Too Quiet?

At dinner a few nights ago, Sophia, my first-grader, suggested we play the “quiet game.”

For those of you without kids, it’s a standard weapon for any parent who’s been in a car with their children for trips longer than 10 minutes: The person who’s quiet for the longest time wins. With Tanya out of town on business, I was not about to argue.

Ella had just had a cavity filled that afternoon and her mouth was still numb, so she couldn’t eat yet. Sophia and I attacked our tacos, while Ella read silently. I figured this particular episode would last as long as previous ones: maybe 30 seconds. But something strange happened. Sophia made it almost 10 minutes without a peep, and Ella was completely absorbed in Harry Potter. I couldn’t handle it.

“It’s too quiet!” I lamented.

“Dad lost!” Sophia yelled, a huge smile plastered on her face.

I thought I’d relish the peace and enjoy my dinner more than usual. Instead, I found myself longing for a mere sliver of the chaos that normally envelops our house at mealtime. Confused with my own desire for noise, I wondered: Should I have felt bad for wanting quiet in the first place?

Take it from a guy who writes a column based on what kids say: Listening to children talk is rewarding. They offer a flowing commentary on life from a perspective that has yet to be jaded by negative experiences or unsubstantiated bias. They are funny, genuine and truthful. I have learned a lot from them.

Nevertheless, no matter how much I love my little animals, how much I want to hear their sweet little voices, how much I adore the funny, unintentionally brilliant things they say, sometimes I just wish they would zip it.

I’m convinced that Ella, my wise yet often logorrheic 9-year-old, likes to hear herself talk. From what happened at school to what she read about in a magazine to something she saw on television, the words flow like a flash flood, with no end in sight to the deluge. And though I want to be a good dad and engage her in conversation, sometimes the endless chatter makes me crazy.

I’ve been caught a few times not paying attention when Ella or Sophia go off on one of their verbal floods. I tune out because I’m tired or worried about money or work or other typical adult concerns. Surely I can’t be expected to hang on every word at all times. There must be times when my inattention is, while admittedly rude, at least understandable.

But on that night at the table, I found myself craving conversation with my kids. Maybe it was because Tanya wasn’t home. Maybe I had had enough silence after spending the day alone in my house, writing. Whatever the case, I realized that when kids win the quiet game, the adult isn’t necessarily a winner, as well.

Silence may be golden, but I guess I don’t need that much jewelry.

Parenting Should be a High Paying Job

Ella needed my assistance for a school project she was working on and was very appreciative when I helped her. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I joked.

My fourth-grader must have understood my humor because she patted my arm and said, “You get paid in love, Dad.”

With our “fiscal cliff” near miss leaving the subject of economics at the forefront of the 2013 news cycle, I wondered: If somehow there were money in the budget (stick with me on this fantasy), what should parents be paid?

Generally, wages are determined by two major factors: supply and demand, and skill level. Salary structures can also depend on education, experience and location, and vary amongst and within individual markets and employers.

When it comes to parenting, duties are fairly consistent across the board. However, no other legal job that I know of requires the same long-term physical and emotional work, high level of consequences, time commitment and out of pocket expense, while yielding as pithy a financial compensation.

Prospective candidates need to be available all day every day and must absorb ultimate responsibility even when on a break. Parents need to be reasonably competent in many things, including but not limited to: first aid and health related issues, decision-making, creating and adjusting routines, educating, accepting frequent failure, cleaning, cooking, managing complex social and emotional problems, managing finances, multitasking and functioning on minimal sleep. A sense of humor helps, too.

Now, for the pay:

A live-in au pair who cares for children and helps with household tasks can cost about $25,000 a year, after expenses.

A private tutor runs about $35 per hour. Conservatively average five hours a week of help with schoolwork and reading practice over 30 weeks of 12 school years for two kids, and we’re somewhere in the neighborhood of $60,000.

An on-call nurse for about 14 hours a day (from after work until the next morning), 365 days a year, costs about $25 per hour, which adds about another $125,000.

So far, we’re at $210,000, and we’ve included only manpower without many basic out-of-pocket expenses needed to keep children comfortable. Let’s round it up to $225,000.

But the ultimate negotiating fulcrum is hard to monetize. Being a successful parent requires constant awareness, patience and flexibility, which is stressful. It’s not uncommon for many professions to see salary jumps of 10 to 50 times to compensate for a higher stress level and public visibility. (Think hedge fund managers and NFL quarterbacks.) So to adjust for the immense responsibility that goes with successfully raising a human, and incentivizing for a child’s ultimate level of generosity, kindness and overall success during 60-odd years of adulthood, a multimillion dollar yearly salary isn’t out of the question.

Sure, I wouldn’t mind being compensated even a fraction of that amount, but Ella still had it right. Parents are remunerated in less tangible and more valuable ways. The love that pays my salary will always be worth more than cash, with or without budget approval.

Off With the News

Last Friday night, Tanya was watching the news about the incomprehensible events at Sandy Hook elementary school in Newtown, Conn. Ella came in unannounced and asked what had happened. Trying to keep it as appropriate as possible for a 9-year-old, Tanya told her a very ill man entered a school and killed a lot of people. Ella was sad.

Sophia, Ella’s 6-year-old sister, was more concerned about her own safety. “Connecticut’s far from here, right? He’s not coming here, is he?” she asked. Tanya continually reassured Sophia that the man was dead and her school was safe.

The massacre in Newtown has weighed on my mind since it happened. After learning more, and while suppressing tears and rage, I wished I hadn’t heard about it. Now I wonder: When it comes to senseless tragedies like this one, are we better off not knowing?

I’m not naive. Negative emotions are part of life and necessary for a healthy psychology. Supporting our fellow humans is a vital component of healing. I also understand the need to be informed. Our reactions to painful and unsettling events often lead to great societal change, like abolishing slavery and curbing hate crimes, for example. The particularly unsavory nature of this case can help us address our society’s glaring lack of mental health care, and perhaps effect better gun control laws.

Still, I find this pill harder to swallow. I want my kids to experience the joys and tribulations of growing up, and that includes attending school. Getting an education should be stimulating and exciting, not fraught with fear and vigilance. It’s neither practical nor conducive to a positive academic experience to navigate metal detectors, gates and security guards to reach the classroom. It’s not beneficial to fear a place you go every day.

Newtown, Conn., after all, is not exactly famous for a high level of crime. The same goes for Littleton, Blacksburg, Montreal and Omaha, all of which are among the list of cities where similar atrocities have occurred. The fact that a list exists at all — and believe me, it’s long — is disturbing enough.

Being inundated with coverage of this and other massacres doesn’t improve my life. I grieve for the victims and their families, but knowing about this incident breeds fear and instills rage, both of which impair my ability to think clearly.

Sadly, I admit that even the possibility of this happening to Ella and Sophia was enough to make me consider moving. Unfortunately, comparable events have happened in China, France, Germany and South Africa, among other nations. Disturbed people live everywhere. Running away won’t make me safer, and the media is unavoidable.

I can, however, always choose my perspective.

My best defense against terror is to love and nurture my kids, teach them to reach out to others, and seek the positive. Tragedy will happen again, but I stand firm in my belief that 99 percent of all humans on this planet are good, and always will be.

This holiday season, I’m turning off the news.

Wee Wisdom: Let it Flow, Let it Flow, Let it Flow...

Ella practices her spelling homework by copying every word on the list in cursive.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she said last week, flaunting her work. “It’s important to know how to sign your name on checks.”

I had recently read an article about how most American schools were phasing out cursive writing instruction.

“Some people feel that learning cursive isn’t as important as it used to be,” I said.

“You better believe it’s important!” she exclaimed.

Ella’s nostalgic view of handwriting may soon make her an endangered species. Colorado is among the 45 states whose schools have adopted the Common Core State Standards, which has dropped formal cursive writing instruction from its curriculum in favor of topics it considers more relevant in today’s world. Like it or not, of the current crop of American children many may never learn the art of reading or writing in continuous, flowing script.

What does this mean?

According to the Common Core website (www.corestandards.org), it’s curriculum is designed to help children become “college and career ready” in literacy, math and sciences. It’s mission statement defends the standards as being “robust and relevant to the real world.”

The bottom line is our dependence on technology is leading us further away from the handwriting skills that have helped develop human communication for thousands of years. It’s still too early to tell if we’re committing a mistake.

Many in the education community tout the benefits of cursive writing instruction. Motor skill development, improving literacy and communication, and the ability to efficiently transfer one’s thoughts to paper make penmanship skills a vital component of intellectual growth.

The ubiquity of tablets and smartphones has magnified our need for technological mastery. Online banking and electronic signatures may eventually make signing one’s name superfluous. But my instincts tell me that texting, voice-activated word processing programs and sliding fingers on screens do more to hinder literacy than improve it. From thank-you cards to love notes to journaling, our ability to transfer thoughts to paper transcends practicality. It defines us.

Handwriting means more than simply words on a paper: It’s a testament to character, a window into a personality. Imagine if the Declaration of Independence or Anne Frank’s diary had been typed.

Mr. Sean Gorman, Ella’s school principal, acknowledges the dilemma facing educators today. He told me that his teachers are welcome to incorporate cursive handwriting into all facets of their lessons, providing they meet school curriculum standards.

Ella’s teacher, Mrs. Elaine Rankin, does the best with the time she has. She writes the “word of the day” in cursive every morning on the board, has her students write their spelling words and sign their names in cursive. At the very least, she wants her students to be able to read it.

But for Mrs. Rankin and many others, the challenge is daunting.

“If I could guarantee all my students got support at home, my job would be a lot easier,” she says.

If Ella starts a petition to keep teaching cursive in schools, I’ll sign it.

By hand.

New Adventures Need to be Nurtured

Earlier this year, Sophia had a play date on a Sunday with her friend Megan. Megan’s family normally goes to church so Sophia went with them. The kids played in the youth section, but at one point Sophia lost sight of her friend and became nervous; she didn’t know any other kids.

Last week, my wife Tanya had mentioned a desire to take the kids to church every now and again as she missed the spirituality and sense of community. Sophia was not interested.

“I thought you had fun the last time you went,” I said. “Didn’t you play with other kids?”

“No, it wasn’t fun at all. I couldn’t find Megan!” Sophia replied.

After hearing Sophia’s reasoning — nothing to do with the church experience itself — I wondered: How do we convince our children to do things they don’t want to do, but we know might benefit them?

Religious services or, for that matter, extracurricular activities in general, aren’t necessary for survival. They can, however, be beneficial to a child’s development. It’s not always easy to convince a child of the long term benefits of what we have planned for him or her. It takes patience, creativity and sometimes, trickery.

Depending on the situation, we coerce, cajole, convince, compromise, or bargain to get our kids to do what we tell them is best. When diplomacy doesn’t work, we’re left with good old fashioned dictatorship. All of those methods have their place, but choosing the most appropriate one takes practice. And failure is inevitable.

None of us is born with a clear understanding of our emotional needs. (I’m still figuring mine out.) From emotional or physical discomfort, to feeling unsafe, to a fear of the unknown, young children especially are subject to numerous factors that can make novel experiences harrowing. Also, 6-year-olds like Sophia tend to form opinions quickly, which are often based on one experience.

When choosing our plan of attack, it’s important to remember that even though we assume we know best, kids are sometimes smarter than we think. I’ve been surprised by their insight on many occasions. Still, parents are in charge for a reason. Experience matters, and children crave guidance.

Behavioral manipulation is a parental staple, but we need to be prepared to accept the consequences of our actions. Give in too soon, and our kids might miss out on valuable development opportunities. Push too hard, and we risk losing their trust. Either way, adolescence and adulthood have ways of magnifying issues that start years earlier.

Life provides many adventures that, if based on the first go around, many of us would not repeat. That initial session with the personal trainer, trying Brussels sprouts, or public speaking engagements come to mind. Even adults can require convincing.

My first grader and her older sister, Ella, need help to develop their spiritual, intellectual and emotional faculties, and new experiences are a good place to start. Sometimes kids are beyond convincing, but the discussion might end up being as important as the activity itself.

How Good Do You Have It? Only Time Will Tell...

Last week while grocery shopping, I painstakingly checked the ingredients on just about every box in the cereal aisle. After much deliberation, I compromised with lightly sweetened multi-grain Cheerios. They had at least two times less sugar than many other brands but were still tasty.

The moment of truth came the next morning. “Dad, these don’t taste very good,” Ella said. “I don’t want them.”

Sophia, Ella’s 6-year-old sister, was less polite. “Eewww! These are awful!” she exclaimed in typical excessive fashion.

I explained to my daughters the dangers of eating too much sugar, especially early in the school day, when crashing an hour later wasn’t an option. I told them it was a reasonable compromise between tasteless and toothless. When they held firm in their boycott, I pulled out the “some-kids-are-so-poor-they-don’t-even-get-breakfast” card. Those kids, I said gravely, would not complain.

I want Ella and Sophia to understand the struggles of others so they can better appreciate what they have. With Thanksgiving around the corner, I wondered: Is it possible for 9- and 6-year-olds to grasp the concepts of hunger and poverty without seeing them firsthand?

Tanya and I are aware of our good fortune. Like many in our generous community, we try to impress this on our children by demonstrating acts of charity and by showing gratitude. But young children assume that what happens in their homes is normal. They aren’t born understanding how demoralizing poverty can be. And no matter how much we explain the horrors of going to bed hungry, surviving a Colorado winter without heat or wearing the same clothes every day, I fear that my children won’t really get it until they see it for themselves.

Throughout my childhood, I was always well-protected and provided for by loving, capable parents. I suppose I knew I was lucky, but I didn’t grasp the degree of my good fortune until I was on my own. Through the combination of work, travel, where I chose to live and what I did with my time — not lectures and explanations — I learned that not everyone is born with same chance to succeed and there will always be people who need help. I’m not sure I would have understood it any other way.

Having no doubts about where your next meal comes from is a privilege that eludes many children. I want my daughters to understand their advantages, as well as the tenuous and relative natures of success. I also don’t want them to feel guilty for having what they need; they shouldn’t feel bad for being comfortable. If anyone is culpable for their circumstances, it’s Tanya and me.

After my sermon, I told the girls they needed to finish their bowls or make their own breakfast. Ella finished her portion. Sophia grudgingly ate half of hers after supplementing with a tortilla with peanut butter. Both were quiet. They knew I was upset. But maybe I was the one who learned a lesson.

Breaking Rules

This summer while vacationing in Winter Park, my wife Tanya took Ella to a concert. The show finished at around 10 at night and they had to walk the quarter-mile walk back to the condo in the dark. Tanya decided to cut through someone’s yard, past a sign that warned against it.

“Mom, I’m confused,” Ella said. “At home I have to follow the rules but in Winter Park I don’t?”

After Tanya put Ella to bed and told me what our 9-year-old had said, I wondered: Are there times when it’s OK for parents to break the rules? If so, are we negatively impacting our children?

Like most parents, Tanya and I enforce certain behavioral requirements in our home. No physical violence, clean up your own mess and be kind to others. These guidelines form the basis for life skills like responsibility, healthy living and staying out of prison. But rules in general can be tricky: They’re hard to follow 100 percent of the time, hard to enforce and sometimes they don’t make much sense.

Tanya and Ella didn’t need to cut through the private yard, but Tanya was alone with her exhausted fourth-grader in complete darkness in an unfamiliar place and trusted her instincts. Breaking the rule wasn’t necessary; they got home safely, and no one’s property was destroyed. This one situation surely won’t affect Ella’s morality, even if they smudged the line between right and wrong.

Had they gotten caught in the act of trespassing, I suppose I might look at this situation differently. Maybe Ella would, in the future, be less likely to flaunt the lack of enforcement of some common societal rules, regardless of whether we OK it. I suspect Tanya would think twice, as well, but probably not to the same extent.

Some might say that a lifetime of rule breaking starts with one instance. And for some situations, like doing drugs or theft, I would agree. But we also need to be practical. While a parent’s main role is to set a positive example, that doesn’t always happen.

I’m generally an excellent rule follower, yet when I jaywalk or run into a store to use a bathroom clearly marked “Restroom for Customers Only” and don’t get caught, the lack of vigilant enforcement leads me to feel like I can do it again.

But I don’t.

That’s because a moral compass is both subjective and situational. The challenge for parents is to teach these principles while modeling them, yet somehow live our lives as the flawed beings we are. Maybe parents and children should get caught breaking rules together — to teach both parties a lesson.

Indeed, history has taught us that sometimes breaking rules can lead us forward. Galileo broke from tradition to support the solar system model we know today to be true. Rosa Parks knew that sitting in the front of the bus was her right, rules be damned. I would be proud if my child did something similar.