Old School Parents gave all their kids the same haircut….at home.
“No matter how calmly you try to referee, parenting will eventually produce bizarre behavior, and I’m not talking about the kids. Their behavior is always normal.”
― Bill Cosby
My first son Beau was born in 1992 and it was a different world then the one the second son Donovan was born into close to ten years later.
In 1992, no mom ever asked her kid,
”How do you feel about the way Johnny just treated you?”
Because that would be a stupid question when Johnny just clobbered your kid over the head and took his favorite blue dump truck.
Because your kid feels like crap about the way that Johnny just treated him and he wants to punch Johnny.
Twice.
My parents were old school. Back in their day, everyone was old school or a hippie and I’m assuming by my parents’ Motown collection that they weren’t hippies.
That and the big wooden paddle I found with my name on it underlined twice.
I mostly have fond memories of my childhood. Sure, they could have given me a different haircut from my three older brothers and I might could have used a talk or any about sex, dating, periods or other “icky” stuff. They might not have needed to spank me SO hard for that paint I spilled on the green rug in my room in the apartment on Wilshire, but whatever they did or didn’t do, they were sturdy and steady and reliable and predictable.
They never tried to be cool and they were not my friends and I never once questioned their love for me. Not once.
Some parents nowadays want to be their kids’ friend. Parents, these kids are not your friends. Don’t burden them with a best friend who is thirty years older than them and who was present at their entrance into this world.
I like my kids – but just because my son Beau is about to turn 21 doesn’t mean I’m calling him to go bar hopping. And yes, Beau, is breathing a huge sigh of relief as he reads this because the last person on earth he wants to barhop with his mother who is indeed not his best friend and definitely not someone he wants to throw down beers with.
Thank God.
Parenting even looks and sounds different; it is organic and Starbucked and Tivoed and I-Padded and hip and well dressed wearing Toms, Uggs, Urban Outfitters and practicing yoga while being active in three causes.
Old school wore ugly sweats and house slippers and did so for a good five years – or until the kids were old enough to turn the television on themselves. Then Old School moved up to her husband’s flannel and overalls and yeah, Old School wore overalls the first time around.
That stupid , “I am so reasonable voice” that even dad’s use; yeah. That happened in the last ten years.
I am all about being reasonable and listening to your kids. I don’t even mind explaining myself sometimes but I think “because I said so” is a perfectly reasonable response, and I’m pretty certain you can be reasonable without sounding like Strawberry Shortcake.
Back in the day, parents weren’t afraid to screech, berate, nag or just plain yell.
That wasn’t so great either.
I waver between two worlds. I once heard myself telling Donovan not to climb a tree because he might hurt its’ branches and four feet was way too far too fall.
I almost called a world summit to decide if Donovan could walk around the mall by himself for fifteen minutes at age ten.
Donovan’s every moment has been documented, every achievement, every word, phrase, flip, cartwheel, soccer kick seen on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and websites across the world.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that every minute is not an achievement or a miracle – it’s just a childhood.
But if parenting hadn’t become a verb then so many kids who needed help might not be getting it, including my own.
We are more aware of bullying, bulimia, learning disabilities, different abilities, hurtful social dilemmas and the crappy food we are eating.
Awareness equals ability to act.
If parenting didn’t become a verb I might not have been so understanding of Donovan and his differences. Of the way red food dye makes him go ballistic; of the way he needs to learn with his hands in the middle of something; of the way that no matter how many times I said “because I said so” that wouldn’t always work for Donovan, who sometimes just worked better with an actual explanation.
Did I ever learn a thing from going out to the family cherry tree and picking off my own switch? Perhaps.
I learned which branch to pick the next time, the one that wouldn’t hurt so much, and every time I hear about a kid having to face a wall it makes me want to start a fight. I’d have given anything to know a little bit more about my parents when I was a teen. I didn’t have to be their friend but just to know they were people with interests and stories that should have been shared.
Old School wasn’t so much into sharing.
So, I have found myself blessedly teetering between both worlds and as I try to pass on the values I leaned from my mother while adding a few of my own, I find myself shopping at Trader Joe’s while wearing overalls and Uggs and intermittently muttering things like “Because I said so” and “I understand completely how you feel” – and hoping to strike somewhat of a balance between the two.
About Rebecca Suder