I remember Black Friday well. My three sons, still bloated from Thanksgiving, would somehow manage to tear themselves from their post-prandial stupor and get up at an hour generally characterized as “are you kidding?” in order to hit the stores and the sales. Black Friday was a morning of great camaraderie as a group of 7 or 8 gangly teenage boys congregated in my kitchen, engaging in their familiar rituals of affection: bumping, hitting, teasing and mocking each other.
Every year at the preschool, just as predictable as the days getting shorter, we heard the same concerns from parents about handling the holiday season. We tried to reduce the anxiety that so many parents felt about the disruption the upcoming holidays would have on a family with young children by offering the following advice around this time of year.
I am a rabid San Francisco Giants fan — not a Johnny come lately, bandwagon kind of fan (though those are ok too!) — so I was gleeful when Travis Ishikawa hit a walk off home run to clinch the National League Championship title in Game 5 last week. I loved the way his team and the crowd responded, as if they knew he would do it all along. But I mostly love his story. So much of what we hear from the world of sports is bad lately — football players punching their fiancees, Olympic athletes headed to jail, and rampant cheating among college athletes. And then there is Travis Ishikawa, a good guy who has worked hard and has finally played the role of hero.
I have been an educator for over 35 years. This past June, 2014, I retired from my position as Principal and Head of School from an institution that I co-founded in 1996. I had been in the enviable position of working with dedicated staff, wonderful children and a committed parent group. Along the way I’ve learned some things! When I first began as a classroom teacher in 1977, I was working with a very different child than the one I saw in 2014.
One September morning, Pamela, looking tired and frustrated, posed a question that always came up following any vacation from school, though I heard it most often in the fall. The summer was very enjoyable; it was less stressful with fewer daily activities for each child, no homework or projects to complete, and more time to relax. However, rules and daily routines were also relaxed, and Pamela’s assumption was that when school began, the easygoing positive family dynamic would continue.
After writing the title for this blog, I stared at it for quite some time. Who I was referring to when I questioned “Beginning or Ending?” Did I mean us parents, or our children? Was it a “big picture” question about life in general or a smaller, specific question about our individual family constellations?
“The concept of childhood, so vital to the traditional American way of life, is threatened with extinction in the society we have created. Today’s child has become the unwilling victim of overwhelming stress—the stress borne of rapid, bewildering social change and constantly rising expectations.”
The best advice I ever received as a father came in 1994 from an 8-year-old girl before I even had kids. My wife and I were having dinner at our friends’ home in Palo Alto—a married couple, both of whom were hard-driving, ambitious executives who regularly worked long hours, and their two delightfully candid elementary school-aged kids. As the conversation turned to work, Carol, the 8-year-old, blurted out, “My parents work all the time.”
I hate homework. I hate reminding my kids to do their homework. I hate reviewing their homework. And most of all, I hate helping them with their homework. So I don’t. I don’t help them with it. I tell them to do it, but I don’t really care if they do or not. They don’t know that. They think I want them to do it. But they’ve just had a long day at school – longer than my school days ever were – and there is usually at least one after-school activity for some of them (ballet, karate, Hebrew lesson, occupational therapy, soccer practice). By the time they’re home it’s after 5pm, or even after 7pm. They’ve scarfed down snacks in the car, and been told where to be, what to do, and how to do it since 8.30am or earlier. So really, does it matter to me if they do a page of long division or translate 20 Spanish words at 8pm? No. I’ve never told them how I feel about them doing – or rather, not doing – the …
Since Teach Your Children Well came out in the summer of 2012, I have been on a perpetual book tour. I have spoken in many of the wealthiest enclaves in this country but I have also spoken to parents who are squarely middle or working class. I have been to the most prestigious independent and public schools as well as those that range from the notable to the unexceptional. I have spoken to top-level executives from Google and Microsoft, American Express and Morgan Stanley. I have also spoken to the boots on the ground people who work for these companies. I’ve been to Austin Texas, but also Midland Texas. To the Upper East Side of New York, the North Shore of Chicago and Beverly Hills as well as Knoxville, Nashville and Memphis. I’ve crisscrossed the country speaking to parents, teachers, administrators, professors, business executives, regular folks and billionaires.
I recently returned from visiting my older daughter, who works in Dallas. After a lovely day visiting some old friends, her office complex and the JFK museum, we headed out to dinner. Since we were treating, my daughter picked a highly regarded restaurant known for its casual atmosphere and fabulous food. We felt she had made a great choice from the minute we walked in. The waiter was in top form and the menu had plenty of options for the meat and veggie lovers among us. As is our family rule, phone ringers were turned off and devices were stored, after my daughter sent a quick to text her boyfriend that she would be out of commission for the next couple of hours. About 15 minutes after sitting down, she said “Mom, the family at the next table hasn’t spoken to each other AT ALL since we walked in.” That didn’t sound like it could be right, but now I was curious so I tried to subtly sneak a peek at what was happening “next door”…
As those of us with Lego-obsessed children know, a Lego set is a double-edged invitation. You can create an awesome replica of a familiar story or film scene with easy-to-follow instructions, and you can use the bricks to build, well, whatever you want, however weird, useless, or oddly juxtaposed the result (Cinderella trapped with Darth Vader in a castle that is part Hogwarts, part Death Star, and part Little Friends Dolphin Cruise Ship? Sure why not). I know families who put the instructions-based final product up on a shelf (the only way to preserve it, short of crazy glue). Otherwise, those elaborate final products smash as soon as a child grabs them in anticipation of play. The smashing, we have to think, is part of the design. The Lego Movie takes this double-edged-ness to a question at the heart of…