I've learned a lot about dogs since S, our Corgi mix, joined us. For one thing, dogs sure can shed! I thought I'd been through the worst, having once owned a white Persian cat, but her fur output was nothing compared to this dog. I'm constantly vacuuming up drifts of black fur along the baseboards.
Another thing I've learned is that dogs get bored. And a bored dog is a naughty dog. Our cats don't get bored. If there's a ball of yarn handy, great; if not, that's cool too. They can always catch up on their sleep. We don't have to worry about chewed shoes and toilet "accidents" if we don't keep the cats entertained. (If they are feeling jealous, that's another matter.)
I've also learned that one way to keep a dog entertained is to give her a challenge. You don't just hand her a treat, because that will only keep her occupied for, oh, about one second, since dogs tend to inhale food. You stuff a treat inside a Kong toy and let her figure out for herself how to get it out. Depending on the reachability of the treat and the resourcefulness of the dog, it may take awhile. This is a good thing, because according to dog experts, working to solve problems keeps dogs intellectually and physically fit.
I have to remind myself of that when S has a biscuit stuck inside her Kong and I feel the urge to fix it for her. Because if I do, the game is over. If I leave her alone, she will stick with the task much longer than I would have given her credit for.
Watching S work for her treat, I have been thinking about parenting. I've felt the same urge to fix things for my children. When they were little and learning to stack blocks, I wanted to put a finger out and nudge the blocks into place so the tower wouldn't fall. There were times I gave in to the urge, and times I resisted. When I held back, sometimes the tower would fall, and sometimes there were tears and frustration. But eventually my children learned how to stack the blocks securely and build a bigger tower, and I learned that a moment's frustration wasn't going to kill them.
It's a constant struggle, knowing when to fix something for your children and when to leave it alone. I think it's especially difficult for parents today. We have somehow gotten the impression that we can, and should, protect our children from every disappointment and difficulty. And the truth is that we can't, and shouldn't. My children are so precious to me, of course I wish I could shield them from every heartache, but it's just not possible. If I jump in to help every time they face a challenge, they'll never learn how to stack blocks, or manage friendships, or work independently. I hate to say it, but the School of Hard Knocks is a pretty effective school.
I was at a family holiday party a few months ago where there was a white elephant exchange for the children and adults. Everyone brought a wrapped box of cereal, so the stakes were pretty low. There was a possibility that you'd wind up with a box of something yucky (i.e., sugar-free), but mostly we were doing it for fun, not for the prizes.
One mom, a lovely, caring mom, had a bit of anxiety about the game. She wanted us to agree that adults could not take cereal from children, though trading is part of a white elephant exchange. She hovered over her school-age kids and coached them through the selection process based on her guesses as to what was inside the wrapping: "Don't take that one, honey, take the one on the left...no, the one in red paper."
My brother and I laughed and suggested that a little disappointment wouldn't hurt the kids. "They might as well learn now that you don't always get what you want," I said, and I laughed again at how much I sounded like a cranky old man. My brother and I riffed on this for a while: "Yep, they should get used to disappointment, because that's what life is all about. It'll toughen 'em up." We were being facetious. Semi-facetious. Because if a fourth-grader can't handle the loss of a $3 box of cereal? What's he going to do when he doesn't make the soccer team or get into the college of his choice? (Also, he missed a valuable opportunity to learn how to distinguish between wrapped boxes of All-Bran and Lucky Charms, a skill he could use in the future.)
That's an extreme example of helicopter parenting, but I don't think it's all that unusual. Our school has to give the children instruction in problem-solving. A boy will break his pencil and sit staring at it or burst into tears rather than go get another pencil. Girls tattle to the playground teacher instead of settling their own disputes over who gets the next turn on the swings. We've all heard of parents coming to the high school threatening to sue when their son or daughter is kicked off a sports team for drinking. Colleges are even dealing with parents who come to campus to demand that a student's legitimate C grade be changed to an A. I don't even want to think about what these kids' future employers will have to deal with.
A column written a few years ago by parenting educator Jan Faull made a deep impression on me. A parent wrote to say that her family was moving to a new city because of her husband's job. She was fearful of how her children would cope with this change. I expected Faull to respond with tips on easing the transition, and she did -- but another part of her answer surprised me. She talked about what a great opportunity this would be for the children to learn resiliency. When was the last time you heard someone talk that way?
It sounds quaint to say, "It'll build character," as our grandparents did, but was their approach really so wrong? I felt encouraged by Faull's advice. I realized that if my kids hit a few bumps in the road, it does not mean I am a failure as a parent. I can't always smooth the way for them, but I can give them the tools (and space) they need to meet challenges on their own.
I have to go now. One of my kids can't find any clean socks.
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