I Know You

Thinking back on my recent experience with my son who didn’t think I “got” him, I am reminded of how we are all works in progress. As recently as last Spring he was not at all a fan of certain parties. Boy-girl parties. “They sit around in each other’s basements and text. Each other.” he’d complain. “It’s stupid.” Well, that opinion has changed some in the intervening months. And it has been accompanied by a sense of irritation that he is somehow constrained by an outdated image of himself.

This makes me think of the upcoming holiday season and something I sometimes experience when we join with family to celebrate. To spend this time with loved ones, participating in longstanding traditions, feels familiar and comforting to me. I love our inside jokes and our shorthands. I love our shared history and the depth of relationships carved out over a lifetime.

But at the same time I can feel constrained and diminished by an outdated image of me that my family clings to. It is frustrating to find myself locked into some one dimensional version of myself, circa 1983, when I was a bossy older sister, an uncertain follower, and a bit of a slob. These traits no longer characterize me, but they still seem to haunt me at family gatherings. They are the basis for a lot of stale jokes. And it makes me feel a little bit like my son, who has evolved socially but still feels locked, by me, into a grade school version of himself.

And so I struggle with this yin and the yang of relationships. The comfort of the familiar and known vs. the space to grow and the desire to be recognized as the people we have become and are becoming. Or, rather, I struggle with how to integrate this dichotomy. In our fast-paced, transient, and often superficial world it is a comfort and a bit of a relief, to know that there are people we have a real history with and a handle on, quirks and all.

But to be truly soul satisfying, it seems that relationships must make space for, and celebrate, growth. Even as they revel in the familiar. And this can take us to uncomfortable places. In a world with so many uncertainties to navigate, can’t we just settle into the familiar and not have to work so hard? Can’t we go on autopilot somewhere? We can and many of us do, but it seems that in doing so we run the risk of reducing the people closest to us to clichés, or caricatures of themselves. Pale imitations of the interesting people we could know.

Consciously making space to acknowledge and appreciate continual evolution seems like an especially important job with teenagers. While we are all works in progress, change in the teen years seems to proceed at warp speed. There is a lot of test driving, from friends to clothes to interests. Some of which seem to turn on a dime (which is why we have taken a hard line against tattoos around here, those suckers are permanent). I sense in my kids a deep desire to be seen for who they are, even though this is a moving target. Perhaps especially because it is a moving target.

If I hope to be credible with my children, if I expect to hold any sway or be further invited in to their lives, then seeing who they are, not who they were, or what I fear they might become, or who I wish them to be, seems to lie at the heart of this.

Our willingness as parents to take the time and effort to keep abreast of our children’s evolving selves provides tangible proof to them that they are worth knowing. And isn’t that something that we all want? To be seen, to be known, to be “gotten”. Family offers a wonderful opportunity for this. Let’s not send the signal to our kids that they have to head elsewhere for this validation. Instead let’s join them on the journey. It may just be that they'll want to get to know us, too.

Uncomfortable Honesty Redux

Just as I was congratulating myself for helping to usher my daughter through a relational challenge with sensitivity and grace, basking in a sublime parenting moment as it were, my son knocked the wind right out of my sails. Seems that he is not as impressed with my interpersonal skills as I am.

He returned home from an overnight at a friend’s house a little clipped, something I chalked up to his newfound conversational minimalism. But being the tuned-in, empathetic parent that I am I decided to ask if everything was okay. I waited for the affirmative grunt, but instead I got a “not really”. And then he launched into the why behind it. From sublime to humbled in about a minute and a half.

He started talking about his friend’s mom who is “so cool”. “I wish that we got along the way that they do.” He said. “She really gets him…” And then he trailed off. What? My son does not think I “get” him? No one tries harder to get their kids than me. My defensiveness mounted as swiftly as the sense of inadequacy welling up inside of me.

It didn’t surprise me that this newly touchy kid was irritated by somebody’s behavior around here, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be mine. Me? The tuned in, sensitive-to-your-every-mood mother? I resisted the urge to obsess about the unfairness of this and instead asked him to go on. And he did.

His friend’s mom knows that he’s a regular kid. His friend is allowed to have a Facebook page. He’s able to text, and his mom thinks it is just fine that he likes to go to parties. “Sometimes I don’t think you get that I’m not perfect. And I’m not just like her.” my son said, casting a glance at his sister, the one who wrote the manual on being a dutiful and high achieving firstborn. “I think that you expect me to be just like her.” He finished, offering me a window into his reality that both surprised and saddened me. It is not true that I expect him to be like his sister. I don’t expect him to be like anybody. I have no problem with his more social nature. He’s a great kid. He has nice friends. He makes good choices. Why was he railing against concerns I didn’t even have.

He wants a Facebook page? He wants expanded texting privileges? He knows where we stand on those issues, but I’m willing to hear what he has to say. I always reserve the parental right to change my mind if the situation warrants it. But the problem did not seem to be as much one of substance as it was of perception. What we had here, to paraphrase Cool Hand Luke, was a failure to communicate. I wanted to blame my son, but in my heart I know that it takes two to tango. If only one of us thinks that we are communicating effectively then that one of us is wrong.

But at least we were talking. Talking about perceptions and misperceptions. Signals that I had been sending and signals that my son thought I was sending, though they bore no resemblance to anything I felt.

I reassured him that his father and I only want him to be himself, the best version of himself to be sure, but not some watered down facsimile of anybody else, not even his super achieving sister. Our family can barely handle one of her anyway. And while my son and I will never be just like his friend and his mother (great kid and great parent, respectively), or like any other two people for that matter, we could carve out our own best relationship. One based on honestly and trust and the willingness to really see and seek to understand each other.

I was rewarded at the end of the night with a big gruff hug and a whispered, “Love you, Mom”. So in the end I decided that while my bubble was burst along with any illusion of being a nearly perfect mom, the mere fact that we were able to have that discussion, and use it as a springboard to move us to a better place, told me that things were probably not so bad around here.

My hope is that the way we handled this uncomfortable honestly has set the stage for more uncomfortable conversations down the line. Conversations that will bless us both when we need to share or hear things that may be challenging, or maybe when we just need a reminder that sombody "gets" us.

Uncomfortable Honesty

My daughter just taught me a lesson about strength of character and bravery. In an age when much social interaction, particularly between teens, takes place via the back and forth of disembodied texting or by writing on somebody’s “wall”, she chose to apologize to someone she had hurt face-to-face. That she had not intended to be hurtful was strictly beside the point, at least to her increasingly uncomfortable conscience.

She had gotten caught up in the kind of third party nonsense that feels reassuringly old school to me. Some things in adolescence, it seems, never change. And getting friends to act as intermediaries appears to be one of them. Unwittingly, my daughter found herself at the center of one of the many minor romantic misadventures playing out in the hallways of her high school last Spring.

After repeatedly assuring friends, and friends of friends, that she did not “like” like a certain boy, and bearing the brunt of teasing that ensued simply because her name was being bandied about, she finally became emphatic. I Do Not Like Him. At All. And in doing so both hurt and embarrassed a really nice guy. Whom she did like, just not “that way”. In attempting to deflect some very unwanted and increasingly awkward attention, she had lashed out at someone whose only crime was thinking she was special.

A vague feeling of discomfort regarding the whole awkward scene ensued for her and simmered somewhere beneath the surface, occasionally percolating into her consciousness. Which made her feel uncomfortable and caused her to act a little snarly around the house. This was not a big deal, but it festered. And the rest of us suffered from an irritability she could not even put her finger on.

I recently suggested that she just try talking to the poor guy to clear up any misunderstanding. Well that sounded like a terrible idea to her. Was I crazy? How totally awkward! Plus, it was ancient history, except that it still bugged her. The subject was dropped.

But about a week later she came home fairly skipping and grinning ear to ear. “I did it.” She beamed. “I saw him and I told him that I got really flustered and did not mean to hurt his feelings.” “What did he say?” I asked. “Nothing really.” she replied cheerfully as she headed upstairs.

It was then that I knew she had discovered a great truth. When we make amends, when we seek to make something right with someone, we certainly do so hoping that it will make a difference to the person with whom we seek reconciliation. But the person with whom we really seek reconciliation is often ourselves. I am grateful that my daughter was keyed in enough to her feelings and to the feelings of someone other than herself to realize that she had behaved in a way that proved hurtful. And I am grateful that the still, small voice inside of her found this unsettling. But mostly I am grateful that she was willing to do something uncomfortable to rectify it. No texting. No intermediaries. No awkward avoidance. Eye contact was involved. And an apology. And just like that, a burden was lifted.

Sounds simple, but I would do well to take the advice I so wisely gave my daughter. I often shrink from initiating or participating in uncomfortable conversations that really should be held. I’m too busy. It’s too awkward. I don’t know how to say it. Yet, until I make my peace, or say my piece, or am open enough to truly listen, there is little chance I will know the peace that I crave. It is so low tech, but it works like a charm. Even, and especially, in a high tech world.

Setting Our Own Standard

My daughter was a little curt and snippy with me the other day, while we were out doing her bidding. Rather than being contrite or at least subdued when I called her on it, she was indignant. “You wouldn’t believe how other kids treat their parents!” she informed me with a whithering look that was calculated to put me in my place.

I stewed on that for a bit, resisting the urge to retort with the age old parental response, “I don’t care what everybody else is doing” because I wanted to give this one some thought. You see, my daughter is a great kid. She is honest, hard working, and responsible. Given what we could be dealing with at sixteen her father and I feel very lucky indeed. But in the end I realize that we are talking about separate issues. I don’t want to view her relative to others. The fact that so-and-so hurls profanities at her parents does not make it any more acceptable for my daughter to sulk through the mall without any acknowledgement of the time, energy, and resources being expended on her behalf.

The teen years seem to be ones characterized by rather unflattering self-absorption. My mother is happy to remind me of how, as a teen, I was at the center of my very own universe, caught up in the minutia of myself. It was the luxury I enjoyed as a child raised with enough love and abundance to be able to engage in some serious navel gazing. But what I did not enjoy was a lot of back-up to support this self-aggrandizement. There were behavioral expectations at school, at home, and in the community to live up to, or pay the price. Television seemed to echo these standards with programs like the Brady Bunch and The Cosby Show, where adults were portrayed as smart and credible, and courtesy and respect held sway. Now granted, I never met a family that actually resembled the Brady Bunch or the Huxtables, but still, I was getting the message about standards of behavior on a variety of fronts.

These days it seems as if television shows centered on teens are largely parent-free or use adults primarily for pratfalls or as punch lines. I remember a while back when my son said something uncharacteristically bratty to me and I realized that he was literally pirating lines from a Nickelodeon sit-com. This child seemed genuinely perplexed when I told him that such behavior was not going to fly. So, if we as parents are competing with the likes of Lindsey Lohan, Facebook, and Gossip Girls for airtime with our kids it is no wonder we may be experiencing a subtle descent into sarcasm and irreverence that often does not even register with them. I get the message being sent by my daughter: I don’t even know how lucky I have it.

But it doesn’t feel lucky to me if she simply exceeds the minimum standards of socially acceptable behavior. It doesn’t feel lucky if she is just not as rude as “everybody else”. I want her to operate from a foundation of values that reflect a sense of respect for herself and for others. I want her to become clear on who she is and what she believes in, and to use that as the measuring stick. In short, I want her to set the standard for her own life, not just pattern it after whatever is coming down the pike.

And so I continue to respond with the old adage, “I don’t care what everyone else is doing”. Then my husband and I give some thought to ways in which we can help her develop a sense of self not built on shifting sands. We share, and hopefully model, the values that we subscribe to. We tell our kids why they matter to us, and sometimes the hard earned lessons we learned that helped us to determine that. This does not seem to go very well when delivered in lecture form, but we seem to make some headway when it is brought up in the context of our everyday lives. We have shaken our heads at some ridiculous lapses in judgment we have seen with our kids, finding it hard to believe that certain things are not just plain common sense. We have gotten to the point, though, where we presume nothing. Values are caught and taught, but much is not necessarily intuitive.

Perhaps in the end, having our children observe the widely divergent ways in which people think it is okay to operate will prove to be a blessing. Far too many of us from the Brady Bunch era knew how we were expected to behave, while giving little thought to why we did so. Many of us didn’t own the values that we subscribed to, which made them shifting sands in and of themselves, a real danger in conformity.

So we challenge our children to think through the things that will define them, while continuing to set our expectations high. Our hope is that they will know that we believe they are capable of great things and grow to believe this themselves. We hope that they will know how we have come to define some of the attributes that we hold dear and will know, also, that we trust them to define for themselves the standards by which they will choose to live. Just as with telling the truth, knowing who you are really helps you keep your story straight.

Can We Talk?

Our fourteen year old son has recently become monosyllabic. I can’t quite pinpoint the shift, but he used to chat about his day, join in dinner conversations, sometimes even share his feelings. But now? Now we are largely down to grunts. I know that underneath the tangle of gangly limbs and facial features morphing at an alarming rate beats the heart of my sweet and recognizable child. But the juxtaposition of awkward body parts seems like an apt metaphor for the awkwardness I sense on the inside. It is as if he is so overcome with the metamorphosis of adolescence occurring in fits and starts that the most he can sometimes muster, when making contact with the outside world, is a series of basic responses we are then called to decipher.

This is driving my husband particularly crazy, which makes me laugh, because I am confident that he went through this same Neanderthal phase. But, age appropriate or not, we are committed to walking with our son through this inarticulate season, holding him accountable to some reasonable standard of behavior as we help him to develop an expanded verbal and emotional vocabulary. It may not sound like much, but it feels like a big job as we bump up against a world that often seems to set the bar pretty low.

We never really bought into the “boys will be boys” philosophy when our son was little. It so often seemed to be used by parents as a rationalization for bad behavior and an utter lack of self control. We knew that our son was perfectly capable of taking the roughhousing outside. And while we recognized and celebrated the differences we observed between the ways he and his sisters navigated the world, we had too much respect for him to dumb down our expectations. So now, as then, we are looking not to excuse but to assist and to encourage. Certainly, gender has a fundamental impact on social development and communication skills, but we have a young man to raise here. He may become somebody’s husband. He may become somebody’s dad. Basic consideration and articulation seem to factor in as reasonable expectations. There is much work to be done.

I think that helping children mature into thoughtful, contributing members of society has always been the job of parents. But in past generations a more generally agreed upon set of social mores seemed to better complement this endeavor. I am grateful for many aspects of a less rigid society that celebrates individualism and free expression. But sometimes these terms feel a bit like a smokescreen for self-absorption and immaturity. If everybody keeps fixating on getting their needs met, things are going to get pretty ugly around here. Facebook, “tweeting”, and reality T.V. are some of the cornerstones of contemporary culture premised on a desire for self expression and a hunger for attention that sometimes feels like a relentless and desperate cry to “Look at me! Look at ME!” It is as if one is not living if life is not lived out loud – with copious amounts of feedback.

Much of my distaste for this self-focused approach to life stems from the fact that it often leaves out the “other” in social interactions. My hope in working with my son to move past his non-responsive state is to help him arrive at a place that honors both himself and those with whom he interacts. I do not want him to become a pleaser or repressed or sacrifice his individuality. I don’t want to emasculate him. But I do not want him to settle for truncated social/emotional development just because he’s a guy, and lots of guys limp through life with seriously limited interpersonal skills. These guys often seem to be the ones who put their fists through walls (or worse) when they’re frustrated. And they seem to be the ones who are frequently frustrated. Being macho – and monosyllabic – looks mighty lonely.

And that is why we are doing a little sensitivity training around here. Not only are we looking for some sort of response beyond “fine” to the question, “How was your day?” but we are hoping that he might actually begin inquiring about ours – and sincerely care about the answer. This fourteen year old of ours is a great kid, and I know that he does care. But in reminding him that he is an integral part of a larger whole and that his mood and manners have a fundamental impact on the rest of us, we hope that we are helping him to make connections that he can take with him out into the broader world. How he chooses to walk through his day will have a profound impact on the way that it will unfold, and on the people around him. Connecting in meaningful ways with the others in his life feels good, just as it feels good to be able to connect with himself. Way better than putting his fist through a wall.

Making Moments

I attended the most lovely dinner party earlier this week. The guest list was outstanding, the conversation was sparkling, and I didn’t even have to leave home. In fact, this event was so impromptu that I was completely unaware of it until I sat down to dinner.

Monday was the last day of summer vacation for my kids and, given what felt like an egregiously early start date for school, everyone was moping around the house. The sun was shining, the crickets were chirping, and it was prime swimming weather. But a pall had fallen over the house. It’s not even that my kids don’t like school. The return to routine would probably be good for us all and they were eager to see their friends. But they were not ready to let go of summer. Neither was I.

That evening my husband arrived home sporting a few mystery bags and headed out to the back patio, where the table had been set. A summertime dinner had morphed into a school night dinner before any of us were at all ready to embrace sensible bedtimes or school supply lists.

When we joined him out back we found ridiculous Bert and Ernie party hats at everyone’s place. There was a bottle of champagne for the two of us and a sack from Target tucked under my husband’s seat. There was also a sheet with an identical list of photocopied questions he had hastily composed. Dinner commenced.

After a toast to the summer that we were already feeling sentimental about, we looked at our lists and began to mull over some answers. “What was your favorite moment this summer?” “What was your favorite meal?” “What was the most unexpected thing that happened?” “What was the funniest line you heard?” And so began a long, leisurely trip back to June and July and the early dog days of August, complete with prizes from the dollar bin at Target for best answer. My son scored super sour bubble gum. One daughter received a leopard skin headband and the other some fancy post-it notes. I received a pot scrubber and some tea towels. They could just as easily have been scrap booking grommets or children’s gardening tools given the unpredictable pickings of the dollar bin.

But as we sat there laughing and reminiscing and giving my husband a hard time about the cheesy gifts, I realized that we were experiencing something very sweet and special. And long after many of the vacation memories we were sharing might fade away I knew that I would still remember this night. Out of an ordinary Monday evening that bordered on dreary, my husband had done something magical. He had created a moment. We all felt it and we savored it as we wrung out the last drops of summer.

Such moments do not have to include prizes (heaven knows those prizes were not exactly deluxe) because they are premised on something infinitely more precious than anything money could buy. My husband blessed us all by transforming the mundane and forgettable into something precious and memorable with a few simple photocopied questions and the desire to breathe life into an evening that could easily have passed us by. We laughed together. We agued about whose best memory was really best and we gave closure to a particularly sweet summer in a particularly sweet way.

I am not suggesting that we all add “make more memories” to our already overwhelmed schedules. Somehow that smacks of the Martha Stewart-like perfection that can often serve to distance us from the soul satisfying moments we seek. But I do know that my husband reminded me of an important lesson the other night out there on the patio. Memories are there for the making. It may require a bit of thoughtfulness and intention but magic can happen anywhere if we take the time to make it and believe that it can be so.

My kids have since hit the deck running. And, with only four days of classes under their belts, the more free form days of summer already feel like a mirage. But I will always remember that sweet sultry night when we lingered in our party hats, swapping stories and laughing together. And as the school year heats up I will try to remember that special moments may be made at any time. Perhaps I should light the candles for dinner tonight.

Enjoy Today

It’s nearly August already, and the academic blogs are heating up with discussions of pre-semester prep. The stores are running their back-to-school promotions, reminding us that school will be back in session too soon.

This is unsettling. Our summer in Vermont has been especially rainy, and with only six clear-sky days since May, we’ve been in the anticipatory mode for weeks on end. Wherever we are, the conversation turns inevitability to one topic: When is summer ever going to begin?

In other parts of the country – Portland and Seattle, for example – the weather has been far too hot. I imagine the folks there wondering, when is summer ever going to end?

This seems to have been the summer of discontent. Not just because of the weather. But because of the recession as well. These are not good times for most families, and I think that a lot of us are eager for the future to arrive somewhat ahead of schedule so that we can get back to normal. As optimists, most of us expect that the markets will recover, people will buy and sell homes again, jobs will be available, and what is wrong will come back to right. It will all happen. Eventually.

But just not right now.

The tough part, then, is to take every day simply for what it is, and to not want to “fast-forward the future” to more ideal conditions.

One of my sons is leaving for boarding school in a few weeks. He’ll be there for his sophomore, junior and senior years of high school. It’s his dream school, and he can’t wait to get his dorm assignment and settle in. He’s half packed already. But I am still getting used to the idea that he won’t be at home in the Fall. The entire time he was growing up, I had assumed that he wouldn’t leave home until college. But, things change. Unexpected opportunities arise.

And soon his bedroom will be empty. Three years ahead of plan.

Don’t I now wish that I had savored more of our time together? Yes. Without a doubt.

But many times as a mom I found myself wishing that I could fast-forward to a day when my kids would be less dependent on me. I remember the days when I could barely get a shower in because I had no time for myself. Days when it seemed selfish to even take a short nap, or place a phone call to a friend. I remember the endless rounds of making meals for the kids and cleaning up, over and over again. Oh, I can’t wait, I’d think to myself, for the day when they are grown up and can actually do stuff for themselves.

And now, here we are, at a threshold of independence, and I am wondering how could time have passed so darn quickly?

It’s not that I regret wanting time to speed up. It’s probably one of the ways I stayed sane while up to my elbows in dirty laundry, dealing with crying kids, barking dogs, an endless stream of repairmen, and a husband who couldn’t understand why the house was never clean. If I thought I’d be there forever, well, I most definitely would have gone barking mad.

But with my son about to leave for school, and with all of that behind me, I really appreciate the wisdom it takes to “live in the now.” Country singer Trace Adkins sings a brilliant song called "You're Gonna Miss This." The refrain captures perfectly what I’ve been trying to remind myself this summer:

These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you’re gonna miss this.

So, yeah, the summer didn’t exactly turn out as planned. It rained again today, and my job situation isn’t where I want it to be. I'm as eager as anyone for the economy to get back on track. But one day I’m going to be looking back at a very sweet time in our family’s life when the four of us were still all together under one roof.

And I’m going to miss this.

Letting Go

Our oldest turns sixteen next week. For months she has been driving me all around town, expressing an unprecedented interest in running errands with me, as long as I am willing to flip her the car keys. She is fielding correspondence regarding SAT prep courses and fretting about community service hours. Clearly, we are in a period of real transition. Her world is getting bigger and the stakes are getting higher. And now she is making noises about creating a Facebook page. How funny that the thought of this should make me as uncomfortable as imagining her merging onto the Interstate, solo.

This discomfort has caused me to ask myself just what it is about Facebook that feels like such a big deal to me. Almost every kid my daughter knows has a Facebook page. A good number of my friends have one. For heavens sake, I have one. The fact that mine was inadvertently established by unwittingly responding to someone who had “friended” me, and that it sits fallow most all the time, does not diminish the fact that Facebook has become a ubiquitous part of our culture.

My daughter is a thoughtful and generally cautious kid, the kind who actually listens at the school assemblies where experts are trotted out to discuss the perils of social networking websites. She gets that this is, in large part, a medium over which one has very limited control. But she is not so much concerned about her own ability to navigate her Facebook page responsibly as she is concerned about others who might not. She knows the stupid stuff kids post to each other. She’s heard the cautionary tales. She’s seen a great number of ridiculous and ill-advised photos.

But the reality is that much of my daughter’s social world is played out on Facebook. She has been left out of the loop on more than one occasion simply because she was not privy to plans made and relayed there. And to really muddy the waters, her school (the one that has been bringing in experts to caution students about social networking sites) regularly posts photos from school sponsored social events on Facebook to share with its students. It has even created an official school Facebook page in an effort to encourage young alumni to remain connected and, dare I say, contribute to their alma mater.

My concerns about Facebook mirror my daughter’s concerns. They center on the issue of control. There is something inherently out of control about a vehicle for communication that leaves you wide open to all manner of unsolicited input that can never be effectively eradicated, no matter how carefully you navigate it.

But to be honest, my concern centers not so much on out-of-control, as it does on self-control. I wonder if my daughter will get too caught up in a virtual world. Facebook can be a wonderfully effective communication tool, but when you talk to many users about their Facebook experience the word “addicted” often comes to mind. Finding a healthy balance where one uses Facebook, rather than becomes consumed by it, seems somewhat elusive for many.

I do not want my daughter to default to surfing Facebook just because it offers an easy way for her to zone out. I do not want her to become one dimensional and unimaginative. A real issue I see looming is one of self-regulation. I have observed this problem with little boys glued to their joy sticks, with teens so fixated on texting that they blow right through stop signs, and with kids who find that instead of having a Facebook page, Facebook has them.

But I also know that the season of autocratic parenting is gone for my husband and me. Life used to be so much more straight forward when the issues were clear cut and the answers were supplied by us. “Look both ways before crossing the street.” “Never get into a car with a stranger.” “Always remember to say please and thank you.” “Don’t speak with your mouth full.” These were the edicts of responsible parenting. Rules meant to protect and to guide. They were the building blocks of values and expectations that formed the foundation of my children’s young lives.

But I can almost count the time in months that we have left with our daughter under our roof and in our daily care. For better or worse we are well beyond the foundation laying stage. The day that she will be on her own, responsible for the full array of choices that will define the life she constructs for herself, is right around the corner. We have slowly but surely moved from laying down the law to coming along side our daughter, as consultants and collaborators. And while this may seem like a watered down version of parenting, I am keenly aware that it most definitely is not. It looms as the most challenging of seasons, requiring us to be our most thoughtful, sensitive and discerning selves in order to help our daughter take over the reigns of her own life. We know this child. We know the world in which she lives and the world into which she will find herself unleashed. We are in countdown mode as parents. She is just ramping up.

So when I reflect upon my big Facebook concerns, those of self-regulation, self-control and good judgment, I guess that I am able to see the opportunity a dip into uncharted waters affords. If I truly believe that my job as a parent is to work myself out of a day job, then I am obliged to help my daughter move along the continuum to self-sufficiency in healthy ways. To have a shot at growing into a solid, self-sufficient adult she will need to become increasingly skilled at making good choices and using good judgment. Soon it will be incumbent upon her to filter through the overwhelming amount of information that will assault her daily and to manage the vast array of choices she will have to inform her walk and her talk.

So, as much as it pushes me out of my comfort zone to allow my daughter unfettered access to Facebook (I have attended the cautionary assemblies, too, you know), I can see that this is just one more step along the path of trusting and of letting go. Facebook, it seems to me, is neither good nor bad. Facebook is a tool. It is the way in which my daughter will choose to use Facebook that will determine whether it becomes a curse or a blessing in her life.

And so, while there is no right answer as to whether to Facebook or not, I believe that my husband and I will give our daughter the go ahead for now. We have talked to her about our Facebook concerns and have asked her to come up with some guidelines for usage that she thinks are reasonable and responsible. We have found that this really puts the focus where it should be. We want our children to own their own choices, to think them through, to take responsibility for them. Together we will go through the guidelines she has developed to ensure that we are all on the same page. And then my husband and I will take another baby step in letting go. After making sure that she friends us first, of course.

This chapter of parenting requires infinitely more flexibility and finesse than we have had to employ to date. There is nothing passive about letting go when the letting go is done with real thoughtfulness and intention. Racing headlong into the future seems to come pretty naturally to our kids. For us it is an acquired skill. Which just goes to show you that they are not the only ones who are being called to continually grow. We are growing up right along with them. My husband and I have been pretty good at making and monitoring the rules we hope will guide and safeguard their journey into adulthood. But letting go? This is the hard part.

iParent Book Review: "Hungry" by Sheila & Lisa Himmel

In Hungry: A Mother and Daughter Fight Anorexia, a new book that has just been released by Berkley Books, Sheila Himmel writes:

Eating disorders, especially anorexia, are like what cancer was in my parent's generation, and what tuberculosis was to the generation before that: the shameful, mysterious disease that scares everyone to death. Until someone discovers the real physical causes, these diseases are invested with all kinds of treacherous powers to invade and destroy.

Why do some young women and young men become anorexic while others do not? It's a terribly difficult question to answer, and for parents who are dealing with eating disorders, the lack of clear causes is particularly maddening.

When Sheila Himmel's daughter Lisa began to exercise and obsess about food in high school, neither Sheila nor her husband suspected that Lisa's behaviors were early signs of an eating disorder. But as Hungry details, by the end of high school, Lisa was in it deep. Lisa's overexercising and undereating spiraled into full blown anorexia and bulimia which worsened in college, leading eventually to Lisa's hospitalization.

Hungry is one of the bravest, most courageous books I've ever read. Jointly written by Sheila and Lisa, it offers a mother and daughter's point of view. You can't help but to sympathize with both, as Sheila tries to do the right thing and as Lisa tries to free herself from the grip of the disease.

I was particularly struck by Lisa's accounts of how helpless and depressed she felt, even as she monitored every calorie and inch on her body. Sheila and husband Ned, intelligent, loving parents, find themselves with a daughter who is failing fast, becoming sicker while resisting help. They try to navigate a confusing terrain which includes grossly underqualified eating disorder therapists, conflicting medications, and bait-and-switch eating disorder treatment facilities. Not able to help her daughter find a clear path back to health, Sheila second guesses everything about herself, her relationship to her daughter, weight issues within the family, the amount of time she spent working as a professional journalist, and the culture of thinness in which we live. Lisa, in turn, blames her mom and dad for their interest in good food (Sheila was a well known newspaper food critic), and her peers for making her feel bad about herself in middle school.

From a parent's perspective, Hungry is a real eye-opener. It is a revealing portrait of a family that is brought to it's knees by anorexia and bulimia. For several years, Lisa's problems put the family into a state of crisis, effecting every aspect of the family. Once they are in the thick of it, Lisa'a eating disorders are like an untameable beast, and the best they can do is keep loving Lisa while dealing with each new crisis. Although Sheila tries to explain in the book how her and her husband's love of good food might have contributed to Lisa's problem, there is nothing in particular that the Himmels did wrong to cause Lisa's eating disorder. If it could happen to the Himmel's, it could happen to any family.

The internet plays a role in the book. Sheila tries to find helpful information about anorexia and bulimia on the internet. Meanwhile, Lisa visits anorexic websites ("pro-ana" sites) where she learns techniques for how to best induce vomiting.

Towards the mid-point of Lisa's battle with her eating disorders, before she begins to recover, Lisa is diagnosed with depression. Sheila reveals that the dual diagnosis of depression and anorexia was welcome information. Depression ran in the family, on both sides, so the diagnosis was not surprising. In a way, it was a relief, Sheila reveals. Better than say, just a diagnosis of one thing, such as bipolar disorder, she writes.

But, by the time the diagnosis is made, Lisa's brain chemistry had gone completely hayware from the starvation, purging, and lack of oxyen to the brain. She develops panic attacks and at times becomes delusional. Not only is is difficult for her doctors to pin point her psychiatric issues, the anti-depressants simply can not provide the relief they might once have. Lisa finds that the psychiatric medicines she is prescribed only complicate things more.

Lisa's depression might have been treatable in middle school and high school, when the signs began to appear. By the time it's diagnosed, however, anorexia and bulimia had been added to the mix by Lisa, initally as a way to manage her feelings. Unfortunately, once the switch was flipped, it was impossible to go back in time, and treat the depression alone.

As Sheila mentions in the book, insurance companies have been slow to recognize medical issues categorized as mental or behavioral issues, and so families have been on their own, both in terms of getting any initial diagnoses and then paying for treatment. This should change with the federal Mental Health Parity Act which is scheduled to go into effect in January 2010. Perhaps at that time, we will become a society more open to discussing the signs of depression in adolescents, and parents will feel supported when they suspect that their children (or themselves) need help.

Until then, Hungry is must-reading for any parent who is dealing with an eating disorder in their own family, or who knows of another parent going through it. Because of Sheila and Lisa Himmel's courage writing this book, we are offered an opportunity to understand the terrible price anorexia and bulimia exact from individuals and their families. To stay the course while a child or teen is suffering is not easy. It is harder still when the child tries to make sense of their distress by blaming his or her parents. With grace, wit and intelligence, Sheila and Lisa Himmel share their experience, and offer an unparalleled inside look at a tragic illness.

Affirmation, Disconfirmation and Communication

"Don’t be silly. There is nothing to be frightened of.”
“Why do you make such a big deal of it? There are worse things in life than ____ .”
“I really don’t see why it bothers you so much.”
“Don’t worry. Things will get better.”
“There is no need to cry. Be brave. Dry your eyes and go play nicely.”

Haven’t we all heard phrases and expressions like that? If not from our parents, then maybe from grandparents. Perhaps we’ve used them on our own kids. They are as common as backyard dirt. Probably because we live in a society that frowns upon negative thinking. And because when other people are sad, angry, needy or broken, we feel uncomfortable. Time and again, these are the phrase we pull out when we’re trying to try to turn the situation around.

I caught myself the other day responding to a friend’s email with one of these phrases, (“Don’t worry. Things will get better”) and it was only after I hit the “send” button that I realized I had done a disservice to my dear friend. While writing the email, I was trying to find the silver lining in her situation. But my upbeat words, while making me feel better, probably did little to help her. Responding this way, I had both dismissed and disconfirmed my friend’s emotions about her experience. It was an example of impervious communication -- by which a person denies another person’s self-experience, or suggests that the other person is not entitled to feel as they do.

Another term for this is “disconfirmation.”

I’ve worked hard to avoid sending disconfirming messages and I hate it when I catch myself doing it. In fact, I’ve worked really hard as a mom not to do this with my sons.

When they were little, I began to read books by Alice Miller, the psychologist who is perhaps best known for writing Al Gore’s favorite book The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self. Miller points out that emotionally insecure parents often depend for their equilibrium on their children acting a certain way. When kids express sadness, anger, frustration, fear, or other emotional needs, the insecure parent shuts them down with disconfirming messages. In time, the child begins not to trust their own experiences or feelings. These “good soldiers,” highly attuned to their parent’s emotional states, become disconnected from their own emotional needs and have a hard time building up their own sense of emotional security.

Disconfirmation affected me and my siblings; I was determined not to repeat the same with my own kids.

It was a challenge. I had to learn a different way of responding. Books like Peter Senge’s The Fifth Discipline: The Art & Practice of The Learning Organization and Daniel Goleman’s Emotional Intelligence helped enormously. I picked up terms and techniques like “other-oriented communication,” “emotional mastery,” and “empathetic listening.”

But unlearning what your parents taught you is tough. Without my library of books, I probably would not have known what to do, except to repeat what I’d learned at home.

I recently spent some time with someone who learned disconfirmation from her parents but who never had the opportunity, as I did, to learn a different way of communicating. She is a disconfirmation pro. If you express a thought or feeling, she is sure to counter with the opposite. If you say “This is good,” she will say “Oh no. This is bad.” And vice versa. And yet, she is desperate for confirmation. She needs constant understanding, support and agreement for her feelings and her point of view. It’s difficult to have a true conversation with a person who communicates this way, and after a while I was just doing whatever was necessary to appease her.

My sense of self was slipping away. After several days constantly soothing this person while being driven crazy by her aggressive form of communication, I was exhausted. I sent email to a friend about how difficult the situation was for me. In response, my friend gave me one of the best gifts imaginable. A priceless gift. She responded with empathy. Her response, in essence, said “Yes, I know how hard this must be.” It was as if she had been walking in my shoes for the past week. It was one of those miracles of friendship that keep you going when you think you might break. It bolstered my self-esteem, and has enabled me to tap a source of internal strength. Whatever discomforts my friend might have been feeling when reading my sorrow-filled email, it did not keep her from crafting a response that effectively affirmed my difficult experience – and, perhaps more importantly, moved me forward. I had been “seen.” I could move on.

Communication is a learned skill. There is much we pick up from our parents in terms of how we express our thoughts, feelings and needs, and how we respond to others.

Thank heavens for friends who provide the gift of affirmation, who stand as solid witness to our experiences, who inspire us to communicate with more grace, more intelligence and more emotional maturity. It helps us be better people, and, in turn, better parents, since the gift of good communication is one that transcends generations.

On Being Bored

We have just hit the halfway point of summer. Our big family vacation has come and gone. The novelty of more free-form days has worn off. My children are bored. And they are angry with me for my unwillingness to rescue them from this uncomfortable state of being.

As a kid, I remember summers characterized by long stretches of boredom punctuated with brief bursts of memorable activity. The only thing that seemed worse than wilting in the sweltering heat of a muggy afternoon was being trapped inside a still and stifling house. Virtually all the kids in my neighborhood seemed similarly bored and available. We formed a loose confederacy that took off on bikes after breakfast, responsible only for making it home by dinner. We built forts. We went creek stomping. We drummed up informal kickball games and baseball games and games of every imaginable kind of tag. We begged our mothers to take us swimming. Mostly we were bored.

Very little of my children’s summer experience reminds me at all of this. Our neighborhood is suspiciously quiet in the months between May and September. Kids are off to camp, or being shuttled to this or that organized activity, or are out of town altogether. And the midday heat seems only to drive those still in residence indoors. Summer has a markedly different cadence than the school year, but it still feels somehow highly scripted.

My children are not adept at handling outstretched hours of promising nothingness. They have little tolerance for the empty spaces. They have not honed the fine art of being bored. They whine to me, as I did to my mother, “I’m boooored”. But the difference is, they actually expect me to do something about it.

I find their intolerance for unscripted time to be irritating. But, in truth, they have had precious little opportunity to get good at it. They juggle more activities, more homework, and more fragmented demands than I ever dreamt of dealing with as a kid. And the array of “default” activities that they can call upon to keep them from running into themselves seems unlimited. The Internet, video games, cell phones for unimpeded connectivity with peers, a dazzling array of channels on cable TV; these are but a few. And then there is central A/C to pacify them into into a restless yet sedentary stupor.

But beyond the nostalgia that certainly suffuses my memory of long ago summers, lies something of value I fear my children are missing. I fear that they are being robbed of the opportunity for growth and creativity that only a good hit of boredom can provide.

I want them to grow comfortable with the fertile, empty spaces in their day. Without them it will be difficult for them to discover vast uncharted territory within themselves, to hatch new plans, to dream, to move beyond the anxiety that can accompany coming face to face with ones self.

There is real growth that accompanies a child’s ability to coexist with boredom. I am afraid that if I do not allow my children to power beyond their need to be constantly stimulated they will be in danger of settling for any manner of diversion as adults. I’m afraid that they will sell themselves short.

Times have changed. The loving neglect that characterized the summers of my youth feels lifetimes away. I would not let my kids take off on their bikes without a cell phone or a plan for the day. Are you crazy? And I really don’t see anything inherently noble about boredom in and of itself, but I do want to wean my kids from the need to be constantly entertained.

In my house this must be cultivated with real intention – and over some rather loud protests. But in an effort to help my children become more independent in this regard, I am trying to become more aware of the subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways that I can be a sabotour .

A prime example is the way in which I unconsciously over-facilitate. When I am hit with a bored, whiny child I often jump right into a laundry list of “options” for them. Essentially I fill in their blanks. This does not seem like a good idea when I remind myself that my ultimate goal is to help my children grow into self-sufficient and self-aware adults.

By not filling in the blanks for them I put the responsibility squarely back on their shoulders. I am happy to be on the lookout for ways to help honor and promote their interests once they have made some of these connections. But I am tired of being the one making the connections for them. Doing so sounds like a recipe for resentment down the line. I don’t want them wondering if they are living their dream or mine.

I see an important role for myself in helping to nurture and support my children’s unique evolving selves. But how can they become unique, how can they evolve, if they turn consistently outward to find out who they are? Dangerous stuff, that.

We live in an age that offers us instant access to more information than we could even hope to assimilate. But this can distract us from the business of gaining a real understanding of ourselves, which is fundamental to our ability to make wise and satisfying choices about our lives.

If our children consistently seek to define themselves by answers they find outside of themselves they run the real risk of being driven by the shifting tides of trends or popular opinion, or to seek relief from discomfort with any readily available means of taking the edge off.

We can help our children become better equipped to make good choices regarding the kind of meaningful work that might suit them, the kind of meaningful relationships that might sustain them, the kind of meaningful values by which they may choose to live simply by not being so quick to supply the answers.

I want to help my kids grow comfortable with the dull patches of their lives so that ultimately they can grow to know what really makes their hearts sing. This is a blank that only they can fill in.

Minding Manners

“Remember to welcome our guests by name. Don’t forget to make eye contact when you extend your hand for a handshake. ” And so goes the prelude to an evening we will spend with old friends whom my children have not seen for several years. They are scowling. And I am, once again, “The Manners Police”, just one of the many terms of endearment my children have for me. Except that they do not think I am very dear at the moment. They think I am an old relic who places too much emphasis on outdated social niceties.

This causes me to reflect upon the regard for good manners I am attempting to instill in them. Is proper etiquette really just a euphemism for antiquated social rituals? The employment of a special brand of torture I inflict on my kids because my parents inflicted it on me? Do I just want my children to put on an attractive public face to make me look good?

Manners, as defined in the Merriam-Webster dictionary are considered “a person’s outward bearing; way of speaking to and treating others.” These courtesies we extend to others are intended to help make this world a nicer and more smoothly operating place. If my kids think that manners are passe, then perhaps I am doing a poor job of explaining their relevancy. Or maybe I am just setting the bar too low.

Take a moment when you’re out to listen to the way that many of us talk to one another. Or consider the way that so many of us regale strangers with the unsolicited and unwelcome details of our personal business as we chat on our cell phones in public spaces. Get a load of daytime talk shows or reality TV. Or just try to get a good head count for an event requesting guests to RSVP. Things do not look very promising. We appear to be a society of increasingly self-absorbed and intolerant individuals. Which is where the role for good manners should come in. At least this is the case for relevancy that I am making to my children.

When we are courteous we acknowledge the value of others with whom we are interacting or are in proximity. This means that it is not all about us. But it has become increasingly easy to insulate ourselves from the fact that we still live in community when we are so often tuned into our ipods or cell phones or laptops and out of the interactions taking place around us.

I worry that this propensity to operate in a bubble of self-absorption is reinforced by the manner in which we relate technologically. Texting, emailing, and instant messaging connect us to one and other, but these are largely unilateral endeavors. We send. We receive. We are at the center of our own personal universe of information, most often operating without benefit of the nuances or dynamic interplay of personal connection. Could this be why many of us seem to have become so comfortable talking to others while tuned in almost exclusively to ourselves and our needs?

In an effort to help our kids mature into reasonably sensitive and discerning individuals, we have given them free reign to question the manners we enforce. After all, manners should have teeth. There should be some practical, relevant reason for their existence. And so, instead of autocratically demanding compliance, we have always offered a challenge. “When you are giving us the big eye roll, and think that we are looking to enforce unreasonable or unnecessary behavioral standards,” we say, “ask us for the underlying “why”. If we can’t come up with something solid to back it up, we will be willing to concede that we are concerning ourselves with nonsense.”

They have questioned many things. One biggy was the expectation that they write timely thank you notes, a longstanding non-negotiable in our household. This practice is easy to defend because thank you notes serve the practical purpose of confirming to the giver that their gift was received. But they offer so much more. And giving my children the opportunity to question their relevancy provided a wonderful chance to share this with them. The few minutes it takes to dash off a note of thanks moves them beyond themselves. It provides them with the opportunity to acknowledge and appreciate the other person in the equation. It fosters a sense of gratitude. This is the kind of stuff we are looking to encourage.

We live in an increasingly interconnected universe. Growing to see beyond our own egocentric selves is a basic validation of others that can promote goodwill and also up the odds that things will go well with our social interactions. There is nothing antiquated about that.

Speaking courteously to one and other, properly disposing of trash in a public places, being mindful of our cell phone conversations when we are out and about, these things remind us that we live in a world larger than ourselves. By acting with an appreciation for others we can elevate a situation and hone the interpersonal skills necessary for healthy relationships. I find it interesting that while good manners appear to be in short supply these days, there seems to be an overwhelming preoccupation in our culture with being accorded respect. We all want it, but we’re so busy demanding it there is often little room for reciprocity.

This has confirmed to my husband and I the wisdom in helping our kids appreciate the underpinnings of the courtesies we expect them to employ. By doing so we hope to help them mature into thoughtful individuals who can appreciate the importance of treating others with the kind of consideration they would like to be extended. Really we’re just working on the Golden Rule.

A rapidly changing technological world has fundamentally altered the manner in which we interact with one and other. Times have changed and I am willing to change with them. But I am not willing to allow the lowest common denominator of human behavior to dictate the quality of life in our household. I will not send my children out into the world without a healthy appreciation for the importance of conducting themselves with self-respect and with respect for others. I want them to learn empathy. I want them to be kind.

I see no sense in subscribing to an arbitrary set of rules intended to govern social interactions. That seems hollow and meaningless. But I do think it makes a great deal of sense to think through, personally and as a family, that which we value, the manner in which we would like to be treated, the way in which we want to operate in the world. And then make that the standard for our behavior. The world would be a truly lovely place if we all gave this a shot. But it can be a unilateral endeavor. We are free to choose our own walk. We can be the change we want to see happen.

Summer Vacation

We are in the thick of a time honored tradition, the family summer vacation. That much of it is being spent with my extended family only serves to make it more meaningful - and definitely more challenging.

It is the kind of communal experience that I imagine once typlified many people's lives. But in our fast-paced, transient, compartmentalized world it is a serious departure for most of us. It certainly is for me.

Technology and its associated unrelenting demands have effectively tethered us to the non-stop work week in ways previously unimaginable. Couple this with a challenging economy and the thought of a summer vacation can feel much more stressful than blissful. It is easy to take a pass.

But the point is not to hit the most exotic beaches or overpriced theme parks. In fact, the point is not even to leave the house (although it is infinitely harder to switch gears surrounded by the vestiges of daily life). The point is to spend a little quality time with the people who should hold a pretty special place in our hearts. The ones we married or birthed or committed ourselves to. Families come in many shapes and sizes, but we all share something very basic, an implied commitment to one and other.

Fragmentation and frequently isolation often typify family life these days. Many of us live in households characterized by widely divergent schedules, disparate interests and virtual worlds of individual preoccupations. This can translate into a loose confederacy of cohabitating individuals with the same last name - or not. In light of this, the notion of a good old family vacation may appear rather antiquated - or just plain out of reach.

But if we aspire to be more than just a band of cohabitators, if we yearn for the kind of connection and continuity that only shared time together can foster then there has never been a more important time to clear the decks for a little togetherness. It will not happen by accident.

That most of us crave connection would seem obvious based upon our mania for 24/7 connectivity. But as important as our exhaustive address books or buddy lists may feel, family (those we inherit and those whom we choose up) hold a special promise for connection on a much deeper level. We may live in fiercly independant and autonomous pods, but we were hard wired for community and meaningful connection. This is a need no battalion of faux Facebook friends could ever fill.

But making time to spend with the all-too-human people we are related to is not for sissies. There is a reason the dysfunctional-family-gathering genre of film continues to do great business at the box office. We can all relate. There is little more difficult than loving those closest to us.

But instead of side-stepping the reality that inevitably accompanies relational intimacy, shared time together offers us a chance to embrace it - and to help our children grow comfortable embracing it, too. There is nothing like several hours in a cramped car to refine conflict resolution skills, or to offer ample opportunity for offering each other a measure of grace. And while magical moments in the most mundane of conditions absolutely do occur, it is the shared adventures and misadventures we often vividly remember and fondly recount when our thoughts turn to family. This time that I am spending with my family is forging new shared memories unique to us. We are an intentional unit, set apart. Like the day we treated ourselves to ice cream - three times, like the perfect sunset we witnessed over the point, and even the day we spent touring in such an unrelenting downpour that we all came home with pruney feet. These are memories that distinguish us from the masses of others who waft in and out of our lives.

By opening ourselves to the emotional intimacy that close quarters and a lot of free time can offer, we open ourselves to much more - to something more demanding and ultimately more soul satisfying than the superficial level on which it is easy to operate. In a world where "un-friend" is a verb and blocking emails can spare us from even having to deal with people who bug us, it is easy to avoid the kind of knowing and being known possible only through our willingness to commit ourselves to each other.

Our world conspired against such intimacy. And popular culture often mistakes glittering superficiality, meaningless hook-ups or a thousand racked up virtual friends as a substitute for that which our souls really crave. But our souls know better. Our souls long to know and be known, to trust and be trusted, and to matter. We long to be authentic and to feel safe. There is no shortcut for this. So why not start by carving out a little time this summer for the people in your life who are not going anywhere?

And while you're at it, why not, as much as possible, eliminate the layers of technology and preoccupation that so often serve to separate. Once you've tasted real authentic connection no substitute will do. Which means that that you could really start something with the gift of your presence. It may well be the gift that keeps on giving.

President Obama Recognizes the Vital Role of Parents

On the eve of Father's Day weekend, President Obama gave remarks at a White House Town Hall on the topic of fatherhood. He also spoke with CBS's Harry Smith about fatherhood.

In addition, he wrote a letter to his daughters, Sasha and Malia, about his beliefs about fatherhood. Published in Parade Magazine, it read, in part:

As fathers, we need to be involved in our children’s lives not just when it’s convenient or easy, and not just when they’re doing well—but when it’s difficult and thankless, and they’re struggling. That is when they need us most.

And it’s not enough to just be physically present. Too often, especially during tough economic times like these, we are emotionally absent: distracted, consumed by what’s happening in our own lives, worried about keeping our jobs and paying our bills, unsure if we’ll be able to give our kids the same opportunities we had.

Our children can tell. They know when we’re not fully there. And that disengagement sends a clear message—whether we mean it or not—about where among our priorities they fall.

So we need to step out of our own heads and tune in. We need to turn off the television and start talking with our kids, and listening to them, and understanding what’s going on in their lives.

We need to set limits and expectations. We need to replace that video game with a book and make sure that homework gets done. We need to say to our daughters, Don’t ever let images on TV tell you what you are worth, because I expect you to dream without limit and reach for your goals. We need to tell our sons, Those songs on the radio may glorify violence, but in our house, we find glory in achievement, self-respect, and hard work.

We need to realize that we are our children’s first and best teachers. When we are selfish or inconsiderate, when we mistreat our wives or girlfriends, when we cut corners or fail to control our tempers, our children learn from that—and it’s no surprise when we see those behaviors in our schools or on our streets.

But it also works the other way around. When we work hard, treat others with respect, spend within our means, and contribute to our communities, those are the lessons our children learn. And that is what so many fathers are doing every day—coaching soccer and Little League, going to those school assemblies and parent-teacher conferences, scrimping and saving and working that extra shift so their kids can go to college. They are fulfilling their most fundamental duty as fathers: to show their children, by example, the kind of people they want them to become.

It is rarely easy. There are plenty of days of struggle and heartache when, despite our best efforts, we fail to live up to our responsibilities. I know I have been an imperfect father. I know I have made mistakes. I have lost count of all the times, over the years, when the demands of work have taken me from the duties of fatherhood. There were many days out on the campaign trail when I felt like my family was a million miles away, and I knew I was missing moments of my daughters’ lives that I’d never get back. It is a loss I will never fully accept.

But on this Father’s Day, I think back to the day I drove Michelle and a newborn Malia home from the hospital nearly 11 years ago—crawling along, miles under the speed limit, feeling the weight of my daughter’s future resting in my hands. I think about the pledge I made to her that day: that I would give her what I never had—that if I could be anything in life, I would be a good father. I knew that day that my own life wouldn’t count for much unless she had every opportunity in hers. And I knew I had an obligation, as we all do, to help create those opportunities and leave a better world for her and all our children.

On this Father’s Day, I am recommitting myself to that work, to those duties that all parents share: to build a foundation for our children’s dreams, to give them the love and support they need to fulfill them, and to stick with them the whole way through, no matter what doubts we may feel or difficulties we may face. That is my prayer for all of us on this Father’s Day, and that is my hope for this nation in the months and years ahead.

In all of his remarks at the White House, President Obama stressed the importance of small moments, and how they leave an imprint on the lives of our children. The pressures on us are enormous, he noted, but don't be distracted. Carve out time for conversation, and give up stuff you'd like to do instead.

Reading President Obama's letter, listening to him on "CBS Sunday Morning," and watching his speech on YouTube, I was grateful to hear the President talk so seriously -- and candidly -- about the importance of parenting. As Joe Biden (also a terrific father) said, "This is a big deal . . . Kids need love." For any parent who really loves being a parent, it just feels great to see the President of the United States also enjoying parenting so very much.

The "iWorld"

I've been reading a fascinating book, The Self-Esteem Trap: Raising Confident and Compassionate Kids in an Age of Self-Importance by Polly Young-Eisendrath. It came across my desk right at the end of the semester when I was entering final grades for the college courses I teach. One of the major complaints about college students you hear from the faculty is that today's students expect to receive A's and B's even when their work is clearly average, or below. They will skip class, fail to turn in assignments, do poorly on exams, liberally cut and paste from the Internet, neglect to do the assigned reading, and then act out if they receive C's. Not unlike toddlers who don't get their way, the students will pout, sulk, and make disparaging remarks about their professors on course evaluations and on websites such as "Rate My Professors." Grade inflation is a huge problem on college campuses.

Academic blogs are peppered with remarks about college students' lack of work ethic and their bloated sense of entitlement. People in my generation never got upset with an instructor if we were absent for two weeks and didn't understand the material. We didn't complain to instructors that they were unfair because they would not extend us special privileges. Nor did we expect A's and B's.

But today's college students are like that. They find it difficult to receive constructive criticism, let alone negative feedback. And yet they are very quick to criticize others. Somewhere along the line, they got the idea that professors are peers and that other people will gladly make allowances for them whenever they don't do something -- like read, or attend class or turn in non-plagiarized work. At the same time, they have incredibly strong consumer skills. They demand high grades as exchange for paying tuition and doing average work on assignments. So, grading is a challenge. This spring I read that some college professors and instructors are skipping grading altogether. The hassle, they say, is just not worth it.

But, I feel that it's my job to grade well and fairly, so when The Self-Esteem Trap hit my desk, I was intrigued. Polly Young-Eisendrath's argument, in a nutshell, is that today's children and young adults are suffering from a number of symptoms, including obsessive self-focus, restless dissatisfaction, pressures to be exceptional, unreadiness to accept responsibilities and feelings of either superiority or inferiority.

Young-Eisendrath lays the blame squarely at the feet of parents. Parents today, she writes, feel that it is their job to meet their children's every need -- from hugs and kisses for a bruised knee or bruised ego. We are quick to praise our children for their accomplishments, displaying artwork, rewarding good grades, and nourishing special talents and gifts with classes and programs. Young-Eisendrath notes that many parents have become adept at running interference for their kids, smoothing the way, so that children don't have to deal with disappointment, bad feelings, conflict, or with consequences of bad behavior.

Of course I could relate, not only from the standpoint of a teacher who sees how hard it is for many college students to stand on their own two feet, but also as a parent who probably ran interference one too many times. In my students, I can see how the effects of entitlement, unearned privileges, and parental overinvolvement undermine a young person's motivations. I don't want to make the same mistake with my sons. As Liz likes to say, our job as parents is to work ourselves out of a job; to parent in a way that promotes independence, genuine confidence and connection to the community. More than once, my mother-in-law suggested that I was too indulgent, giving too much and demanding too little of my boys. I knew she was right, and not wanting to raise little tyrants, tried to correct course. I want my boys to know that they are loved and supported, but I also want them to be self-motivated, responsible, and good self-advocates. Reading The Self-Esteem Trap added fuel to my conviction to be the parent, not the friend.

There is another element at play that doesn't get much attention in Young-Eisendrath's book. Today's children and young adults have been shaped by exposure to computer technology since elementary school. The computer screen -- and now the cell phone screen -- has become a portal that brings the world to the individual. Only twenty years ago, we had to leave our bedrooms to go shopping for clothes or music, to see a movie, to play a game with our friends or take a class. We had to go get it, and find a way to do so. Now it all comes to us. When we want it. Mark Bauerlein, an English professor at Emory University, says that interactive technologies give young users "the sense of them being the center of the universe." That gives them a distorted understanding of how the world works, he says.

Young people have much to learn before they go off to college. They need to learn about self-care, finance, money-management, organization and time-management. They need to learn how to go out into the world, to live successfully with other people in the world. All of those things help kids build confidence and character.

In that regard, we play such an important role.

Summertime

Can another school year already be over? It feels as if I just sent the kids off with fresh pencils and mixed emotions, only to find the debris of lockers, backpacks and yet another jam-packed school year littering the mudroom floor. I know, however, that in a blink I will be sending them right back out the door, a whole new year on the horizon. And thus goes the endless cycle, busy school year giving way to busy summer, and on and on.

But when I stop for a moment to get my bearings, I can see how summer offers a special opportunity to fit in a few handy life lessons along with directives to be more generous with the sunscreen and make sure to get to bed at a reasonable hour. Summer is a great season to help our kids learn to manage their time in satisfying ways. Not just in ways that are satisfying to us, but in ways that feel satisfying to them. We can help them to get intentional and creative. We can encourage healthy choices. The superstructure of the school year often leaves kids in a reactive mode, responding to the myriad demands imposed upon them. Summers, even busy, activity-packed summers, operate with a different cadence and often offer more latitude for managing one's time. Capitalizing on this is both a challenge and an opportunity.

We have an important role to play in helping our kids become thoughtful and
mature decision makers. We have the opportunity and the obligation to help them develop the skills and cultivate the healthy habits they will need to run their own lives. Cell phones, the Internet, and other technological advances may have set the stage for our children to enjoy more autonomy than any previous generation has ever known. But that doesn't change the basics. Our job as parents remains one of basically working ourselves right out of a day job. I, for one, am not shooting to have my twenty-somethings camped out in the basement when they could be fully inhabiting their own lives. Nor do I particularly want them on the dole. My husband and I will always be there for them, but I certainly want to maximize the odds that they will be prepared to take over the reigns of their own lives as they edge toward adulthood.

Summer offers a special opportunity for a little stealth learning. And though it takes some extra energy to help our kids cultivate the skills necessary to utilize their time and their talents wisely, this up-front time is time well spent. It is a part of preparing them for the time that they will venture forth on their own, when life beyond school bells and homework assignments can have all the structure of summer vacation, amorphous and open-ended, waiting for form and meaning to be conferred upon it. Our children can learn to give thought to what they want their lives to look like by practicing with the more free form hours of summertime.

We always start the summer by jotting down our "Summer Lists". We begin by imagining ourselves sitting down to dinner three months hence, reflecting back. My husband and I challenge both the kids and ourselves to think through what we hope we will have to talk about. There really are no right or wrong answers. Some things are imminently doable. Others are a stretch. Some are goal oriented. Others are a lark. Cultivating ripe, fertile lazy places is one of the most important, and difficult, parts. But how can we grow beyond the small worlds we have constructed for ourselves if we do not make the space to dream and to be refreshed? We check in periodically with our Summer Lists to see how we are doing - and what we are forgetting to do. Sure, it may sound nerdy, but how often have you said, "I never got around to..." as one season ushers in another. Getting clear on what is worth doing is a great thing, and often an acquired skill.

But there are some things worth doing that don't seem so likely to happen of their own accord. This is also where parents come in. And while we have never been much for bribing, we did establish a rather successful program at our house a few summers ago, patterned after a wonderful initiative of the public library. We prefer to consider it an "incentive program", but the kids have dubbed it "Books for Bucks". That's right. We pay our kids to read. Summer reading programs have been flourishing at libraries across the nation for generations. Our in-house program pays a modest sum per book, with discretion to adjust up or down, as deemed appropriate. This has been just the ticket to get the kids off the x-box or away from the TV when they are just hanging around. And, as librarians have long known, reading quickly becomes its own reward. A worthy investment, as we see it.

We can live our lives by design or we can live them by default. Either way, we are making a choice. But choosing to give thought to the design of our lives entails that we take responsibility for our choices. It does not preclude serendipity or space for the unexpected. In fact, it is in living intentionally that we open the space for magic to happen. And isn't that better than welcoming Fall by saying, "I never got around to..."

Sex Is Different Today

As my son and I drove to school this morning, we caught a NPR segment called "Sex Without Intimacy" which made both of us squirm in our seats just a little bit. It was about how hooking up has virtually replaced dating. According to Kathleen Bogle, a professor of sociology and criminal justice at La Salle University, it is a major shift in the culture.

"The idea used to be you are going to date someone that is going to lead to something sexual happening," Bogle said. "In the hookup era, something sexual happens, even though it may be less than sexual intercourse, that may or may not ever lead to dating."

The I-word was what made us uncomfortable, though there was no debating the truth in Bogle's words. Teenagers like my sons are used to the idea that something sexual usually happens between guys and girls long before they even consider going on a date or being boyfriend or girlfriend. The NPR segment explained that the age at which people marry for the first time has been steadily creeping up, and that the tradition of dating and courtship leading to marriage is about as outdated as the typewriter.

But technology also seems to be playing a role. People hook up via the Internet and text messaging. May Wilkerson, a 25 year-old woman remarked, "What that means is that you have contact with many, many more people, but each of those relationships takes up a little bit less of your life. That fragmentation of the social world creates a lot of loneliness."

That's a sad statement.

Hooking up started before the Internet and social networks, but the technology is extending the lifestyle way beyond the campus. Deborah Roffman, a consultant on teenage sexuality, says no one is offering this generation guidance on how to manage what is essentially a new stage in life.

The dilemma for this generation is how to learn about intimacy, she says: "How am I going to have a series of relationships that are going to be healthy for me and others, and going to prepare me" for settling down with one person?

So, if this is the case, if young people have virtually abandoned dating and replaced it with group get-togethers and sexual behaviors that are detached from love or commitment—and sometimes even from liking — how should we guide our sons and daughters? Where do we even begin?

How do we help our kids make the right choices in such an environment? As Laura Sessions Stepp writes, "This is not a hookup culture so much as an unhooked culture." She adds, "Loving may be as basic as breathing, but loving well is a learned behavior."

This morning I was keenly reminded that the current sexual culture is very different from the one I grew up in. If there was ever a time for communication and connection with our kids, this is it.

Art by Bueller Designs available on Etsy. Copyright Bueller Designs. Used by permission.

The Big Questions

My hard headed, short sighted, but otherwise lovely daughter does not seem interested in the great advice I have to give her.

I am trying to talk with her about the importance of asking herself the "big questions", of getting clear about what she values, how she wants to walk through this world, who she chooses to be. I wish that someone had taken the time to get to know and understand me so well when I was a kid, and to challenge me to get to know and understand myself. Imagine where I could be now!

I was raised by wonderful parents who could not have loved me more, but I don't think that getting to know my unique self felt like a part of their parental job description. I am probably typical in that I am trying to get this parenting thing "more right" with my own kids. And so I take with me the bits from my childhood that blessed me and augment them with pretty much the rest of what I wish had been a part of the mix. I am flummoxed by my daughter's resistance to my insightful support. Can't she see how lucky she is?

But just as I prepare to give full vent to my frustration I am reminded of a wise friend who has taken the time to get to know my unique self, and to offer me some gentle words of wisdom. The truth that we have to share with others, she suggests, is usually meant first for ourselves. Oh. The mere thought of having to turn my words on myself is enough to make me want to clean out a closet or organize the spice rack. Anything but become reflective, which makes me squirm. To quote my mother's favorite phrase, "I do not want to go there." Hmmm.

I realize that asking myself the big questions, which are usually the most basic questions, requires that I reflect upon my values and priorities, on my hopes for the future - and the gap between them and how I walk through my everyday life. It's that gap that makes me squirm. It is indicting and, well, I just don't want to go there.

Big picture reflection takes me way out of my comfort zone. It opens me up to the possibility of taking risks, and of failure. I may look silly. It may be hard. Accountability will be involved. So much easier to weed through my emails or sort the recycling. Much easier to give advice than to take it.

Over two thousand years ago the Greek philosopher Socrates stated that, "The unexamined life is not worth living", confirming the wisdom of the advice I offer my daughter. But coming face to face with my reticence to apply these words to my own life helps me to empathize with her. And all of the things vying for my attention in this media saturated, multi-tasking, technology driven world provide an additional layer of white noise between me and the space I need to live a thoughtful, intentional life. I am reminded of the airplane analogy of putting on our own oxygen masks before we may assist others. I guess I'd better tend to myself first.

And so, before I start on my daughter again, I am going to suck it up and check in with myself to see how my walk and my talk are stacking up. We may live in unprecedented and unrelenting times, but the truth of Socrates words will never be obsolete. If fact, it may be more important than ever.

Some Good Advice about Teens and Dating

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On the Today Show this morning, Al Roker spoke with Sarah Burningham and Michelle Borba about how parents can guide their teens through the rocky road of dating. They spoke about tailoring dating guidelines to teen's level of maturity, the benefits of group dating, and the influence of technology on dating. One point I really related to was Michelle's advice to create a "comfortable presence" around your teen. Some other great tips: put boundaries in place early, and talk constantly to your teens. (iParent's extended Q & A with Sarah about teens, technology and dating is here.)

E3 Developments Signal Positive Changes In Video Gaming Technologies

The largest annual trade show for video game enthusiasts, the Electronic Entertainment Expo, or E3, is taking place at the Los Angeles Convention Center. It kicked off yesterday with an appearance by Ringo Starr and Paul McCartney who unveiled a new game for the very popular Rock Band called "Beatles: Rock Band."

Like gazillion other kids, my boys love playing Rock Band, but I couldn't really get into it. Until now. Beatles songs are songs I actually know the words to! (Check out a preview review of "Beatles:Rock Band here.) This could be fun for the whole family. I only wish it had come out a few years ago when I still had half a chance of competing with the kids.

The major news at E3 is that controllers seem to be on their way out, replaced by simpler, more intuitive devices that let gamers move their arms and legs to guide their avatars' movements onscreen.

In 2008, Nintendo broke ground with it's motion-sensing game play Wii Fit. It has sold over 15 million units worldwide and it's popularity only continues to grow. Our family has found Wii Fit to be a fun, family-friendly option for days when it was too hot or cold outside. My attempts to hula hoop on Wii have provided the boys with (yet) another reason to laugh at their wacky mom.

Nintendo's next release of Wii Fit will include a game called Perfect 10, which mixes math and motion. You are encircled by balls, and numbers come up on the balls — 4, 6, 8 — and you wiggle your hips to hit the right balls so they add up to 10. Nintendo says that the game is mental and physical at the same time.

Just what this aging baby boomer with memory-loss problems needs.

At E3 this week, Nintendo also announced that it has taken a gigantic leap towards unteathered fitness-related gaming. It has developed games that can actually read players' movements without the aid of remote controls. A demonstration of a new four-player Mario game for the Wii drew applause from the E3 audience, and a new sports game for the Wii, called Wii Sports Resort, was another highlight of Nintendo's hour-long presentation.

That's welcome news. I'm not crazy about standing on the Wii board. The Wii game I like the most, Wii "My Fitness Coach" (which currently has 227 five-star reviews on Amazon!), allows me to exercise without being on the board. I'm hooked; I use it at least five times a week. I like being unteathered from technology, and I've found that exercising with an avatar is highly motivating. Wii Sports Resort will be packaged with Wii Motion Plus, a super-sensitive contoller, and will include games like Disc Dog!

Sony and Microsoft both announced that they, too, will also be offering more interactive, controller-less games. Sony Computer Entertainment unveiled an unnamed prototype of a motion-sensing system with a controller that can be wielded as a sword, a baseball bat, a gun and even a bow and arrow.

Microsoft announed that it has developed a gaming system for the Xbox 360, code-named "Project Natal," that eliminates controllers entirely by tracking players' body movements. The three-camera, full body motion-capture system with voice recognition allows people to move their entire bodies to play a game, in place of using a handheld device.

Hollywood director Steven Spielberg is already a fan of controller-less video games. He appeared at E3 and hinted at looking forward to designing titles that could change the definition of gaming. "As a creator I could suddenly envision a new way of personalizing gameplay, making it possible to even change the paradigm of storytelling and of social interaction," said Spielberg.

I see all of this as a very positive development in video gaming. Interactive gaming, the type that requires a person to be on their feet and in action while playing, is a much better use of gaming time. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. From what's been announced at E3 this week, it appears that the next generation of video games will help us exercise more, and may also provide ways to interact with each other more. Perhaps the dark ages of sit-on-your-butt alone-in-the-dark video gaming are coming to an end.