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.

Expectations

My mother-in-law, Gloria, volunteers at a local elementary school, helping second graders with reading and writing skills. Last week, one of her students was acting hyper. Gloria told him it was time to concentrate and do his work. The boy looked her in the eye and said, "Look Lady, I'm only seven. What do you expect?"

If we don't expect great things, we'll never achieve them. If we set the bar too high, we might make ourselves too anxious. Somewhere in the middle is a balance for each individual. When it comes to kids, I wonder:
What is the best way to manage expectations in order to achieve success?

We constantly set expectations to guide us through challenges and to help us achieve our goals, no matter how big or small. For some, these serve as a stimulus to work hard. For others, they create more stress than is healthy.

In America, where ingenuity and achievement are highly valued, highly motivated achievers are common. No activity is too difficult and no challenge too daunting. Failure is not feared but a necessary obstacle on the road to success.

On the other side, there are those who are comfortable with lower levels of risk and, by extension, reward. While they don't aim for the grand outcomes, like being a billionaire or winning a Super Bowl, they probably end up with fewer failures. Both types of people are similar in that they set their expectations based on what feels comfortable.

Adults have earned the right to choose their paths. Young children need to be given firm guidelines of what is expected of them before they can be free to set their own goals. Since self-discovery is an ongoing process, the learning curve is steep for youngsters. With an early start and ample room for error, the future is ripe with possibilities. As the ones entrusted with guidance for our little animals, we need to teach them to set appropriate expectations.

It's important to understand that the learning isn't limited to children. We parents also need to know what they expect of us. Indeed, at times I've set my expectations too high or too low. I've learned from my mistakes and hopefully have adjusted accordingly. I trust my family to guide me through my children's formative years because things change quickly.

In my brief parenting career, I think I've learned as much as my kids have. Before Ella was born 8 years ago, I had no idea about things like how much kids ate, how long they slept and how far they hiked before whining. Now, as I'm 5 years into the second child, I'm more comfortable with the failures and mistakes, and I've embraced the inevitable change. In fact, I expect it.

Gloria told me the boy in her class finally settled down and did his work, and he learned an important lesson about expectations that will stick with him. Not even seven-year-olds get a free pass.

How much information is enough? Or too much?

Last week, Sophia and I were talking about love and marriage. Here's how the conversation went with my 5-year-old:

"Dad, did you have other girlfriends before mom?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you marry them?"

"Because I loved mom the most."

She paused. "Did you kiss your other girlfriends?"

"Yes."

"On the cheek or the lips?"

I immediately thought of adolescence and dating and boyfriends and got way ahead of myself. Sophia's earnest interest in my life before I married Tanya and had two kids got me thinking: Is it necessary for our young children to know all the embarrassing details of our lives before they arrived? Is that information helpful?

Contrary to what children tend to think, our lives began long before we were parents. We had other relationships and made many choices, some better than others. And although it might be hard for our kids to believe (except for those rebellious teenagers), we weren't always paragons of righteousness.

Everything we've done to this point has helped create and mold who we are as people and as parents. Our past experiences - even some of the things of which we're not proud - should serve as valuable teaching moments. We learn more from our mistakes than from our successes.

My goal is not to steer Sophia and Ella, her 8-year-old sister, away from conflict. I want to give them insight into how their inevitable challenges can help instead of harm them. Cautionary tales seem like a good option, at least now.

I'm not proud of everything I've done in the past, but my identity as a person (and all that has contributed to it to this point) shouldn't comprise my value as a parent. I maintain relationships with friends and coworkers and have varied interests. Even if these don't always mingle with my family life, they continue to influence me.

Tanya and I dated other people before we found each other, and neither of us is embarrassed to tell our children. Because of dating experiences in the past, I learned how to stand up for myself, when to argue and when to agree. Most importantly, I learned what I wanted in a mate, and what I didn't. And everything seems to have worked out well.

My daughters' inquisitiveness leads me to believe that we aren't meant to take on life's journey alone.
When Sophia took an interest in the decision processes that have led me to this point, I realized something: parents are the first line of defense against egregious mistakes, but also are the gatekeepers of freedom to learn. When our kids ask us tough questions, they crave the tough answers. If we choose to not engage their embarrassing questions, we may be doing our little animals a disservice for the long run.

I finally told Sophia that, yes, I kissed my old girlfriends on the lips. Predictably, "Ewww" was her reply. We laughed and I changed the subject. I didn't want to divulge any more.

Reading Minds

Last week, my wife, Tanya, read a story to our daughter, Sophia, and her cousin, Samantha. One line in the book made a reference to knowing what a person is thinking. Samantha, who is 5 years old like Sophia, said, "I can read my mom's mind."

"Really?" my wife said.

"Yes. I always know what she's thinking even when we're not together. I know she's thinking about how much she loves me."

We often think of mind reading as an esoteric phenomenon, like it's something only psychics can do. But we all do it every day. Unconscious behaviors and body language convey valuable information in the absence of words, and kids are expert decoders. Samantha's comment made me wonder how attuned our children are to our emotions, no matter what or how much we say. Can we trust that our kids will decipher our true intentions regardless of our words?

I think most young children are like my niece: little balls of instinct and intuition. They are unburdened by preconceived notions and cultural biases, things that typically anchor adults. They sense our sincerity (or lack thereof) and let us know how it affects them, positively and negatively.

We don't spend our days discussing how we feel about each other and what we can do to ensure everyone is satisfied. Yet, we still manage to wake up most days confident and secure in our relationships. Why? Because of the multitude of unspoken hints like random hugs, concerned looks and the simple act of spending time together. This is especially true in the nuclear family setting, where parents and children spend an inordinate amount of time together on a regular basis.

As far as Samantha was concerned, her mother, Jennifer, was always thinking about how much she loves her. While that might be true to an extent, Jennifer also has adult issues to deal with on a regular basis. When she's at work trying to meet deadlines and finish important tasks, she's probably not daydreaming about how much she loves her daughter. Yet somewhere along the way, Samantha picked up on her mother's unconscious behaviors - loving and heartfelt, no doubt - and that's what stuck in her mind.

All parents and children deal with their share of conflict and stress, from work to school and everything in between. We all, at various times, express feelings (verbal and nonverbal) that are less than loving. But as long as the majority of our behavior demonstrates the safety and comfort that our kids expect and deserve, we barely need words at all. And since children learn most of what they know from us, we need to demonstrate what we hope for them to learn.

Tanya was intrigued by Samantha's confidence. "How do you know that your mommy is always thinking about how much she loves you?"

Samantha thought for a moment and, eyes still focused on the book in front of her, replied, "I just know it. Every day."

Enough said.

The Power of Language

A few weeks ago, Sophia and Ella asked if I could make them a Caesar salad. I told them I'd have to buy all the ingredients. Sophia, my kindergartner, said, "Don't forget the futons!"

When I corrected her, she said, "Dad, I know how to say crouton, I just like calling them futons."

"You can say anything you want," I replied.

"Well, except bad words."

Sophia's comment made me think about how our language affects others, especially our children. We try to avoid cursing when the kids are around, but sometimes it happens anyway. We strive to be polite but don't always succeed. When I slip up, my kids are quick to point it out to me. Do I, as the parent, have to explain myself? Should we isolate our kids from foul language at every turn?

The FCC considers seven words (you can probably guess what they are) as inappropriate to say on the radio. Of course, there are innumerable offensive things that can be said in various contexts. Most people agree on what shouldn't be said in front of kids, but cultures and customs differ. What might be offensive to one might not be to another.

Sophia and Ella, her 8-year-old sister, know that my wife and I are not fond of the words "hate" and "stupid," yet I admit to saying them every now and then. My daughters are diligent in pointing out these instances as if they were the parents. I don't like being corrected by my kids, but I, too, have to be accountable.

Out in the community, it's harder to monitor what our little ones are exposed to. Children often overhear their parents' interactions with their peers and conversations between adult strangers, two situations where language that is inappropriate for children can pervade. Yes, we are the role models, and we should be mindful if kids are around. I'm in favor of being careful, but hearing a curse word here and there isn't necessarily going to turn our kids into potty-mouthed sailors. If they happen to be exposed to inappropriate language, we should at least educate them on how to choose for themselves.

Eventually, my daughters will be adults. They'll hear and see offensive words and sights and will most likely utter a bad word or two themselves (maybe even in my direction). At some point, they will probably offend someone and be reprimanded for it. Hopefully, they'll learn from those experiences. I hope they won't be judged solely on the occasional slip-up because we all have them.

When Ella and Sophia were younger, I was very vigilant about what I said. I'm still careful about it, but not obsessive. Bad words slip out every now and then, mostly when I smash my thumb with a hammer or break a glass, which happens quite frequently. It's important to be polite, I tell them, but language has only as much power as we provide it.

It takes a village: or at least, an Ass-Kicker

During one of our summer rainy spells, my kids were trapped indoors for a day. They whined about having nothing to do and were frankly getting on my nerves. My wife, Tanya, took matters into her own hands.

A few minutes later, I climbed the stairs to find Ella, who's 8, and Sophia, our 5-year-old, wearing tank tops and tight yoga pants and jumping around gleefully in front of the television. I immediately recognized the familiar voice of one of the personal trainers from the television show "The Biggest Loser."

"Dad," Ella said, "We're doing Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred DVD. It's awesome."

Sophia said, "Yeah, we're going to have abs and get ripped like Jillian."

Jillian Michaels, a woman I have never met, managed to entertain and educate my kids when I was simply not in the mood. While I'm a far cry from being a neglectful parent, I realized we had subcontracted out our parental duties to a television set. The girls had fun and they got some much needed exercise, but still I wondered: Why do parents often feel guilty when they need help caring for their children?

When a child is born, parents inherit a unique level of responsibility. The child's survival needs become the priority at the expense of almost everything else. From emotional support to diaper changes to preventing injury, these tasks can be overwhelming.

In today's society, child-rearing support is not a luxury but a necessity. It can be frightening, but we need to learn to trust others with our kids. We expect that in our absence our children will be treated respectfully. Family, friends, babysitters and teachers can and do provide invaluable assistance with education, social skills and entertainment; things parents can't do 24/7.

One bad experience can taint a parent's view of a particular fill-in, and sometimes this is justified. But the reality remains that when we work, have a date with our spouse or take some time for ourselves, someone else needs to be in charge of our most precious resource. Part of our growth as parents is figuring out when to feed the rope and when to tug on it.

When we get stressed from the quotidian rigors of family life, our children won't suffer if our replacement is reasonable. In fact, they may thrive.

Kids need breaks from their parents just as we need breaks from them. New voices sometimes make the best teachers.

Tying shoes? I didn't teach them. Potty training? Tanya and I thank the daily routine and patience of our fabulous day care providers. Ella's second-grade teacher even taught me a few lessons about responsibility.

I don't condone strapping the little ones to the couch for three hours just because we're annoyed with them. But benefits can be found in unlikely sources. Tanya and I have always stressed the importance of health and fitness, yet it was Jillian Michaels who made it click.

Travel and Kids: A Necessary Pairing

When my kids and I play, we often pretend we're from different countries. Last week, Sophia said, "Let's pretend we're from England and we talk weird."

I explained to my 5-year-old that an English accent is not weird, just different from our own. But her myopic view on cultural distinctions got me thinking: How important is travel in the grand scheme of a child's education?

We live in a country that is the envy of many other nations. We have resources, cultural diversity and natural beauty that are enough to occupy our interests indefinitely. Yet there is so much the rest of our planet has to offer. One could spend a lifetime exploring and still not learn all there is to know; a desirable dilemma, for sure.

From foreign languages to curious taste buds, tolerance to budgeting and problem-solving to appreciation of being alone, I attribute many of my current life skills to my travels. Classrooms, despite their obvious value, simply can't provide the same practical experience.

When we witness the existence of other like-appearing humans living distinct lives, eating strange food and partaking in unique activities, we give ourselves a gift. That's because exploring the lives of others provides perspective on ourselves. We see our own genius and recognize our own fallibility, our universality and our uniqueness.

Watching another navigate the same pratfalls, albeit in an unfamiliar environment, makes us aware that the difference between races, nationalities and religions are ridiculously trivial. In a world with hundreds of unique cultures hours away (at most) from just about anywhere, personal encounters with those with differing beliefs should be as mandatory as American history class.

Don't get me wrong: I feel that the standard American school curriculum is vital in preparing young minds for college and good careers. Math, language, science, art, etc. shouldn't be ignored. I'm also not necessarily in favor of pulling children out of school for extended periods of time just for the opportunity to taste a Big Mac made in Tokyo.

There is, however, an intrinsic, unmatched joy that comes from immersing oneself in the true idiosyncrasies of an unfamiliar place. Add in money management, social skills and real-time lessons in history, geography and political science and suddenly the classroom of life makes the blackboard look like nothing more than a black board.

Do Brazilians party as much as we think they do? Does Greek food taste better when eaten overlooking a sunset on the Aegean Sea? Are Parisian churches as grand as they look in books? The only way to know for sure is to see for ourselves.

Children are naturally curious and their thirst for knowledge can yield mind-boggling results. I know from my own experiences and those of many friends and family that travel is an ideal way to expand our own personal horizons while learning things that will never appear in books. I want the same for my children.

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.