Grown-Ups Are Human, Right?

On a bike ride with my kids last week, Sophia stopped suddenly in front of me. To avoid injuring her, I braked and fell to the side. I wasn't hurt but my sensitive 5-year-old started crying. "You fell off your bike and hurt yourself and now you're mad!" she yelled.

"I didn't get hurt and I'm not mad," I replied. "You just took me by surprise. I didn't want to knock you down."

She continued crying. "Grown-ups are NOT supposed to fall off their bikes!"

I explained to her that grown-ups, even daddies, fall all the time. I couldn't help feeling sad at Sophia's perception of my role. Do we need to make our children aware that adults make mistakes too, or should we trust that they'll figure it out?

Fallibility is part of being human. From walking to adolescence to marriage, life contains innumerable trials. Not doing things right the first time is a necessary condition for learning and hopefully, a pathway to an enriched life from that point forward. Children are by necessity the most frequent and malleable learners. And every student needs a teacher.

In a child's eyes, parents are the blueprint for survival. Behaviors are imitated without question because our little animals crave someone to show them how to function in a complex world. This scenario isn't always positive, like with harmful cycles of abuse across generations, but it is nonetheless a fact.

Most adolescents understand that mom and dad aren't perfect. But for a grade-school child, imagine the trauma of seeing mom screaming in a public place or dad spilling a drink, when they're constantly stressing good behavior and being careful. Such disappointment can either fracture a person's reality or help shape it.

Sophia's reaction to my fall taught me that she depends on my living up to an unrealistic standard. I don't want her to be shocked when she realizes I'm not perfect, but I'm not sure I need to explicitly point it out. I guess she could go 1 of 2 ways.

Pressure: If my role model messes up, how will I ever be good enough?

Relief: If I make mistakes I must be normal, like everyone else.

My wife and I point out the regularity of our mishaps, like forgetting things and breaking dishes and allowing bad words to escape every now and then, in hopes that our kids will develop a realistic sense of expectations. The more I think about it, though, the less all that stuff really matters. We'll be their role models because we love and nurture them. But also because, honestly, they have no choice.

After our bike incident, Sophia's and my relationship dynamic will probably stay on course. She'll look up to me, then she won't for a while, then hopefully she'll think I'm great again. I know one thing: the next time I fall I will most certainly get back up again. I hope Sophia sees it.

Responsibility Varies with Each Child

A few weeks ago, my wife Tanya cut two of her fingers and needed stitches. I was at work, so she enlisted the help of our neighbors and Ella. Without tears or panic, our 8-year-old listened to my instructions on the phone and comforted her 5-year-old sister, Sophia, who was understandably traumatized.

That night, Tanya thanked Ella for her actions. "I'm very proud of you for helping me and Sophia when I cut my fingers," Tanya said. "I can't be-lieve you weren't even scared!"

Ella replied, "Was I supposed to be?"

Tanya and I shared a moment of pride and wonder. Ella's demeanor got me thinking about how we train our children in emergencies. Should we count on our young children to act in stressful situations, or do we risk creating more trauma by giving them too much responsibility?

Amid the unavoidable challenges of life, from medical emergencies to legal woes to home maintenance and beyond, staying grounded is vital. When we react calmly to stress, we improve our chances of success. It's hard enough for many adults. Now imagine if you are too short to reach the phone.

We trust experts like firefighters, doctors and pilots because they train for these specific situations. But even before a person can perfect their trade, they must possess the rare ability to block out the unnecessary details, maintain their own body and come up with a plan of action. Some people are simply not cut out for that kind of role.

Sophia's only 5 and is more emotionally volatile than her sister. At 8, Ella seems comfortable being trusted to call for help or otherwise assist her parents if the situation required it. Nevertheless, my gut still tells me that heaping too much responsibility on my soon-to-be-third-grader could be more pressure than she's equipped to handle.

What if she's the type of person who thrives under stress, as she's already proven once? Like a typical parent, I want to protect my children from possible threats to their well-being. However, I want to be careful not to protect them from threats that don't exist.

Safety comes first, and in emergencies disaster preparedness is vital. The more hands you have to help, the better. Calling 911 or a neighbor, getting out of the house and basic first aid are all things that can be done by young kids to alleviate the stress of a situation, as long as they keep their wits about them. The trick is knowing which kids keep their wits, and which ones don't.

The stitches have been removed, our vacation started as planned the next day and went off without a hitch, and the offending implement is tucked away in the drawer. The kids know not to touch the slicer, but just in case, we've reviewed basic first aid. Hopefully, Ella and Sophia won't have to use it.

Do You Know Your Body?

Earlier this year while we were out for breakfast, Sophia, my 5-year-old, was making annoying noises with her mouth. It sounded something between a boat engine and a rusty bugle. Ella, her 8-year-old sister, repeatedly asked her to stop, but the noise persisted. My wife intervened.

“Sophia, please stop,” Tanya said. “You’re doing that just to annoy Ella.”

“I am not!” Sophia replied, frowning. “You don’t know what my body is about. Nobody knows my body but me!”

Sophia had a point. Her body is unique, and I was happy she protected it. She made me think about a critical issue facing parents: How can we best promote in our children a true appreciation and awareness of their bodies?

A body is more than the vehicle that carries us around and separates us from the rest of the universe. Each body is a unique confluence of physical, mental and spiritual entities and the only thing we can truly call our own. It is fragile, easily disrupted, and needs protection from countless threats. 

Since, as my mother-in-law says, babies aren’t born with instruction manuals, kids are responsible for much of their own training. The sooner children can grasp what their parts do and how, the sooner they can care for those parts. But the threat of poor bodily awareness doesn’t affect everyone the same way. 

In my job as a physical therapist, I’ve met octogenarians who still don’t know that smoking can kill them. Some people seem surprised when I tell them that more walking and less sitting might lengthen their lives.

I often work with stroke victims who need to relearn how to walk, eat, or take a shower. Many of them tell me during their rehab that they never recognized their own capabilities, and that they didn’t appreciate simple activities until they were unable to perform them. Given the chance, they would have done things differently, they say. But bodies come with time limits and a no-return policy.

I’ve met second graders who don’t know the proper names of male and female reproductive organs. This frightens me because when they know how their parts function, they’re more likely to prevent unwanted consequences.   

It’s a child’s right and responsibility to know their physical, mental and spiritual capabilities, and to learn how to care for their most precious possession. Everyone doesn’t need to go to medical school or become a scientist, just to learn to appreciate who they are. In time, our little animals might discover they can run marathons, discover cures for disease, or find inner peace. Their potential is endless. 

While Sophia indeed may have been trying to annoy her sister in the restaurant, I think she was exploring and experimenting with her parts, discovering what will be hers until she dies. As long as it didn’t disturb the other customers, I didn’t care. Sophia already owned the car; she was merely kicking the tires.  

What are the Conditions of Giving?

About a month ago, Sophia and I pulled to a stoplight next to a man with a sign asking for money. The light changed and I continued driving.

"Dad, did you not feel like giving anything today?" my 5-year-old asked.

"I'm not sure if he really needs my help," I responded.

Sophia said, "What if he does?" 

I was ashamed. My wife, Tanya, and I stress to Sophia and her 8-year-old sister, Ella, that it's everyone's responsibility to help the less fortunate, even if we can't give all we have to everyone who needs it. We have the right to choose who we help, and how much we give. Harsh as it might sound, giving is conditional. How do we explain that to our kids?

We shouldn't sacrifice our mortgage and grocery money to make a donation, but we owe it to our communities to be charitable. A person's ability and desire to give depends on many factors. We must respect and not judge how a person distributes their wealth because everyone's situation is different.

I'll admit, I rarely toss change to beggars because I think the surest way to make money is to work for it. But maybe begging is a person's last resort. What I may justify as teaching self-reliance can also be considered selfish. Strictly speaking, when I overlooked the man at the corner, I was guilty of not helping my fellow man. Sophia had a point.

Tanya organized a fundraiser at Ella's school that raised nearly $800 for Poudre Valley Hospital's Cancer Center, and Ella helped enthusiastically. But by helping only one worthy charity did Tanya and Ella willfully neglect all others? Yes, they focused on one cause this time but the effect of their actions will trickle down to others because charity elicits more charity. Also, when we're governed by a sincere desire to help others, our choices are immune to justification. It's not about for whom or how much but the purity of the intention.

Children learn from the act, not the degree. To them, if the intention is clear, a penny to a Salvation Army bell ringer is tantamount to a million dollar endowment. When we help our fellow man with a cup of coffee or a loving hug or a few attentive minutes, both giver and receiver are likely to perpetuate the cycle because both gain joy from the act. When giving comes from the heart, children learn the real lessons: generosity is contagious, exponential and necessary for survival.

While this phenomenon is ingrained in our biology, it still must be trained. And sometimes our kids teach us more than we teach them. The more I think about it, the more likely I am to change my habits and give a dollar to a street beggar. How they spend their money is not my concern. Giving is about the cause, not the effect.

Weighing Risks and Rewards

My kids and I were watching a hockey game last week. A player slid into the boards and lay hurt on the ice for a few minutes. Sophia, my 5-year-old, asked if he was going to come back and play again.

"It happens all the time," I said. "He'll come back if the coach says he's safe to play."

"Why do they play if people keep getting hurt?" she asked.

Hockey is not the only activity that carries risk. When Sophia was a toddler, she tripped over everything within a 4-foot radius. Even with no formal education on the nuances of locomotion, she's now a skilled walker. So I wonder: Is the concept of weighing risks and rewards something we should bother teaching to our children, or should we trust they'll learn it on their own?

Everything we do has a risk of negative consequences. In sports, these run from concussions to plummeting self-esteem, but what about more mundane tasks? I've cut my fingers many times slicing vegetables. People get burned all the time while cooking. I want to be safe, yes, but I still have to eat.

Risk-taking comes naturally to many people, requiring no external guidance. Yet if you ask stockbrokers and base jumpers, they'll tell you risks can be substantially lessened with appropriate learning. So there is a gray area.

The growth we seek for our children occurs most pointedly when risks and rewards are more pronounced. Taking risks can lead to more confidence and can teach valuable lessons. We make these decisions daily and don't always succeed. The trick, therefore, is discovering how much risk we're comfortable accepting. And that can take help.

Ella, my 7-year-old, used to clutch the side of the pool, afraid that she couldn't swim. With practice, patience and gentle nudges from mom and dad, she gradually learned to be more confident. Now she jumps off the diving board. The reward finally outweighed the risk. Was it our help or her natural instincts that flipped the switch?

Not all things come so organically. A friend of mine recently applied for a new job. There were risks: salary discrepancy, more hours and uncertain office dynamics. And rewards: emotional fulfillment, chance to use his innate skill set and the probability of making a difference in his community. Five years ago, the same opportunity would have resulted in paralyzing fear, despite the possibility of great gains. What caused him to make the leap?

Assessing risks and rewards means accepting ourselves, whatever the outcome. The Navy SEALs who killed Osama bin Laden weren't concerned with the risks of their jobs; duty to peace-loving citizens everywhere was their first priority. While they were probably the same kids who thought nothing of sacrificing their bodies for thrills, they also might have been fearful children who were explicitly taught that rewards are greater when the risks are, too. Either way, we're thankful they learned.

Victory Versus Value

I took my daughters, Ella and Sophia, bowling last month. They were beating me for most of the game. I was shocked at how bad I was. "I can't believe I'm losing to a couple of kids," I repeated over the course of the evening.

I won by four pins thanks to a lucky strike off the bumper (yes, the bumper) on the last frame. Sophia, 5, seemed mildly upset and wondered why she didn't win. Ella wasn't bothered. "I just wanted to have fun," she said.

Sophia's interest in winning and Ella's preference to have fun made me wonder: Is competition good or bad for kids?

In the adult world, success tends to grace those who work harder than their peers. Competition drives the open market and encourages growth. It provides incentive to create better products, train harder or learn more. A company's ability to succeed is predicated on hiring better employees and developing better systems than the other companies.

But for those who are more inclined to cooperate than compete, having rivals is stressful and can even inhibit participation. My wife, Tanya, for example, prefers collaboration to competition and avoids situations that promote a win-or-lose mentality. I play basketball; she prefers yoga.

Things change when we talk about kids, whose goals lean toward intellectual and emotional growth, not the almighty dollar. Some experts say that competing for better grades in schools actually detracts from a student's ability to succeed.

According to Alfie Kohn, an author of 12 books on parenting and education and an outspoken critic of our fixation with grades and test scores, competition in schools is harmful. Kohn quotes studies illustrating that a child's sense of self-worth is defined by external sources. By focusing on winning the prize instead of performance quality, their inherent sense of value becomes a function of victory or defeat. The more a child competes, says Kohn, the more they need to compete to continue to feel good about themselves. A vicious cycle.

But competition is a reality in our society. From education to business and sports to relationships, we compete. For one to rise to the top, another must fill the vacuum at the bottom. The cost of the resultant hierarchy is that there will always be more losers than winners. Is it possible to skew this theory so more kids become the latter?

In a world where competition is unavoidable but cooperation is critical, parents need to play the game. Maybe we should decide what's more important, victory or value. Otherwise, we need to find the middle ground between individual quality and productive collaboration. Surely it exists.

Competition has made our country great, and it always feels good to be recognized for superior efforts. But the greatest triumphs in our civilization's history - democracy, space exploration, city building, to name a few - were team efforts with many winners.

I'll remember that after my next gutter ball.

Non-Traditional Traditions

Kelvin, Tanya, Sophia, Jen and Ella

I am not a religious person. Actually, I eschew western religion's  dogma, I don't believe in heaven and hell, or that one religion could possibly be more true than another, but it serves its purpose for those who believe. However, I do respect the value in traditions. That's why I make an effort every year to partake in some traditions associated with my Judaic history.

I received a pretty intense Jewish education from K through high school that taught me valuable lessons about my people's history and customs, global human values like charity, work ethic and basic respect for one another. The most glaring thing that has stuck with me is not the knowledge of what happened in Exodus or why we eat Matzah on Passover, but the importance of passing down customs from generation to generation to maintain a sense of identity and belonging. I feel I am typical of most Jews in the world, in that I'm much happier picking and choosing the traditions that suit me and don't follow rules that make no sense.

Sophia (1/2 Jew), Kelvin (gentile), Andrew and Jen
(Jews...sort of)

To that end, I led another low-pressure Seder on Tuesday night. We had Matzah and the Passover plate and read some of the Haggadah, even drank all the appropriate glasses of wine (though maybe out of turn). But with some minor discrepancies:

I didn't have walnuts to make the haroseth so I used some logic. Haroseth, normally a mixture of apples, walnuts, wine and cinnamon, represents the mortar with which the Jews were required to make bricks for the pharaoh. I used peanut butter instead, whose consistency is more like mortar than just about any other food I have in my kitchen. Turned out great, and it's surprisingly good with bitter herbs and parsley on a piece of matzah.

The seder plate. Notice the easter egg and
the dollop of peanut butter
 (and lack of shank bone)

Our hard boiled egg was an easter egg the kids painted (Tanya is not Jewish so we celebrate Easter as well), and we forgot the shank bone because we were going to take it from the Safeway roasted chicken we bought, but we forgot. Oh well.

I forgot the wine cup for the prophet Elijah, so we all drank a little extra on the back end.

Sophia, the youngest in the house, said only the first question of the required four. Actually, she repeated what Tanya told her to say.

We did eat Matzah ball soup, made by my beautiful Shiksah wife Tanya, but instead of brisket I made a traditional middle eastern feast, with tabouleh, hummus and falafel. (Fear not, we had chicken, albeit the already roasted one from Safeway) and some homemade potato kugel. The tabouleh, however, had couscous in it, which may not be permitted on Passover (no grains).

I hid the aifkomen, a piece of Matzah that the kids search for and get money when they find it. Then they hid it for the adults, who got no such cash prize.

We explained the meaning of Passover to everyone who attended (the four of us and a Jewish friend and her gentile fiance) and inferred some valuable lessons from it. 1) Having slaves is bad. 2) Freedom is the most under-appreciated virtue in western society. 3) It's important to have faith in whatever you believe. 4) Seders are much more enjoyable with more wine. 5) Cleaning up from the seder is never fun, but... 6) The leftovers make it worth it.

Happy Pesach.