Connecting with the Universe

The other day in the car, a favorite song of mine came on. "Girls," I said to my daughters, "this is the same group who sings the song you like from that movie, 'School of Rock.' "

The instant after I said it, the very song I was talking about started playing. "Do you know what this means?" I asked excitedly. "It means we're connected to the universe! We asked for the song and it came on."

Sophia, my 5-year-old, was controlled in her happiness. "I didn't know I could do that," she said.

I believe that a positive attitude leads to happiness and success. If you want something enough and focus your energy on it, my wife Tanya and I tell our daughters, you can have and achieve whatever you desire. I call it "connecting to the universe."

In the real world, though, no one is successful 100 percent of the time. Children need to learn that adversity happens and the skills to deal with it. So I wonder: by promoting the ideas of unfailing positivity and a belief that one can manifest anything, am I setting up my kids for disaster?

I discussed this with a friend of mine whose outlook is different from my own. He works in the financial industry, dealing daily with billions of dollars in assets. He says that realists are idealists with experience and attributes his philosophy of enthusiastic caution to his job requirements. In analyzing countless statistics and measures that contribute to the global economy, he needs to be prudent. If he ignores significant data because of their unpleasantness, he runs the risk of financial disaster for his clients.

As a physical therapist, I have to concentrate on my patients' abilities - what they can do. If I heed the deficits more than I capitalize on the strengths, my clients may not realize their potential. Consequently, much of my life is spent convincing people of what is possible. And while the realism of certain conditions is unavoidable, I've learned that the human spirit is limitless when a desire is strong enough.

Our argument illustrates the depth of such philosophical differences. Some of my friends think I'm nuts, that my ideas run from naive, new-age mumbo jumbo to dangerous idealism. They joke at how my children are being set up for a life of rude awakenings. But I'd rather my kids be optimistic and be disappointed every once in a while than spend their lives living in a vacuum of pessimism. The results of positivity and belief in self-determinism, from Martin Luther King Jr. to Tim Tebow, are undeniable.

On the way home, Ella, my 8-year-old, asked me to change the radio stations. "I want to hear that song. I'm trying to connect to the universe," she said. I obliged her but, alas, no luck. "Why isn't it working?" she asked, sounding sad.

The beginning of the end, perhaps?

That night we manifested our song from iTunes and played it endlessly. The universe works in mysterious ways.

Teanage Pregnancy...Be Very Afraid

Ella and Sohpia, not pregnant
 Boynton Beach, Florida

On Christmas day, my daughters Ella and Sophia were pretending to be mothers to the new dolls they got that morning. Ella mentioned that she had become a mother at 8 years old.

"You can't have a baby at 8," my wife Tanya said. "That's impossible."

"OK, then I was 15," Ella said.

I breathed deeply to control my rocketing heart rate and oncoming nausea, then said, "Fifteen? There's no way you're getting pregnant when you're in high school. Don't even joke about it."

"We're just playing, Dad," Sophia, my 5-year-old said.

I wasn't amused. "I can't talk about this. You'll ruin your life if you have a baby before you finish college. Period."

Despite the challenges inherent in teenage pregnancy, I'm sure there are success stories out there. Nevertheless, I'll admit that no situation scares me more for my daughters than them having babies before they're ready. Just the thought of it gives me chills. Am I overreacting?

Family dynamics have changed considerably in the last century. The U.S Census Bureau website states that in 1900 the average American lived to be 47. In 2007, it was 77. When a woman was unlikely to live past her mid-40s, it made sense to have children earlier, whether she was ready emotionally or not. If she waited too long, she might not be alive to see her children grow up. And in a time when large families were necessary to help on the farm or with the family business, delaying motherhood and devoting time to professional pursuits was rare, even selfish.

Nowadays, it's no mystery that having a post-secondary education leads to more professional opportunities, higher earning potential and most importantly the ability to educate oneself. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, 57 percent of all college graduates in 2009 were female. Not surprisingly, then, almost 60 percent of American women are currently employed in the workforce (www.BLS.gov). Given the gender equality that now exists in the educational and professional arenas, as well as advances in reproductive medicine, women (and their partners) can afford to wait a few years to start a family.

For me, the issue is primarily biological. The frontal lobe of the brain, which is responsible for impulse control, judgment and assessing risk, is not fully developed until our early 20s. Any parent will tell you that if you can't control your drives or make heady choices, you're doomed to be eaten alive by the 24/7 job of parenting.

The divorce rate, consistently more than 50 percent tells us that most grown adults can't handle long-term relationships any better than irritable, immature, hormonal teenagers. Kids crave stability, which is not typical for a demographic that has to juggle school, work and finances, as well as the unforgiving minefields of peer pressure, dating and (gulp) sexuality.

Finally, if we don't trust our youth to control how much alcohol they can drink until they are 21, why isn't there a similar law prohibiting them from having babies before then?

I hope Ella got the point.

Never Lose Your Sense of Wonder...

Buddy Peanut lounging on the thermostat

The day after Thanksgiving, an elf (named Buddy Peanut by Ella and Sophia) comes to visit our house. Every night Buddy returns to the North Pole to report back to Santa Claus on our behavior and ends up in a different spot the next day.

A couple of weeks ago Ella, my 8-year-old, said, "Buddy's eyes look like they're painted on. Why are his legs sewn together?" She paused, looking pensive. "Dad, is Buddy real?"

"I don't ask questions," I replied, feeling the dubious eyes of my 8-year-old. "All that matters is what you believe."

Last year around Christmastime, I wrote about Ella's skepticism of a mall Santa, her first hint of doubt on the subject. With her questions about Buddy the elf, she might have taken another step toward a dream-dashing, reality-infused adulthood. I'm not naive; I know that all kids grow up and secrets eventually get divulged. So why did Ella's normal transition from idealism to realism make me feel so sad?

When we are young, we believe everything our parents tell us. To be successful adults, we need to make decisions based on logic and intellect. It's not always an advantage to accept everything at face value. When it comes to matters of faith, like Buddy Peanut's nightly rendezvous with Santa, rules go out the window.

Having watched my two daughters grow up for the last eight years, I've noticed that a large percentage of childhood is spent in a fantasy world. I am constantly dragged into the world of role-play and make-believe. While I don't always participate, I at least enjoy watching it. Ella and her 5-year-old sister, Sophia, escape into worlds without boundaries or limitations, unburdened by the anchors of reality.

Sometimes I watch them and realize that once their fanciful beliefs get shattered, they will never be the same again. I ask myself how they are going to manage in a world filled with tragedy, violence, greed and negativity, without the advantage of an easy escape.

Lately, I've realized two things: part of my role as a parent is to nurture the mysteries that make childhood magical. And more importantly, growing up shouldn't equate to losing one's sense of wonder.

Christmas spirit means more than Santa Claus being pulled by flying reindeer and bringing presents to every child in the world in one night. It is about sharing undying love, celebrating life and believing in something greater.

At Christmas, more than any other time, we need to trust our convictions. These notions can and should exist at any age. In order for us to live fulfilled lives, they should be strengthened, not weakened, over time.

Ella eventually stopped asking questions about Buddy. I overheard her talking to her sister that night. "Sophia," she began, "if Buddy hears us saying he might not be real, he might stop coming and tell Santa we don't believe." Sophia nodded passionately, and I knew right then the realities of adulthood would wait another year.

For me, too.

Merry Christmas.

Love Beats Money, Every Time

Ella came home from school excited to recount a story from one of her teachers.

"Mrs. Vesely visited a village in Africa where some of the poorest people live. And it turns out," Ella said excitedly, "they're really happy."

Tanya, my wife, challenged our third-grader. "Wouldn't it make sense that the more you have, the happier you would be?"

"No, it's not money that makes you happy. It's love," Ella replied.

"Did Mrs. Vesely tell you that?" Tanya probed.

Ella shook her head. "I figured it out on my own."

Ella stumbled upon a realization that may forever alter her view of life. At the risk of simplifying a complex issue, and to paraphrase the Beatles, love may indeed be all we need. Could it really be that simple?

Around holiday time, it's easy to get caught up in the cult of commercialism. Even if we make our yearly shopping pilgrimages strictly to buy for others, it's easy to get sucked into collecting things for ourselves, too. The barrage of advertisements tells us more is better, and it's hard to resist stockpiling our possessions.

I'm not against pumping funds into our struggling economy, and I'm certainly not against responsible gift-giving to loved ones and the less fortunate. The problem is when the tendency to buy gifts overtakes the desire for generosity of spirit, which is the true meaning of the holidays. It doesn't happen intentionally, but materialism has a way of transcending the meaningful by playing on our greed. While that new toy or necklace might give short-term happiness, it can never replace our need for quality time with one another.

A friend of mine and his wife in Chicago decided a few years ago that from now on at Christmas they would forgo gifts for each other. They donate the money they would have spent and instead volunteer their time and energy at schools and shelters. They give gifts that help their beneficiaries more than any wrapped present could, and they feel better. Emotions can't be quantified on a balance sheet.

Along the same lines, gifts can't provide love. No matter how much I love my television and my iPod, they don't hug back. When I die, I'll never remember what I got for Christmas in 2011, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember serving someone a hot meal or snuggling in bed with my kids on Christmas morning.

This discussion repeats itself every year because it's easy to get swept up in the holiday hoopla. I lament the absurd sales that begin at midnight and the unimaginable sums of money spent on gifts that go unused by Presidents Day. Every year, I vow to buy fewer gifts and to pay more attention to things like volunteerism, charity and human connection. Alas, I am a work in progress.

So given our insatiable desire for emotionless possessions, is it possible to be happy with only the bare necessities?

Only if Ella and the Beatles were right.

The Discipline Dilemma

The other day my 8-year-old daughter, Ella, was telling me about something that happened at school when Sophia interrupted her. Ella was indignant.

"Excuse me, Sophia, I was in the middle of speaking. Do not interrupt me," she said. After a breath she continued. "When I have kids, that's what I'm going to say. I'm going to discipline them."

Young children need constant guidance and, as Ella pointed out, discipline. There are many philosophies about teaching right from wrong. Having said that, Ella's comment brought to mind an interesting issue. What does discipline really mean?

For many of us, the D-word conjures images of snapping belts, raised voices and bottom spankings. But the Latin root of the word, discipulus, means student. Another variation, disciplina, translates to "instruction" and not, as is commonly thought, punishment.

My wife and I, like all other parents, deal with dozens of situations on a daily basis that require some form of teaching, correction and consequences. Some incidents are more dire than others (crossing the street without looking versus skipping chores) but all are important. There's a fine line between punishment and teaching, and all parents make a lot of mistakes.

In a 2010 national research poll from C.S. Mott Children's Hospital, 22 percent of parents said they likely are to spank their children, 88 percent choose to reason with their children, and 70 percent tend to take away privileges. And while each parent's choice is based on their own experiences and preferences, it is crucial to be informed before we act.

Many organizations, including the American Psychology Association and the American Academy of Pediatrics, advocate against the use of physical means for discipline, citing overwhelming evidence of negative consequences.

In 2002, the psychologist Elizabeth Thompson Gershoff, Ph.D, of the National Center for Children in Poverty at Columbia University, published an analysis based on 62 years worth of data.

She looked for associations between corporal punishment and 11 child behaviors and experiences. She found "strong associations" between corporal punishment and all 11 behaviors, only one of which was deemed desirable: immediate compliance on the part of the child.

The undesirables included physical abuse by a parent, child aggression, and criminal or antisocial behavior in both childhood and adulthood.

Research also has shown that after punishment, children avoid the action that led to the punishment but don't always understand why. If our goal is to teach our children to be responsible citizens who understand the difference between right and wrong, then exerting our physical power over them doesn't equate to discipline.

Aggression of that nature serves merely as an outlet for frustrated parents. Indeed, it takes more time and energy to educate a child than it does to hit them.

I felt Ella's attempt at discipline might have been a little harsh. "Ella," I told her, "Sophia shouldn't have interrupted you, but she's not your daughter, she's your 5-year-old sister. In the future, leave the discipline to me and Mom."

Hopefully, Ella and Sophia both learned a lesson.

Painting Toenails...for boys too

A couple of weeks ago, Ella spent the day at her friend Riley's house. Riley's mom was helping the girls paint their toenails. Ella, my 8-year-old, mentioned in passing that I had my toes painted as well. Riley's mom asked, "Really? Did Andrew let you and your sister paint his toenails?"

"Oh no," Ella replied. "Daddy has his toes professionally done."

Before you question my manhood, here's the story. This summer, my wife cut her hand and needed stitches. Once her fingers had healed, I bought her a manicure, and treated my kids to one as well. Since I needed something to do in the meanwhile, I treated myself to my first pedicure. The orange polish was Ella's choice.

Since males don't generally have their toenails painted, I received some interesting feedback when I wore sandals this summer. I wasn't embarrassed, but I wondered: Are traditional gender roles still valid in today's society?

Dads are no longer the only breadwinners and moms aren't the only ones who know to separate whites and colors. Yet gender distinctions endure because it's hard to change old habits.

For many years, women stayed home and men provided for the family because those in charge (the men) decided it should be so. Once we realized women were able to do the same jobs men could, females joined the workplace and thrived.

Nowadays, many parents share equally in the tasks that were once considered the property of one sex or the other, like financial responsibilities and domestic management.

One parent isn't always responsible for the same thing, which leads to less stress. If Mom can work full-time and read bedtime stories, Dad should be able to work and pack lunches, but both should be flexible when required.

Raising two girls has given me perspective on gender roles. If we're restricted because of simply being male or female, what prevents us from being restricted by other factors?

The only true boundaries are ones we create for ourselves and for each other. Girls and boys, while different, still belong to the same species.

Ella and her sister Sophia's reality consists of what they see at home. When Tanya works extra shifts and still comes home in time for bedtime cuddles, they learn that moms help more than just their own kids. When Dad mows the lawn and then plays Barbies, it shows that fathers, too, can be well-rounded.

Despite my preference for flaunting conventional roles, I will confess to one thing of which I am afraid: the pubescent years, where I'm happy to leave the nuances of menstruation and makeup to my wife.

And I'm sure Tanya is equally happy if I continue to carry in the heavy groceries. So maybe some traditions don't change.

The essence of parenthood has nothing to do with whether I'm more comfortable playing dress-up with a bunch of 8-year-old girls (Ella's friends think I'm a bit nutty) or working with a table saw. (I don't even own one.)

All that matters is that I'm there. Orange toes or not.

It's All in the Voice

A few months ago, my wife was getting ready to leave the house with our daughters, Ella and Sophia. The kids were fighting and generally not cooperating, despite Tanya's repeated requests to get moving.

"Alright, that's it!" Tanya yelled. "Everyone get in the car right now or I'm leaving you at home by yourselves!"

The girls ran into the car without a word but Tanya was still seething. After a few deep breaths, she looked in the rearview mirror and said in her most over-the-top, flowery voice, "OK, ladies, who's going to have a great day today?"

Ella, our 8-year-old, was shocked. "Mom, where did your mean voice go?" she asked.

Tanya didn't know the answer. She needed to do something to keep the rest of the day from becoming a stressful, angry mess so she made an effort to change her attitude. Her rapid reversal worked; Ella was more concerned with Tanya's quick personality switch, the girls stopped fighting and everyone had a good day. This common situation made me wonder: Why is it so hard for us to turn bad situations into good ones?

Stubbed toes. Burned toast. Car won't start. For some reason, when a day starts out bad, it usually gets worse. We brood about what went wrong and recite quotes like, "when it rains it pours" or go on about "Murphy's law." The conscious attitude change that's needed to turn things around isn't easy. But the longer we stay upset, the less likely we are to change it.

We know intuitively that complaining won't help, yet we do it anyway. It seems natural to lament what went wrong. Maybe we're looking for sympathy or someone to tell us it'll all work out or maybe we simply don't know what else to do. But we can create or destroy our own stress.

I've witnessed tantrums from both of my kids. They cry and scream as if the world is about to end and are generally inconsolable. If I were somehow driven to act like that, I'd be traumatized for a week, maybe longer, worried about all the consequences. But for Ella and Sophia, after 15 minutes of blowing off steam, the next chapter begins. They behave as if nothing ever happened and don't carry the stress forward or let it build into something dangerous. I sometimes stand in awe of that gift.

The challenge is figuring out how to move from "mean voice" to "calm voice" and still let our genuine emotions take shape. Perhaps like Tanya did in the car, we should fake it to initiate the change and trust that things will improve. By getting the kids to forget about the stress, Tanya managed to trick herself and eventually moved on, even if her happiness wasn’t sincere at that moment. She had more to worry about than just herself.


Moral of the story? We have many available voices. If you use the mean one, make sure you put it back.