Ok. So. I have been wondering about how to talk about our time in Ethiopia. I wrote you all an epic, in-depth post about this and somehow erased the whole thing when I tried to publish it. Then I just threw my hands up, Peanuts! Agh! And said- Forget it! Forget the whole thing!
But I do want to share some stories. And to move on with things here, since there happens to be a lot going on. So here is the gist of it.
I firmly believe in diversity in parenting styles. We all do the best we can, I hope, to do what works for us as particular parents, for our particular children and families. I'm not sure my own philosophy is "right", and I get tired and impatient and don't always live up to my own ideas of what's best, either. But I do know what I strive for, what I believe in, for me. For my family.
One of those things- one of the biggest, one that you will have to keep in mind when I write about our time in Ethiopia- is honesty with my children.
I mean avoiding lies. Like, "Sure you can have a pony... some other day." Or "This? This red stuff in my glass is uh... juice."
I mean gritting my teeth and giving my best attempt at a real answer for every single "why" and silly question. Even if "why is it raining?" involves attempting to describe the water cycle to a 3 year old and just ends up spawning a dozen more questions.
It means admitting when I don't know the answer.
Sometimes ("why does people has to die?") it means admitting that no one really knows the answer.
And, I believe, it means allowing them access to reality. Even though reality isn't always what we wish it were, for them.
I've had plenty of raised eyebrows and concerned questions when I encourage my kids to chat with the bum on the corner, or listen to the news, or when I give real answers to questions like "Why isn't your mommy and your daddy married to each others?" "Why is that animal laying in the road?" "What is a shelter?"
When Little One was two I scandalized the relatives by taking Her to my grandmother's funeral and letting Her look inside the casket, touch the corpse and feel how it was so still, so cold. Not sleeping at all.
But I used to volunteer leading support groups for children who had lost their parents, and during training it was stressed how important it is to do just that. Research has shown that children who are "sheltered" from death have a far harder time dealing with their grief. The same is true for other hard things like divorce or serious illness. In the absence of answers, children tend to fill in the blanks by imagining something even worse than the truth.
And those children have been shown to have a harder time handling adversity later on in life, when they inevitably encounter such things again. Because death is a part of life. It just is.
I think "protecting" my children from Hard Truths in life- like the fact that people suffer, that they can be unkind, that they die- is a selfish thing. It isn't really that my kids can't handle those things, it's that I don't want to deal with it; it's too hard for me.
After all I am part of a culture that is morbidly uncomfortable with discomfort.
But I have to realize that so much of what alarms us is because we have been taught to fear things, not because they are actually dangerous. I mean, what can a dead body really do to you? It just lies there!
What about exposing them to the veteran who's lost his arms and legs? The elderly in hospice care? The kids in the children's home? The view of people struggling on the streets of an impoverished city? Should I cover their eyes and keep our distance?
I think teaching my children to fear these Hard Truths in life is the opposite of making the world a more just, safe, and pretty place for them. I mean, how can we ever hope to take better care of our elderly, impoverished, sick, and disabled, if we specifically teach our children to look away?
I also think it does my children a disservice in preparing them for a real world that, whether I like it or not, is out there. I can't fix it for them. I can't shelter them forever.
Maybe that's part of the problem. It's hard, as a parent, to admit to our children who think we are heroes, that we are scared too. That we don't understand a lot of things, that we don't like a lot of things, and that we can't fix it.
But...those things are Truths, too.
Really, I don't need my children to think I am omnipotent, or that they and those they love are immortal, or exempt from pain and danger and hard times. I need to raise them to live in the world.
To live without fear of the unknown; to live with purpose, making things around them better in their own ways.
I hope that by exposing them to such things early, from the safety of my reach, they will take from these experiences what I want them to. While my lap is still a safe haven if they do get scared. While my explanations and answers still have credit.
I hope they will learn that Hard Truths don't always feel as hard as they look, especially when we focus on touching the parts we can change.
And I hope they can find what I have in the time I've spent walking through shadows- that it makes the things glittering in the sunlight seem all the more vibrant. And that, even in the dark, there are beautiful things to hold on to.
But I do want to share some stories. And to move on with things here, since there happens to be a lot going on. So here is the gist of it.
I firmly believe in diversity in parenting styles. We all do the best we can, I hope, to do what works for us as particular parents, for our particular children and families. I'm not sure my own philosophy is "right", and I get tired and impatient and don't always live up to my own ideas of what's best, either. But I do know what I strive for, what I believe in, for me. For my family.
One of those things- one of the biggest, one that you will have to keep in mind when I write about our time in Ethiopia- is honesty with my children.
I mean avoiding lies. Like, "Sure you can have a pony... some other day." Or "This? This red stuff in my glass is uh... juice."
I mean gritting my teeth and giving my best attempt at a real answer for every single "why" and silly question. Even if "why is it raining?" involves attempting to describe the water cycle to a 3 year old and just ends up spawning a dozen more questions.
It means admitting when I don't know the answer.
Sometimes ("why does people has to die?") it means admitting that no one really knows the answer.
And, I believe, it means allowing them access to reality. Even though reality isn't always what we wish it were, for them.
I've had plenty of raised eyebrows and concerned questions when I encourage my kids to chat with the bum on the corner, or listen to the news, or when I give real answers to questions like "Why isn't your mommy and your daddy married to each others?" "Why is that animal laying in the road?" "What is a shelter?"
When Little One was two I scandalized the relatives by taking Her to my grandmother's funeral and letting Her look inside the casket, touch the corpse and feel how it was so still, so cold. Not sleeping at all.
But I used to volunteer leading support groups for children who had lost their parents, and during training it was stressed how important it is to do just that. Research has shown that children who are "sheltered" from death have a far harder time dealing with their grief. The same is true for other hard things like divorce or serious illness. In the absence of answers, children tend to fill in the blanks by imagining something even worse than the truth.
And those children have been shown to have a harder time handling adversity later on in life, when they inevitably encounter such things again. Because death is a part of life. It just is.
I think "protecting" my children from Hard Truths in life- like the fact that people suffer, that they can be unkind, that they die- is a selfish thing. It isn't really that my kids can't handle those things, it's that I don't want to deal with it; it's too hard for me.
After all I am part of a culture that is morbidly uncomfortable with discomfort.
But I have to realize that so much of what alarms us is because we have been taught to fear things, not because they are actually dangerous. I mean, what can a dead body really do to you? It just lies there!
What about exposing them to the veteran who's lost his arms and legs? The elderly in hospice care? The kids in the children's home? The view of people struggling on the streets of an impoverished city? Should I cover their eyes and keep our distance?
I think teaching my children to fear these Hard Truths in life is the opposite of making the world a more just, safe, and pretty place for them. I mean, how can we ever hope to take better care of our elderly, impoverished, sick, and disabled, if we specifically teach our children to look away?
I also think it does my children a disservice in preparing them for a real world that, whether I like it or not, is out there. I can't fix it for them. I can't shelter them forever.
Maybe that's part of the problem. It's hard, as a parent, to admit to our children who think we are heroes, that we are scared too. That we don't understand a lot of things, that we don't like a lot of things, and that we can't fix it.
But...those things are Truths, too.
Really, I don't need my children to think I am omnipotent, or that they and those they love are immortal, or exempt from pain and danger and hard times. I need to raise them to live in the world.
To live without fear of the unknown; to live with purpose, making things around them better in their own ways.
I hope that by exposing them to such things early, from the safety of my reach, they will take from these experiences what I want them to. While my lap is still a safe haven if they do get scared. While my explanations and answers still have credit.
I hope they will learn that Hard Truths don't always feel as hard as they look, especially when we focus on touching the parts we can change.
And I hope they can find what I have in the time I've spent walking through shadows- that it makes the things glittering in the sunlight seem all the more vibrant. And that, even in the dark, there are beautiful things to hold on to.
More, please. xoxo
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