Childhood


The headmaster at my high school would read “A Christmas Carol” every year. He was an older man with a beard like Santa Claus, who was quick to smile and compliment. When we were seniors, we were given the option of attending his reading (for the fourth time) or having the period free. We all attended. It was a tradition.

My parents would read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to us every year. I still remember the droll little Santa, drawn by my favorite children’s illustrator, Gyo Fujikawa.

But this post is a holiday shout out to my very favorite Christmas story, Truman Capote’s “A Christmas Memory”. My colleague and friend, Joe Scotese, reads it in his English class every year, and dozens of his former students, squashed together with his current students, cram into his classroom to hear him read. This year was Joe’s last reading, which makes me sad: Joe is a gifted teacher who infuses his love of literature into everything he does. But if you’re in the mood for a little nostalgia and sentimentalism, you can read the story yourself. The full text is available here.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

I have been wanting to delineate a list of values that can direct my husband and me as we raise our child. It seems easy, but it’s really not if you want to be intentional and specific about it. When I was studying acting, there was a basic exercise in which an actor would have to sit in front of the class and mime an activity that she performed every day. For instance, I chose brushing my teeth. And the goal was to be as specific as possible in one’s actions so that the audience could understand, not just what you were doing, but how you did it.

Afterward, my professor would ask questions such as, What kind of toothpaste does she use? What kind of faucet handle does she have? and, depending on whether the actor was specific in her actions, the students could answer that she had a tube of toothpaste (because she had to roll up the bottom to get some out) or that she had round knobs on her sink (because she used all of her wrist and fingers in a twisting motion). What I took away from that exercise is that specificity leads to better communication, which leads to understanding, which (hopefully) leads to implementation.

So I want to be specific about what I want my child to learn and be. The first tenant I am tackling is gratitude.

Gratitude

Each of the tenants I will write about have two goals for my son: That he be content in his life and that he make others feel content in theirs. And gratitude is the first step in this direction. This week, in The Huffington Post, Dr. Jim Taylor discussed the emotional impact that gratitude has on oneself:

Gratitude is such a simple, yet powerful emotion. In fact, one of the most surprising and robust findings of the growing body of research on happiness is that expressing gratitude has on one’s basic level of happiness. In a nutshell, when people express gratitude, they feel happier for several days. And, not unexpectedly, the recipients of that gratitude feel pretty darned good too.

And the impact it has on others:

There are load of upsides to gratitude. Aside from the happiness boost you get, gratitude has also been related to higher energy, a more optimistic attitude, and greater empathy toward others. And you make the people to whom you express gratitude happy. Gratitude also has survival value. When you express gratitude toward others, they’re more likely to help you in the future, thereby increasing your chances of survival.

Yet a growing number of people seem to view gratitude as a weak character trait. In sports, pop culture, and business, we increasingly value aggressiveness over politeness: I got mine, how are you doing?

When we get bad customer service, we are indignant (how dare he?) but when we get good customer service we are indifferent (that is his job, isn’t it?). I fall victim to this cycle of ingratitude all of the time. But it leads me to unhappiness, if only temporarily. And the higher road, the road of empathizing and respecting others, generally makes me feel happy when I choose to take it.

Dr. Taylor also discusses the role materialism and greed plays into the lack of gratitude we see so often:

The problem is that, by never being satisfied with what we have, we can never be grateful for what we have. And, by extension, in always wanting more, more, more, we feel unsatisfied and inadequate about who and where we are now. We need to step back and gain perspective on what we have. Compared to about 99% of the world, we have so much. We should feel fortunate, not wanting, for all that we have.

Source: ModernVintageHome

When I was growing up, my friends had to call my home phone in order to get in touch with me. There was something comforting about that for a parent–it allowed them to get to know their children’s friends and children had to learn to respect their friend’s parents. But it also made ownership of the phone crystal clear: To find me at my parent’s home you must call me on their phone. In other words, there was no misunderstanding about who was paying for the phone, and making my three-hour chat-marathons possible.  I am not saying that I realized this at thirteen years old, but there was a certain social construct in place that created clear roles between adults and children. And as a teenager, though I desperately wanted independence and autonomy from my parents, (the closest thing I ever got to having my own phone was a ten foot long chord that I could drag from the family room into my bedroom), in my heart I knew my limitations as a child and my parent’s responsibilities as adults. And with that understanding came an inherent gratitude.

source: Little Spring Design

Yet, today’s children have their own personal phones on which they can be reached whenever by whomever. They can personalize their home screen, download personalized ring tones, and fill the contact list with only their friends. And I’ve met and taught many of these kids who believe that a phone is their birthright. They believe that they need and deserve a phone, without much thought about the folks who make their texting and calling possible. The line between point A and point B isn’t as straight as it once was and therefore I don’t really blame the kids themselves. Besides, a teenager’s narrow worldview lends itself to a certain self-centeredness. It’s up to parents to teach them gratitude. It’s up to parents to limit the amount of “more, more, more” they seek. And it’s up to parents to remind ourselves that we are doing it for their long-term happiness.

I want my son to be as happy with a little as he is with a lot. There will be times in his life when he will have to make do with less money or possessions and my goal is that he can remain independent, good-natured, and confident during those times. On the flip side, I don’t want him to feel guilty when he is enjoying a fancy vacation or buying a brand-new suit–there is happiness in big rewards as well. Gratitude is contentedness, whatever the situation.

My friend, Leslie, made a CD of kids songs for her son’s first birthday. My little pal and I listen to it weekly, if not more (okay, much, much more). The last song is sung a cappella, and in a round, by a wonderful Chicago-based children’s singer named Susan Salidor. I don’t know if it is the simplicity of the presentation or the specificity of the message, but it sticks with me for days after I’ve listened to it. It’s now my version of a bedtime prayer with my son:

Every Moment, Every Day

It is possible to be thankful every moment, every day
It takes practice and humility
It takes vision and civility
It takes beauty and the wisdom
To see it every day.

I will likely post more on gratitude. It turns out to be the foundation of the values that I want my little pal to live with; yet it is also the most elusive. Gratitude doesn’t mean to just be thankful that you got a new shirt. It means to be accepting, empathetic, polite, satisfied, generous, and nearly everything else a person must be in order to be truly happy every moment, every day.

In an effort to help me sort out my own Intentional Parenting List, I’d love to hear from readers–what do you think are the most important values to teach children?

When I was in high school, my best friend and I sneaked out of her house at night and walked around the golf course, looking at the stars (we were bad-ass like that). We were deep into Seal at the time and we sang the lyrics to “Crazy” at the top of our lungs as we waded through the damp, tall summer grass: In a world full of people, only some want to fly, isn’t that crazy? In a sky full of people only some want to fly, isn’t that crazy? Crazy…


Seal really knows how to drive home a point.

As we sang the words, my friend and I had a teenage epiphany–it is crazy, we thought, that we can all fly but don’t. We should get our pilot licenses this summer.  And fly to Hollywood. And see if The Peach Pit really exists.

Though our goals were a little ambitious, the nugget of truth, encased in solid ’90s pop lyrics, is an important idea that I still think about: There are plans we make when we are young with every possibility in front of us, but then we start making other plans along the way and all of the sudden flying seems dangerous,  The Peach Pit seems silly, and Hollywood seems cliche. We become more risk averse and more cynical.

For my 29th birthday I asked my husband for a flying lesson. Thirty was looming before me and we were talking about having a baby in the near future, and I thought, It’s now or never.

And then Chicago’s fall was too blustery to go up in the plane. And then it was winter storm season. And then I got pregnant.

So I guess it’s never. On the flying thing anyway. I knew the moment I saw the positive pregnancy test that my days of risk-taking-that-could-end-in-physical-harm days were over. I had a clear responsibility to my child that, first and foremost, involved being alive.

www.agdesktop.com

(I’ll admit that I entertained the idea again recently. But, being heavily influenced by fictional characters, I put my wings away forever when I saw Lost‘s John Locke had put his father and himself in a wheelchair on his first solo flight. I mean, John Locke is man of faith, so if he couldn’t make it past lift-off, my chances seemed slim).

However, there is a difference between physical challenges and mental challenges. I can’t say I’ve dabbled much in the former–a belly button ring at age eighteen…pregnancy…one time in NYC I moved an air conditioner across town by myself–but I’ve never been the marathon-running, mountain-climbing, master-cleanse-drinking kinda gal. I dislike feeling chilly, let alone physical pain.

But mental challenges I can do. Auditioning as an actor in New York City was as cruel and unusual as it gets in that department. Or, day after day, week after week,  standing in front of 34 eighteen-year-olds who’d rather be anywhere but my class, trying to connect Beowolf to their difficult, stressful urban lives. (I get sweaty just thinking about some of my first classes in the large urban school system where I taught).

Besides, physical challenges are so 2004, when Gwyneth was still macrobiotic and people still cared if David Blaine survived in his stupid Plexiglass box above the River Thames. If it weren’t for my husband’s obsession with reading the Patagonia Catalog like it were a lost book from the Bible, I would toss it into the recycling bin faster than I do my mutual fund’s annual report (am I seriously supposed to read that? it’s a phone book).

Physical risks out, mental risks in.

So I am starting a To Do list. The goals are mine, for myself or my family. It would be way too easy at this point in my life, with a lot of big details settled, to forget to set any new goals unless I write them down, get them out there, and think about them every now and then. Just like everything else, it’s a work in progress.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.