Our Children, Ourselves

Too many parents make life hard for their children by trying, too zealously, to make it easy for them. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

On a couple of previous occasions I've written about parenting. In this essay I want to address the reality of being a parent, and what our expectations should be of our children and of ourselves. It's something we don't think about all that often, except to complain or brag about the kids. We rarely consider what our own role is in their development. There's nothing original here, and I've probably said most of it before, but it bears repeating.

What is our role in their upbringing? We have responsibilities. What do we want of our children? What do we expect of them (and ourselves)?

In all likelihood we want our children to be healthy and confident. We want them to be well educated and capable of dealing with society both fiscally and emotionally. We want them to love and respect us, and we want them to know right from wrong. And we want them to have a better life than we.

In the past children were raised with the anticipation that they would help out on the farm and support their parents as they got older. However much they may have been loved, life was not made easy for them just as it had been difficult for their parents. They were expected to marry to continue the cycle, but care for, and assistance of, their parents was expected. Children, and future generations, provided joy for their parents, but we made demands of them. They served us and now, as times have changed, we must serve them. The bargain, in prior years, required contributions from both sides, but now it is primarily the parents who must take responsibility.

That doesn't mean that we must make life easy for them. We do them no favor by catering to all their demands. Goethe had it right. It takes what may be perceived as a hard childhood to provide the necessary preparation for a productive and rewarding adult life. And, to a degree, that “hard childhood” is difficult for us as well. But it's worth it. What follows are some of the lessons I've learned from some reading and from rearing my own children, of whom I'm very proud.

One of the qualities that please parents is the quickness of their learning – even before they start a formal education. And every parent believes “my children are smarter than yours.” They're learning every moment even without the intention to learn. They internalize whatever they see and hear around them. And that makes their parents their first teachers. So everything you do should be a model for what you want of them. If they see you dealing fairly with them they're more likely to deal fairly with others. If they perceive that you are lying to them, they'll interpret that as meaning that lying is acceptable. If you want them to work hard, they should know that you work hard. And if, for example, you want them to visit your grave, be sure that they've seen you visiting your parents'.

They'll base their political and religious philosophies on what they hear and experience in the home. At least as a starting point, though they may alter their views as they learn from others well. And it's from you that they'll absorb their first biases. So it's up to you to set an example. In short, don't say or display any traits that you don't want them to have. It's not easy. We're not perfect, even if our children believe that we are – at least they believe that in their early years.

Also important to their development is structure – rules, responsibilities, expectations, and care in what they do. Though they will rebel against them – complain that you're demanding too much of them – and it might be easier to give in and do their chores yourself, such a practice won't contribute to their development of responsibility. It may be harder to insist on them completing their own tasks rather than palming them off on you but that's what you must do. That includes homework and other school projects. It's not unreasonable to help and direct them, but in the end they must do the learning themselves – learning that will benefit them in their adult years, even if they doubt its relevance in their childhood. They'll tell you they hate and resent the other jobs too. Even so, however, the knowledge that you're depending on them to perform those tasks is important for their self-image, and the successful completion of their assignments is certain to contribute to their self-confidence.

Importantly, they'll learn, by your fairness and firmness, a respect for proper authority. They may ultimately reject particular authorities, but, assuming everything is being done for the common good, they'll work to support those acting on their behalf and serving as their leaders.

In addition, they should learn to accept others not in authority – even those who may lack some of the abilities they themselves have; that they're responsible for, and must attend to the needs of others who are not as fortunate as they, whether physically or economically.

Most important, however, is their experience of your love – especially the knowledge that you've given up some of your own wishes in order to help and please them. They should know that you respect their informed decisions (applauding whims teaches the wrong lesson) and that you learn from them as they learn from you. And they must know that choices appropriate to their age are theirs; that they are not fulfilling your fancies or are required to achieve what was beyond your ability. As the cliché goes, it's not about you.

In the long run, however, you get no guarantees. There's nothing more satisfying, though, than knowing that whatever the outcome, you've done your best for your children.

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I have more that I want to say on the subject however it will have to wait. But it will come. Enough for now. Pop psychology 101 is currently on vacation.

August 30, 2017

Hermitage

I used to think that people walking alone and talking were touched. So did you – admit it. Now we reserve judgment. They may be on the telephone. They may be “reaching out and touching someone” else.

That's the jargon, but the reality is that most people can no longer stand silence, nor to be alone. And at the same time they often insist on being alone. Many of those who have buds in their ears as they walk along with their eyes down are listening to something or other, but not to someone on the other end of the telephone line. It's a “play list,” or some other form of entertainment. For lots of people, the main enemy seems to be actual communication, and they protect themselves from it by whatever means are necessary. With the buds in their ears they warn everyone else to stay away. And the buds provide license to the wearer to ignore everyone around, using the pretense that no one is heard.

I'm more like the members of this latter group. Like Greta Garbo, “I want to be let alone.”ⁱ I prefer silence to people. I'm a hermit. I'm willing to concede that. I prefer isolation.  I'm not enochlophobic – I just don't like people.  So unlike Garbo, I want to be alone as well. Perhaps I should get earbuds connected to wires that are loose in my pocket. No one will suspect a thing. 

But I want to be alone on my terms. And, for better or worse, there's a world out there that I want to be available when I want it to be available.

I raise the issue because, a few days ago, I was cut of from the world. It happened in Massachusetts, in the southern Berkshire mountains, where my wife and I have a vacation home. It's my Hermitage. Andrew Jackson had his (as did Catherine the Great, for that matter) , and this one is mine.ⁱⁱ

I happened to be there alone one dayⁱⁱⁱ when the electricity went off. No big deal. It's happened before. The house is in the woods, and the town is small, but there are available electric company employees in the area and repairs are usually reasonably prompt. I decided to take a nap and reevaluate the situation when I woke up. I suspected that the electricity would be back by that time, and I was right. But when I picked up the telephone,^iv there was no dial tone.

That's a little more unusual. In all likelihood the problem had existed for a while, but, since I rarely use the telephone, I hadn't noticed. My primary use of the land line is to get DSL for my laptop. It had been spotty earlier, but that's frequent when you're out in the country, so I didn't pay much attention to it. Now, though, it was only working sporadically and unpredictably.

So I pulled out the cellular telephone that I occasionally carry in case of emergency. I rarely use it – perhaps once or twice a year – but I have it as insurance. Except the message I got was “No Service.” I think I had overpaid for the “insurance.” The only chance I had to communicate with the outside world was to leave a note on one of the message carriers and hope that it got transmitted in one of the occasional burps of internet service. And fortunately it did, at some time or other after that. The message was addressed to my wife and it asked her to contact someone I know who lives near me^v so that he could have the telephone company check.

I'm not really sure when the message went out, but, as I said, apparently it did, for a couple of hours later there was a knock at the door and I was greeted by my friend's cousin,^vi who came to inform me that my wife had called in a panic, and he wanted to get me to a phone to call her back. (She'd been trying to reach me but all she got was a busy signal, despite the fact that I wasn't using the telephone).

So I did, and after I reassured her about my health, I learned that she had already called the telephone company and they'd come by on the following day. They kept their word and fixed the short on one of their poles about a mile away, and by the following afternoon the world and I were one again.

But I had been unreachable. And just as I, until then, had had the expectation that I could contact others, she expected to be able to speak with me whenever she felt like it. That's the problem. Our ancestors could live in solitude without any concern because they never experienced anything else. On the other hand we, having always been “connected,” become anxious when that capability disappears. It's one of the curses of our modern technological society. The numerous devices we have around have created their own set of expectations and we get nervous when they can't be met. The telephone system^vii at our primary residence is dependent on a backup battery which lasts for about eight hours. It should be plenty of time in a modern city for the return of power. Except that isn't always the case, and once, when electricity was off for several days, we were without power, and without the ability to reach the rest of humanity. As I mentioned, that sort of thing is quite acceptable to me, but most people can't live with it. It's hard for them to tolerate life in a hermitage unconnected to everyone else.

And not everyone can abide a primitive life in general. Abe Lincoln read by candle light. That requires two things: a book and a candle. When the electricity is out and the batteries have already been discharged, there's neither candle nor Kindle. We've become so dependent on technology that its absence is threatening. Our expectations have been raised to such a high level that a fall from it is paralyzing.

So what's the solution? Actually there are three things that can be done. The first, of course, is to prepare for any possible contingencies. For example, get some candles. And get some real books. You should also keep some foods and drinks that won't spoil in the absence of refrigeration.

Next, lower your own expectations and those of the others in your life. When you're hiding away somewhere, let everyone know that you won't be reachable and they shouldn't even try. That won't stop you from contacting them if both the capability and the will exist,^viii but that's your choice. They won't be anticipating it or waiting for it.

And the third thing you can do is somehow or other turn everyone you know into hermits too.

Next episode: “The New Paradigm” – You can decide if it's really better.

i         In “Grand Hotel” (1935) she said “I want to be alone,” but she denied that this was her personal philosophy. Quite correctly she drew a distinction between being alone, and being let alone. The latter was her desire. In terms of quiet, most of her career was in silent films.

ii       Thomas Jefferson occasionally referred to Monticello as “Hermitage.” It seems he not only favored a “wall of separation” between Church and State, but a personal wall between himself and the outside world. I can relate.

iii      My wife was in New York at the time. Sometimes I go to Massachusetts to “veg” and to glory in my solitude, and she comes up for the weekends.

iv       I can't remember why I picked it up. I really don't like talking to people.

v        Actually he lives about a half-hour away, but since he takes care of my house when I'm away he seemed like the logical person to contact.

vi       My friend had fallen asleep. Fortunately he and his cousin live in the same house.

vii      FIOS.

viii     And don't forget to tell them that you had to travel many miles to be able to call them. That will impress them with the idea that you care a lot, and it will give them a sense of guilt for your having to do so just to speak with them. (That may not be true, but it will probably discourage them from calling back.)