the D in math.” Actually, this was a response from our son that came to us when we texted him from the back-to-school night presentation. We had discovered we should have seen the five-week report card that afternoon. Using a text from the very site of his ill-fated arithmetic results made it hard for him to conjure any answer but the truth.
Not all the texting is negative. It’s good for our son to know he has yet to completely outfox us. We’re swift and savvy enough to learn the texting lingo and ins-and-outs of its usage to make sure he acts his best. Even if he gets a few texts by us, he knows we’re watching, so it makes him think twice about what he writes.
Secondly, getting more adept with our thumbs has allowed my wife and me to send our son reminders about his schedule and to pull more information out of him than we thought possible. It also gives us conversation starters to get specific details on his relationships, interests, and plans.
He actually thinks we’re not so square because we can communicate this way, which is a nice byproduct for a dad who still questions the attractiveness of wearing pants without a belt.
Dating Dad: Tween
I’m sitting at the airport in Detroit, after returning from a quick, 14 hour visit to Toledo, where I spoke to a room full of sixth- and seventh-graders at a book festival, and then signed copies of Ray Reflected.
The handlers and organizers who drove me around, settled me in the room where I spoke, and even fed me, were all parents. Actually, they were all Jewish mothers of kids and young adults, and they all asked me about Simone — what was she like, did she enjoy the book, what kinds of books did she read. I found myself talking about her even more than usual, and even mentioning her a few times in my chat with the kids.
What I happened to mention more than once was that, these days, Simone calls me “Dude” just as often as she calls me “Dad.”
I got a taste of what’s just around the corner last week, when she and I went to a middle school “visitation.” Simone wants to audition for a local school of the arts next year, and this was our opportunity to get in there and check it out.
So last Friday morning, I battled the snooze on my iPhone alarm just a couple of times, and dragged myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning. Even with the reprieve that the recent end of daylight saving brought, it was still nighttime dark, without even a hint of dawn sneaking through the spaces between my blinds. After a shower and some swipes with the razor, I was in Simone’s room, gently pulling back the covers, and coaxing her awake.
Simone’s never had a typical little girl’s room, what with the dinosaur art on the wall (posters and her own illustrations), tubs overflowing with plush toys (predominantly reptiles and other non-furry creatures), and bookshelves packed with novels, picture books, and non-fiction tomes on prehistoric life. You’d still find a pile of sillybandz on her desk, but you’d also notice Bagel, the fire-bellied toad she’s had in a tank since she was three years old.
So it’s not a girly room, but the experience of it has changed a bit in the last few months — undergarments that didn’t make it into her hamper no longer have cute animated figures on them, and now she’s wearing two pieces under her clothes; she’s always been an advanced reader, but now her fiction and fantasy is veering into the young adult, rather than middle grade; and then there’s the sleeping girl herself — long legs flung out of the covers at bottom of the bed and messy, dyed hair sticking out from under her comforter; with a sleep perfume that has changed, too — it’s still the unique, warm, and familiar smell that accompanies my sleeping girl, but there’s another tone, now — a pre-adolescent funk that wasn’t there last spring.
Simone rolled out of bed without complaint, the excitement of the day providing enough impetus to get her up and into the shower. There’s a quiet magic in our weekday mornings together; a companionable, low-level cheerfulness that is noticeably absent when it’s just me getting up and out. I take great pleasure in making Simone’s lunch, so while she’s in the shower I’ll fill her lunchbox with a well-balanced meal (and a snack. And a note). And then she’ll sip at her chai and talk to me while I do up breakfast. Most mornings, we’ll sit together at the table and eat, though sometimes she’ll perch on a barstool at the counter while I putter around the kitchen. If we think about it, we’ll put on some music that gets our blood pumping a little faster, and before we know it, it’s time for shoes and coats.
Our super-early morning went smoothly, and I was surprised when we arrived across town at the combo middle/high school with plenty of time to park and take in the tall, slump-shouldered teens slinking their way into the building. The school is a special one, with very motivated, artistic students, but they still seemed to walk with teenager attitude from where I was sitting. It gave me a shiver.
We wandered through halls filled with the most amazing artwork I’d seen in any building in recent memory — a whole display case filled with tableaux created using wooden spoons; a board propped on an easel showing the design elements for the play “Twelve Angry Jurors,” (yeah, I know. I laughed out loud) complete with a top-down view of the stage setup and costume mockups with swatches of fabric; foot-tall imp-like creatures cavorting along the vaulted, skylighted ceiling of the hallway; and an installation of a six-foot tall fantastical creature messing with a remote control and an old-fashioned TV on a stand. Four or five kids sat on the floor next to their lockers while one of them fiddled with a guitar.
Simone was thrilled…she’d found her tribe.
As we filed into the auditorium to be welcomed by the principal, I ran my eyes over the other kids and their parents (no eligible single moms, as far as I could tell). Everyone had that air of tense excitement flecked with nervousness, and you could tell all of the parents had very pointed questions about the audition and selection process, about the educational philosophy and standards, about graduation rates, etc. Simone wanted to sit up front, which surprised me, so we found our way to a couple of seats on the aisle in the second row (our compromise).
As the principal and other staff members spoke, and as the parents asked their inevitable questions, I noticed two things. First, that I didn’t have any questions. I could tell from the ambiance of the school, from the art on display, and from the way the students and staff interacted in the hallways, that this place would deliver on its promise, if Simone was able to impress her way in. As a former teacher, I can assess the temperature of a school within moments of walking through the door.
Second, I noticed that Simone had the teen chair slump down to a science.
Damn it, I thought. My kid is a tween. Somehow, I’d hoped I’d have more time.
After the speeches, a parent volunteer in Simone’s preferred major (stagecraft – she wants to design and build sets, to prepare her for her dream of creating paleontological museum displays, and she wants to design costumes to get better at her own fashion design work), led us from classroom to classroom, so we could see what the actual students were up to.
If I felt a shiver when we walked into the school, standing at the back of classrooms and watching post-pubescent teenagers banter and pick at their faces and whisper to each other nearly gave me heart palpitations.
Last month, I wrote about the pop culture celebration of the clueless father and how I refuse to be painted with that brush. But what that means is I’m not going to be allowed to be the know-nothing dad as Simone approaches her teen years. If I want to be the father that she needs, I won’t be able to cover my ears and go la-la-la when she talks about dating or women’s issues. I’ll have to force myself to listen without judgment and respond carefully. I won’t be allowed to roll my eyes or shake my head or run away.
And, most days, I think I’m prepared to handle this new stage in her life. We have an easy, comfortable way of talking to each other, and Simone doesn’t keep secrets from me. Last time my youngest sister was in town, I asked her to take Simone for…you know…products, just in case the red rider came around while she was with me. I’ve provided her with deodorant and special face soap, and I know better than to put her training bras in the dryer.
But, damn, it would be nice to have a woman in the house as she grows into her tall, lanky body. There’s stuff about being a teenage girl I just don’t know. Put me in a room with a 15-year-old boy, and I’ll teach him all the secret tricks to being a man — the best way to shave each day, how to polish a pair of shoes or sew on a button, how to knot a tie (bow and standard), the highlights of the debate between briefs and boxers (go with boxers). But even as a formerly married guy, women’s feminine regimens are mysterious to me. There are details I’m not equipped to understand.
I know Simone’s mom will handle the majority of the details, but stuff will come up when she’s with me, and, unless something really good and really special happens in the near future, I’m going to be sans backup. I’m fortunate to have plenty of single mom friends who could advise me if I ask for help, but it’s still a daunting prospect overall.
Simone was yawning as we drifted toward the exit from the school, the morning’s activities catching up with her. There was something languid about the way she walked down the hallway, almost as if she’d already begun to absorb the mores and manners of this exotic new place. My brain and heart were tangled and fraught, feeling so proud of and excited for my little girl, but knowing she wouldn’t be little much longer. How can you celebrate and dread something in equal measure, and still manage to stay sane and reasonable?
Shit… guess I’ll just do my best.
Eric Elkins’ company WideFoc.us (http://widefoc.us) specializes in using social media and ePR strategies to develop constellations of brand experiences, delivering focused messages to targeted segments. He’s also the author of the young adult novel, Ray,Reflected. Read more of his Dating Dad chronicles at DatingDad.com , or tell him why he’s all wrong by emailing eric@datingdad.com.
Would You Make Your “F” Student Wear a Sign?
Recent parenting news focuses on the dad who shot bullets into his daughter’s computer for misusing Facebook and a father who sent his 7th-grade kid with a sandwich board announcing the three F’s on his report card. In an interview, the Miami-area 7th-grader, Michael Bell, Jr., said he planned to do a lot better after spending time at a busy intersection where people could see him in all his shame.
Is this tough love or too tough? While I accept that it’s entirely possible that the two aforementioned dads might have felt that the ends would justify the means, my worry is that, whatever short-term gains a parent might get in pushing a child to act more responsibly, the long-term reality is that more bad stuff could happen. Much of this feels like parenting theater, discipline for a YouTube world rather than truly effective character building.
Like a lot of parents, I get to the end of my rope. I’ve yelled, jumped up and down, even tugged out the power cord on my teen’s laptop (while making sure I wasn’t actually damaging it). What did it do for me? It scared my child for a minute and made me look foolish and out of control. So, I apologized for my behavior without condoning my son’s (he had played a video game instead of doing homework for one too many times). And then we talked about ways he could balance his priorities better. This included my commitment to checking his daily planner more regularly to help him manage his time. I won’t do his homework for him, but I can assist in getting him more organized, at least for a little while.
My plan — my hope — is that by returning to a calm, civilized approach, I’m teaching my son how to weather frustration as well as mistakes in judgement. I don’t want my child to feel shame — I want him to feel in control of his responsibilities for his own sake.
Guest Blog: 3 Most Common Parent-Kid Fights and How to Stop Them
By Vanessa Van Petten
When I was a teenager it felt like my parents and I got in the same fights over and over again. After working with thousands of teens and parents I have realized that there are several common fights parents have with their teens. Below, I have described these three fights and offered some solutions for stopping the argument cycle.
1. The “It’s Not Fair” Fight
Examples:
- Older brother gets to stay out late with his friends. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
- Parent gets to have soda, child does not. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
- Teenager cannot buy new outfit for dance because it is too expensive. Teen finds this grossly unfair.
Emotional Intent: When you hear a teen talk about how unfair something is, what they are often feeling is, “I am not important or special enough.” If you feel like your teenager is constantly arguing about justice or fairness, they are most likely feeling like they are not being heard or cared about enough to get what they want. Of course, this is usually not the case. In the examples above parents would be worried about safety, health and money, while teens feel like they are not as important as their sibling, that their parents do not understand how important the dance is, and so on.
Solutions: The best way to stop the “it’s Not Fair” fight is to address the emotional intent. The best way to do this is for parents to push into the “it’s not fair” feeling from their children instead of pushing against it. For instance in the new outfit example a parent might say to their teen, “I hear you think this is unfair, will you tell me why?” A teen will most likely respond, “You buy stuff for yourself all the time,” or “But I deserve this dress.” These answers are important because it will show the parent the emotional intent behind the upset and feelings of injustice. If a parent addresses these by saying something like, “I could see how you feel like us not buying this for you is about you not feeling worthy. But the truth is we are trying to save for the big vacation we are taking this summer—which is for all of us. I know how important this dance is for you. Maybe we can get you a new pair of shoes or…” then the fight is stopped.
2. The “Treat Me Like A Grown-Up” Fight
Examples:
- Teen wants to be able to stay out late with friends. Parents say no. Teen thinks they are being treated like a child.
- Teen wants to go away for Spring Break, parents say no. Teen thinks they are being treated like a child.
Emotional Intent: Most fights during the teen years are actually based in this ‘treat me like a grown-up’ motivation. The earlier you can catch and address it the better it will be. It derives from the fundamental pulling away that comes with a teen trying to assert their independence.
Solutions: It is very important for parents to discuss reasons for decisions that are making a teenager angry. This way teens are sure to understand the real reasons for a parent’s choice. Another great way to help teenagers get less upset in fights surrounding their maturity is for parents to help teens feel mature in other ways. For example, perhaps parents do not want their teen to go away for the whole Spring Break because they want to have family time. A great way to address this with teens is to say clearly, “We really want to have family time with you, but we know you are getting older, so how about you do a weekend camping trip with your friends for one of the weekends.” This teaches teens you trust them, but it is all about balancing needs.
3. The “We Are a Different Person” Fight
Examples:
- Parent wants their teen to join band, teen doesn’t want to.
- Parent expects higher grades and when teen doesn’t do well, a huge fight ensues.
- Teen does not keep room tidy, parent gets upset when guests come over.
Emotional Intent: Often times teenagers tell me that they will purposefully keep their room dirty or choose unapproved hobbies just so they can be different from their parents. Parents frequently misinterpret room cleaning or bad grades for laziness, when something deeper might be going on. Teenagers often will ‘misbehave’ or fight with parents simply to show them that they are their own person—even if it gets them into trouble.
Solutions: First, it’s important to make sure that you do want your child to be their own person. Be careful not to push expectations or your own goals onto your kids. Second, make sure teenagers know that some of the requirements you have for them (good grades a tidy room for guests) are not to make them feel less like an individual, but for them to have more choices in their future and to present a nice home to guests. I recommend parents being very direct with teenagers about their need to be ‘their own person’ you might be surprised what common fights are actually based in this emotional intent.
Overall, fighting can be stressful, but teenagers often tell us that ‘fighting’ with their parents is their way of discussing issues. Look at fights as a way of getting to know a new aspect of your teens and be open with them about hoping to stop harmful cycles.
Vanessa Van Petten is one of the nation’s youngest experts, or ‘youthologists’ on parenting and adolescents. She now runs her popular parenting website, RadicalParenting.com, which she writes with 120 other teenage writers to answer questions from parents and adults. Her approach has been featured by CNN, Fox News, and Wall Street Journal. She was also on the Real Housewives of Orange County helping the housewives with troubled teens. Her new book, Do I Get My Allowance Before or After I’m Grounded?, was just released in September 2011 with Plume Books of Penguin USA.
Posted in Adolescence, Blog, Books, Child Development, Family Man Recommends, Teens, Tweens
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Dating Dad: Solo Journey
By Eric S. Elkins
I wasn’t able to give much thought to my own vacation until Simone was on the bus to summer camp, headed into two-and-a-half weeks of adventures. Adventures I’d only learn about via the occasional letter and by scrolling through hundreds of photos on the camp’s web portal, looking for hints that she was enjoying herself.
The days before she left were fraught with preparations — gathering up the needed clothing and equipment for the session; coordinating with her mom to make sure we’d made the right purchases and had collected sufficient underwear from both houses; pre-addressing and stamping envelopes to make it easier for her to write to me, her grandparents, her aunts and friends. There really wasn’t time for me to start compiling my own pre-vacation to-do list.
But after she was finally on the bus, both of us waving nervously to each other, with me suppressing tears until I was walking through the emptying parking lot, I pointed my car to Target, and spent the next half-hour gathering up travel supplies. By the time I got home, I finally got to work building out a list of stuff that had to happen before I hit the road. It was extensive.
The plan for my trip stemmed from a conversation I’d had with the Peach in late spring, actually. We hadn’t spoken for several months, and decided we were past-due for a catch-up. The Peach and I are still friends, and we enjoy meeting up every once in awhile to share the latest stories and developments. This time, the plan was to meet for tea at one of my favorite spots, then go to a yoga class with her favorite teacher.
I was thrilled to see her as she came into the shop, and I jumped up to give her a hug. After the usual pleasantries and updates, we got to talking about Simone’s latest exploits, and I mentioned her upcoming trip to overnight camp.
“What are you going to do with yourself while she’s gone?” The Peach asked.
I told her I hadn’t come up with anything satisfactory yet. I knew I wanted to run away somewhere, but the thought of another solo trip didn’t really appeal to me, and I’d been stalling. I told her that I didn’t mind traveling alone, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who makes small talk in some bar with a group of like-minded travelers. So that meant, no matter where I went, I’d share a lot of meals with a book and beer.
The Peach smiled, not really believing that I’d be very long without making new friends, but made a suggestion — to attend a yoga retreat center in Costa Rica. She and her sister had been there a couple years ago, and she thought it would be perfect for me.
“The meals are communal, so you’d be able to eat with people and get to know them if you wanted to, but you could also have your alone time. You’d get to do yoga everyday, and really have some time to unwind!”
My email inquiry was answered within an hour of sending it, and I was presented with a package that was truly irresistible — a yoga and surfing vacation, with three vegetarian meals per day, and a daily shuttle into the seaside village of Puerto Viejo. I paid my deposit and used miles to book my ticket before I had time to over-think it and talk myself out of the trip.
So there I was, two days away from an 11-night solo getaway, and I hadn’t done crap to get ready. I was only interrupted from my flurry of activity (finalize work stuff and take care of requisite deadline deliverables, shop for a raincoat and wicking clothing, arrange pet care, do laundry, pack, get recommendations for the couple of days after my time at Samasati http://samasati.com ended) when I took a moment to browse through the aforementioned web portal and found a photo of Simone, smiling with her new bunkmates. I broke down, the sob escaping my chest involuntarily, and I couldn’t stop weeping for a good twenty minutes. By the time the heaving and sobbing tapered off, I was sitting on a dining room chair with my head in my hands. I was so relieved to see that smile, and so heartbroken to miss her so much already. It took me a few more minutes to launch myself out of the chair and get back to it.
And, damn, the trip was a stunner. I’m still processing the time I spent in Central America — I’ve returned with the sort of existential questions that only an extended period away from the familiar and mundane can bring.
I spent the first week at the retreat center, in the jungle above the Caribbean. Samasati is both rustic and refined; although my bungalow was elegant and beautiful, there were still geckos running along the ceiling and the occasional prehistoric-looking insect crawling on the wall. Where there wasn’t wood paneling was open air, except for screens instead of glass. So basically the whole little hut was a giant screen from waist level on up.
It took me longer than I would have liked to fall asleep that first night. I was super-conscious of the sounds of the jungle, and laying there in the darkness, I couldn’t get comfortable. The loud buzzing of insects and spooky calls of night birds was louder than pleasant white noise.
Every once in a while a faint breeze would just barely cool what little exposed skin I allowed out from under the white sheets of the bed, and a thin film of perspiration made the pillow stick to my face. A couple times in the night, I’d wake up with a start and pull the flashlight from under my pillow, flipping it on and shining it around the cabin. But waking up early that first morning, to the lion’s roar of howler monkeys in the trees above me and the smell of rain and leaves and earth washing through the screens, I was filled with a sense of contentment.
Of course I made friends the very first day — it felt almost like I was at my own grownup summer camp. I shared meals with a fun, diverse crew of travelers, went to sunset yoga every night, and did some decent surfing. I didn’t go on most of the excursions with the group of guests that fell in together (except for one night of carousing in the little beach town), and though I felt like I was a bit of an outsider for that, I also knew I’d made the conscious choice to do my own thing. Some mornings, I’d write my next novel for hours at a time, watching the rain fall in sheets all the way down to the ocean.
On one of my surfing days, I met a French woman and a Spanish guy, and ended up drinking beers over a delicious fish taco lunch with them. The Spanish dude and I even spent a day hanging out; the morning chilling in the courtyard of his hotel in town and then riding bikes down the coast to spent the afternoon on a pristine white sand beach, splashing around in the waves.
When my time at Samasati was over, I took a shuttle back to San Jose, then navigated the gritty Coca Cola bus station to purchase a bus ticket to the Pacific Coast. I’d expected a painful, sweaty 4.5-hour ride to the beach city of Quepos, and when my assigned seat turned out to be next to a mother with her wiggly toddler on her lap, I sighed, took out my book, and hoped for the best. But the trip was easy, and a mere three hours, and of course the little boy and I got along great. By the time I hit Quepos, I was feeling pretty happy with my decision.
Because that was a big takeaway for me — traveling alone can be a blessing and a curse, when it comes to making decisions. Sure, you get all of the autonomy you want; which means the freedom to just do the things that appeal to you. You don’t have to answer to anyone else’s needs or travel quirks, which can be extensive sometimes.
But you also don’t have anyone helping you decide what you want to do. And, as a classic Libra, I can be pretty indecisive, over-thinking my options, and second-guessing my final decision. When a group of my new friends at Samasati invited me to join them on a horseback riding excursion, it just sounded sweaty and buggy, and I declined. But they came back that evening with hilarious stories and a sense of camaraderie that I missed out on. I don’t regret taking that day to write another chapter of my next novel (http://twitter.com/13thClock), but I do wonder what I missed.
The other thing about having a travel companion is that you’re less likely to make stupid or unsafe decisions, like wandering through a large city late at night trying to hunt down some dinner. Or leaving your raincoat on the bed of the hotel before heading into a national park and getting drenched through, underwear and all, when the torrential downpour comes out of nowhere.
Overall, the trip was good for me, mostly because of the things I was missing — someone to enjoy and share the trip with, hugs and the human touch, meat, vodka, a steady flow of data and communication via phone and computer. I came home wondering how I could take some of the healthy living that I’d been forced into and build it into my daily life.
I’m struggling, because it was too easy to fall back into pre-vacation patterns. But I’m awake and aware, and though the changes may not come all at once, I can still strive to regain elements of that zen contentment and lifestyle, and to integrate them into our lives.
Simone starts middle school in a week. We’ll both need all the help we can get.
Eric Elkins’ company WideFoc.us (http://widefoc.us) specializes in using social media and ePR strategies to develop constellations of brand experiences, delivering focused messages to targeted segments. He’s also the author of the young adult novel, Ray,Reflected. Read more of his Dating Dad chronicles at DatingDad.com , or tell him why he’s all wrong by emailing eric@datingdad.com.
Subtext
By Gregory Keer
In my youngest son’s preschool, the teachers furnish the cubbies with slips of paper that say, “Ask me about…” followed by a tidbit regarding each child’s activities.
One day at pick-up, I asked Ari about building a fort with his buddies.
“How did you know I did that?” Ari inquired guardedly.
“I read it on the paper from your teachers,” I replied.
At this, my son broke into tears, “I don’t want to share all my secrets!”
Because I prize the uninhibited daily accounts I usually get from Ari and my loquacious middle child, Jacob (8), this was a serious blow I blame on the influence of my eldest boy. Benjamin (11) keeps secrets better than a Cold War spy. During countless car rides and dinners, he’s had the same response whenever we’ve asked him what he did for his day: “Nothing.”
In the early years, we wised up and got the scoop from his instructors, other parents, and his friends.
“Benjamin had to sit on the rug in front of Ms. Renetzky,” one girl told us about him in kindergarten.
Luckily, he’s been a largely low-maintenance child, who laughs readily, still cuddles a little while watching TV with the family, and shares his iPod downloads with us. Frankly, we like him a lot.
But as he climbs the ladder of adolescence, that penchant for saying little is driving my wife and me bonkers. Making matters more complicated are the hints from other parents about Benjamin’s burgeoning interest in girls and leaks from teachers about his lapses in diligence.
We’ve tried to crack his Keanu Reeves affect with face-to-face conversation. I’ve had several talks about the birds and the bees without so much as a flutter of feedback. To no avail, I’ve tried humor and bellowing to learn what he does while he’s at school or hanging out with buddies.
This is why we’ve begun to rely on the very mechanism that makes Benjamin tick – technology. We eventually gave in to a cell phone under the condition that we had full access to monitor it. And while we’ve had our trials of making sure he’s safe from wayward adults and overly mature contemporaries, we’ve become fans of this device because it’s given us a remarkably effective means of communicating with our thoroughly modern son.
Here’s a sample of the texts we’ve discovered our son has sent and what we’ve done in response:
“Don’t tell anyone, but Jimmy likes you a little.” This led to a discussion about everything from what “like” means to an 11 year old to what you should do if you and your best friend “like” the same young lady. It also forced me to learn that kids no longer call someone “cute” because it means they “like” another person a bit more than I heretofore thought “like” meant.
“My parents took my phone away. That’s fine because I can still use the computer.” We took the computer away too. The crucial benefit of my child’s attachment to his technology is that I can take it all away to teach him some lesson about being kinder to his family members and doing his chores.
“I just forgot to tell you about the D in math.” Actually, this was a response from our son that came to us when we texted him from the back-to-school night presentation. We had discovered we should have seen the five-week report card that afternoon. Using a text from the very site of his ill-fated arithmetic results made it hard for him to conjure any answer but the truth.
Not all the texting is negative. It’s good for our son to know he has yet to completely outfox us. We’re swift and savvy enough to learn the texting lingo and ins-and-outs of its usage to make sure he acts his best. Even if he gets a few texts by us, he knows we’re watching, so it makes him think twice about what he writes.
Secondly, getting more adept with our thumbs has allowed my wife and me to send our son reminders about his schedule and to pull more information out of him than we thought possible. It also gives us conversation starters to get specific details on his relationships, interests, and plans.
He actually thinks we’re not so square because we can communicate this way, which is a nice byproduct for a dad who still questions the attractiveness of wearing pants without a belt.
Dating Dad: Tween
I’m sitting at the airport in Detroit, after returning from a quick, 14 hour visit to Toledo, where I spoke to a room full of sixth- and seventh-graders at a book festival, and then signed copies of Ray Reflected.
The handlers and organizers who drove me around, settled me in the room where I spoke, and even fed me, were all parents. Actually, they were all Jewish mothers of kids and young adults, and they all asked me about Simone — what was she like, did she enjoy the book, what kinds of books did she read. I found myself talking about her even more than usual, and even mentioning her a few times in my chat with the kids.
What I happened to mention more than once was that, these days, Simone calls me “Dude” just as often as she calls me “Dad.”
I got a taste of what’s just around the corner last week, when she and I went to a middle school “visitation.” Simone wants to audition for a local school of the arts next year, and this was our opportunity to get in there and check it out.
So last Friday morning, I battled the snooze on my iPhone alarm just a couple of times, and dragged myself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning. Even with the reprieve that the recent end of daylight saving brought, it was still nighttime dark, without even a hint of dawn sneaking through the spaces between my blinds. After a shower and some swipes with the razor, I was in Simone’s room, gently pulling back the covers, and coaxing her awake.
Simone’s never had a typical little girl’s room, what with the dinosaur art on the wall (posters and her own illustrations), tubs overflowing with plush toys (predominantly reptiles and other non-furry creatures), and bookshelves packed with novels, picture books, and non-fiction tomes on prehistoric life. You’d still find a pile of sillybandz on her desk, but you’d also notice Bagel, the fire-bellied toad she’s had in a tank since she was three years old.
So it’s not a girly room, but the experience of it has changed a bit in the last few months — undergarments that didn’t make it into her hamper no longer have cute animated figures on them, and now she’s wearing two pieces under her clothes; she’s always been an advanced reader, but now her fiction and fantasy is veering into the young adult, rather than middle grade; and then there’s the sleeping girl herself — long legs flung out of the covers at bottom of the bed and messy, dyed hair sticking out from under her comforter; with a sleep perfume that has changed, too — it’s still the unique, warm, and familiar smell that accompanies my sleeping girl, but there’s another tone, now — a pre-adolescent funk that wasn’t there last spring.
Simone rolled out of bed without complaint, the excitement of the day providing enough impetus to get her up and into the shower. There’s a quiet magic in our weekday mornings together; a companionable, low-level cheerfulness that is noticeably absent when it’s just me getting up and out. I take great pleasure in making Simone’s lunch, so while she’s in the shower I’ll fill her lunchbox with a well-balanced meal (and a snack. And a note). And then she’ll sip at her chai and talk to me while I do up breakfast. Most mornings, we’ll sit together at the table and eat, though sometimes she’ll perch on a barstool at the counter while I putter around the kitchen. If we think about it, we’ll put on some music that gets our blood pumping a little faster, and before we know it, it’s time for shoes and coats.
Our super-early morning went smoothly, and I was surprised when we arrived across town at the combo middle/high school with plenty of time to park and take in the tall, slump-shouldered teens slinking their way into the building. The school is a special one, with very motivated, artistic students, but they still seemed to walk with teenager attitude from where I was sitting. It gave me a shiver.
We wandered through halls filled with the most amazing artwork I’d seen in any building in recent memory — a whole display case filled with tableaux created using wooden spoons; a board propped on an easel showing the design elements for the play “Twelve Angry Jurors,” (yeah, I know. I laughed out loud) complete with a top-down view of the stage setup and costume mockups with swatches of fabric; foot-tall imp-like creatures cavorting along the vaulted, skylighted ceiling of the hallway; and an installation of a six-foot tall fantastical creature messing with a remote control and an old-fashioned TV on a stand. Four or five kids sat on the floor next to their lockers while one of them fiddled with a guitar.
Simone was thrilled…she’d found her tribe.
As we filed into the auditorium to be welcomed by the principal, I ran my eyes over the other kids and their parents (no eligible single moms, as far as I could tell). Everyone had that air of tense excitement flecked with nervousness, and you could tell all of the parents had very pointed questions about the audition and selection process, about the educational philosophy and standards, about graduation rates, etc. Simone wanted to sit up front, which surprised me, so we found our way to a couple of seats on the aisle in the second row (our compromise).
As the principal and other staff members spoke, and as the parents asked their inevitable questions, I noticed two things. First, that I didn’t have any questions. I could tell from the ambiance of the school, from the art on display, and from the way the students and staff interacted in the hallways, that this place would deliver on its promise, if Simone was able to impress her way in. As a former teacher, I can assess the temperature of a school within moments of walking through the door.
Second, I noticed that Simone had the teen chair slump down to a science.
Damn it, I thought. My kid is a tween. Somehow, I’d hoped I’d have more time.
After the speeches, a parent volunteer in Simone’s preferred major (stagecraft – she wants to design and build sets, to prepare her for her dream of creating paleontological museum displays, and she wants to design costumes to get better at her own fashion design work), led us from classroom to classroom, so we could see what the actual students were up to.
If I felt a shiver when we walked into the school, standing at the back of classrooms and watching post-pubescent teenagers banter and pick at their faces and whisper to each other nearly gave me heart palpitations.
Last month, I wrote about the pop culture celebration of the clueless father and how I refuse to be painted with that brush. But what that means is I’m not going to be allowed to be the know-nothing dad as Simone approaches her teen years. If I want to be the father that she needs, I won’t be able to cover my ears and go la-la-la when she talks about dating or women’s issues. I’ll have to force myself to listen without judgment and respond carefully. I won’t be allowed to roll my eyes or shake my head or run away.
And, most days, I think I’m prepared to handle this new stage in her life. We have an easy, comfortable way of talking to each other, and Simone doesn’t keep secrets from me. Last time my youngest sister was in town, I asked her to take Simone for…you know…products, just in case the red rider came around while she was with me. I’ve provided her with deodorant and special face soap, and I know better than to put her training bras in the dryer.
But, damn, it would be nice to have a woman in the house as she grows into her tall, lanky body. There’s stuff about being a teenage girl I just don’t know. Put me in a room with a 15-year-old boy, and I’ll teach him all the secret tricks to being a man — the best way to shave each day, how to polish a pair of shoes or sew on a button, how to knot a tie (bow and standard), the highlights of the debate between briefs and boxers (go with boxers). But even as a formerly married guy, women’s feminine regimens are mysterious to me. There are details I’m not equipped to understand.
I know Simone’s mom will handle the majority of the details, but stuff will come up when she’s with me, and, unless something really good and really special happens in the near future, I’m going to be sans backup. I’m fortunate to have plenty of single mom friends who could advise me if I ask for help, but it’s still a daunting prospect overall.
Simone was yawning as we drifted toward the exit from the school, the morning’s activities catching up with her. There was something languid about the way she walked down the hallway, almost as if she’d already begun to absorb the mores and manners of this exotic new place. My brain and heart were tangled and fraught, feeling so proud of and excited for my little girl, but knowing she wouldn’t be little much longer. How can you celebrate and dread something in equal measure, and still manage to stay sane and reasonable?
Shit… guess I’ll just do my best.
Eric Elkins’ company WideFoc.us (http://widefoc.us) specializes in using social media and ePR strategies to develop constellations of brand experiences, delivering focused messages to targeted segments. He’s also the author of the young adult novel, Ray,Reflected. Read more of his Dating Dad chronicles at DatingDad.com , or tell him why he’s all wrong by emailing eric@datingdad.com.