Teaching our Kids Responsibility

To give you a little background, I come from a bit of an unusual family.  Both of my parents are totally blind and have been since before I was born.  They were blind when they met and this was all I knew.  Growing up, this didn't seem strange to me.  They were just my parents and that's just the way it was.  My parents are very capable and determined people and they never let blindness stop them.

My mother lost her sight from an eye infection when she was 14.  After that, she finished high school, graduated from college, and earned a master's degree.  She then moved, alone, from a small town in rural Alabama to Louisville, KY where she took a job working for the Kentucky Department of the Blind as a home teacher.  She traveled (with a driver/secretary) around a region of Kentucky visiting newly blind clients and teaching them skills of independent living and Braille.

My father lost his sight when he was in his late 30's also from a freak eye infection.  My mother was his teacher and when they met Dad could still see a little bit, but he became totally blind shortly after that time.  Dad, no slacker himself, didn't let blindness stand in the way of his life either.  Before losing his sight, he had been a Design Engineer, designing tractor trailers.  That's difficult to do when you're blind, so he was re-trained as a computer programmer and he worked in that capacity for about 7 years before he decided to retire early and be a stay-at-home-dad.  In his free time he finished the basement of our house, framing walls, hanging paneling, installing a drop-ceiling, all without assistance.  He even wired the lights himself, only needing me to tell him the color of the wires.

As you can see, my parents were not ones to let a handicap stand in their way!  They decided that they wanted to have a child and I was born when Mom was 40 and Dad was 44.  That was quite old for parents in the 70s so my family was unique in a few ways.  Because of their age, they did not have more children, so I'm an only child (also a bit unusual in the 70s!).

Growing up, I was never amazed by all my parents accomplished despite being blind.  To me, they were pretty normal parents except that they couldn't drive.  Now that I have children of my own, I am truly amazed and even a bit perplexed that they were able to raise me and I never hurt or killed myself!

I've often been asked how my parents raised me when they couldn't see.  How did I not hurt myself?  How did they know what I was doing or where I was?  I've often wondered, now that I have children, how my parents were able to raise me without being able to see me or what I was doing.  I've tried to remember what it was like so I can determine what their secret was.

One thing my parents always said when I asked them about this is, "You were just always a good child."  They have told me that, even as a young child when choking hazards are a concern, if I found any object on the floor, I'd pick it up and bring it to them.  I can't even get my kids to pick their socks up and put them in the laundry hamper most of the time!  I've wondered if our house was just exceptionally well child-proofed, but when I asked my parents they said that wasn't the case.  I remember seeing outlet covers at a friend's house once and asking what those strange things were, so I suspect my parents weren't lying.  Was I really just a good kid?  Was this a gift from God because he knew they couldn't handle raising a more difficult child?   Perhaps, but I've come to suspect there was something else going on.

I was reading a book today, Home Grown:  Adventures in Parenting off the Beaten Path, Unschooling, and Reconnecting with the Natural World.  In this book, the author talks about how protective or not protective we should be of our children.  He points out that, by always protecting our children, we remove responsibility from our children and actually make them less responsible.  As evidence, he refers to another book, The Continuum Concept, by Jean Liedloff where she discusses her time spent with a South American aborigine tribe.  She observed children in this tribe taking part in many activities that would make American adults cringe- using sharp knives, cooking over fires, using machetes, etc.  Despite the children being exposed to all of these hazards, serious injuries or deaths were quite rare.    Liedloff pointed out that these children were making full use of their capacity to take care of themselves while American children only partially use that ability because parents have taken over that role.  She further notes that, in taking that role away from children, we have in many ways endangered them because no one else can look out for a person as well as that person can look out for themselves.

This makes perfect sense to me.  Growing up, I remember feeling like I needed to keep myself safe.  I always kind of knew that my parents couldn't see what I was doing, so I couldn't do anything too crazy.  If I wanted to do something (jump off the swing set, for example) and I wasn't sure how safe it would be, I either avoided the activity or I asked my parents first.  I knew they weren't watching me and weren't going to jump in and stop me if it was too dangerous.  Despite that fact that my parents couldn't see me, I never broke a bone, never needed stitches, and never burned myself on a hot stove or fireplace.  By age 6, I was walking my parents across the neighborhood street and up the sidewalk to church each week.  I told them to watch the bumps in the pavement and to step up or down at the curb.

Many of my friends, on the other hand, were daredevils.  They all seemed to think that I was too cautious and careful.  They climbed high up in trees, rode bikes with their eyes closed, and even climbed out on second-story rooftops.  Was this a childhood rite of passage I missed?  Or had they just missed learning how to be responsible for their own safety?

Now, I look at my kids and I wonder how to apply this to them.  I tend to be a bit overprotective and safety paranoid.  This probably comes from having to be protective and careful for myself.  Nevertheless, I suspect I have in some ways handicapped my children.  I still feel the need to hold my daughter's hand when we're walking through parking lots (she's almost 8).  Yet, tonight, when I wasn't holding her hand, she walked right out between cars into the driving lane without looking.  Fortunately, no cars were coming, but it made me realize how much she depends on me to keep her safe.

I suppose we all learn to be responsible for our own safety eventually.  This usually doesn't occur, however, until we are allowed some freedom and allowed to take some risks.  You can't learn how to use a knife safely if you're never allowed to use one.  I do wonder, though, if some adults drive drunk, take drugs, or engage in other risky behaviors at least partially because they never learned to watch out for themselves and protect their own safety.

Is it too late for me to ease up a bit on my protection of my children so they can learn to be responsible for their own safety?  Is it even a good idea now that they're protective machinery is dormant from years of me and others protecting them from every possible harm?  Can we, in today's society where parents are arrested for letting their kids walk home from a park, stop protecting them from everything?   Are we taking more of a risk and risking more harm to them by protecting them so much?

Losing My Childhood

Yesterday my godfather, Frank, passed away.  He was 86 and had Alzheimer's so this was not unexpected.  He was a good, kind, and witty man.  He would have made a wonderful father, but he never had children of his own because his first wife, my godmother, had cancer and, shortly after they married, became unable to bear children.  She died when I was 9 and Frank remarried several years later, but they were too old to have children at that point.  He had stepchildren and he had me, his god child.

When I was very young we lived right next door to my godparents.  Since they had no children, they treated me like their own child.  Nearly all of the the photos of me as a baby were taken when I was in my godmother's arms.  I visited them frequently and have many happy memories of time spent at their home.

I am an only child.  My parents were in their 40s when I was born so they weren't able to have more children.  This (having only one child and having a child in your 40s) was rather unusual back in the 70s so most people assumed my parents were my grandparents or that I was the youngest of a family of many kids.  I don't know what the right number of children is in a family.  I think it is a very personal decision.  I do know that there are pros and cons to any number.

In many ways being an only child was good.  I had my parents undivided love and attention.  I didn't have to worry about sharing a room, toys, or my parent's affection.  My father's sister had seven children and I think my cousins were always a little jealous of me.  They thought I was lucky and probably a bit spoiled to have so many things and so much space all to myself.  I, on the other hand was always a little jealous of them.  They always had someone to play with and they seemed to have such a close relationship with each other.

Now that I'm older, there is another part of being an only child that is difficult.  I sometimes feel as if I'm losing my childhood memories.  For people with siblings, they have someone in their life who has known them for most or all of their lives.  They have others with whom they can reminisce about their younger days.  There are others who remember all of the crazy, silly, sad, or happy things that happened when they were young.  For an only child, there are very few people like that and most of them are much older.  For me, I had my cousins but, regrettably, we were not particularly close.  Other than that, I had my parents, who are now in their 80s and suffering from the beginnings of dementia and I had my godparents and a few other close family friends.  I realize that in the not-so-distant future there will be no one alive who shares my childhood memories.  This makes me somewhat sad.

I realize this isn't really that big of a deal in many ways.  This is not meant to be a pity party.  But, I am sad that I won't have anyone to whom I can say, "do you remember that time when I was 4 and...?"  There will be no one else who remembers the way I used to sing "She'll be Coming Round the Mountain" with my dad while waiting for my babysitter to pick me up in the morning or how my parents always sat up and talked quietly in the kitchen at night after putting me to bed.  Our family history will reside only with me.  I'm not the only one who has had these thoughts.  Country singer, Kathy Mattea, sang a song written by her husband, apparently an only child, called "Who's Gonna Know But Me" that talks about this exact thing.  This is just one of those things most never consider when thinking about the pros and cons of having just one child.

I'm aware that many, like my parents, may not make their own choice to have just one child.   It may be what God (or fate or circumstances, or whatever you'd like to call it) chooses for them.  Or, many do choose to have one child because that is what is right for their family.  Having just one child is not all bad by any means.  I would encourage you, though, especially if you have only one child, to document as much of his/her childhood as possible.  Take pictures and video, keep a journal.  As your child gets older, be sure to tell her stories of her childhood.  Knowing our personal history can be very helpful.  I believe it makes us feel more grounded and helps us to understand ourselves better.

The Dark Side

Most of my posts so far have been about how great homeschooling is and how much I love teaching my children, blah, blah, blah.  They may border on pollyannaish.  Well, today is a different kind of post.  Today I will be perfectly honest about the other side of teaching your own kids.  It is not all fun and games.  Some days just suck.  Today (and maybe yesterday too) was that kind of day.

People often tell me that they could never homeschool their kids because they don't have that kind of patience.  They tell me they couldn't handle being home with their kids all day long and trying to teach them.  They tell me I must be so patient and good with kids.  Honestly, I don't think I'm any different than most moms.  I'm no more or less patient.  I, too, have days when I wouldn't win any parenting awards.  I am working continually on improving my patience, trying to respond with love and trying to respond calmly to my children.  But it is a work in process.

Since I homeschool, I really don't get a break from my "job".  I don't get vacations, I don't get weekends, and I don't get lunch breaks.  I am pretty much with my kids 24/7/365 other than the occasional date night or girl's night out.  Usually, this is ok.  It allows for lots of bonding and I can really get to know and understand my kids.  Some days, though, I just need a break.  Today I actually considered putting them back in school so I could wave goodbye to them in the morning and have 7 kid-free hours!  It was just that kind of day.  

Going back to homeschooling after Christmas break has been hard for both me and the kids.  I got used to having my husband home to help out with the kids as needed.  It was great to tag out now and then so I could run an errand alone or just have a mental break.  They got used to having him home to play with them and do things for them if I was busy.  I dreaded his return to work on the Monday after New Year's.  Also, the kids had a long break from more formal school and we gave them ample (too much?) time to play video games over the break.  They've struggled with focusing on school work and reducing the amount of video games they play.  I'm also having a hard time getting back into the routine of going to bed at a decent hour and waking up at 6:30 so I can be ready to face the day by the time the kids wake up around 8:00.

This morning I got up at 7:00 after snoozing my alarm a few times.  I was feeling sore and tired after going ice skating with my daughter the night before (my first time ice skating in about 15 years) and staying up too late watching a movie with my husband after we got the kids in bed.  I managed to get showered, get dressed, and make the bed before the kids got up at 8:00.  Breakfast was ok except both kids seemed sullen and were disappointed that the doughnuts we had yesterday (as a special treat) were all gone.  Then, my son asked if he could play with his iPad.  When I told him that today was a school day and he could play with it after 3:00, he started wallowing on the floor and whining and saying that he hates school and school days.

My son finally got over his temper tantrum and we went upstairs to start school.  He was pretty cooperative and started in on his first activity, building mosaic pictures of fish with geometric shaped stickers (a great fine motor activity for a 5 year old).  My daughter, however, had trouble settling into any activity that I felt was appropriately educational for a 7 year old.  She rejected all of the things I had planned for her.  She wanted to make origami animals with a book we have.  I wasn't thrilled with her choice, but I needed her to be occupied while I worked with my son, so I let it go.  I figured she'd do something else later.  Then, as I was doing math with my son, my daughter kept interrupting by complaining that she couldn't do the origami and needed my help.  Can you understand my irritation?

The day pretty much went on like that with times of learning peppered with more yelling from me than I usually do in a week or so.  I was irritated with their behavior and even more irritated and disappointed in myself for my behavior.  After lunch, we went to a homeschool board game playdate at the library.  I thought this would be a much needed break for all of us.  I thought this would be a great opportunity for the kids to meet some new friends.  As it turns out, they only wanted to play with each other and didn't really seem interested in the other kids.  Less than an hour into it, they were screaming at each other over the game they were playing.  I encouraged them to play with the other kids, but they weren't interested in what they were playing and they kept saying they wanted to go pick out library books and go home.  I was defeated so we checked out a few books and left.

I am assuming there is a lesson in this.  I try to always find the learning in bad situations.  I think it may be that I need to stop pushing my agenda on them so much.  I need to relax a bit and trust the process.  If my daughter wants to do origami instead of math, maybe I should go with that and see it as a lesson in geometry and art.  If they aren't able to settle down and concentrate on school, maybe I need to let them take a break and exercise for a while.  I can't force them to make new friends.  I can only offer opportunities.

I also think I need to focus more on my well-being.  If I'm not doing well, our whole day tends to be off.   My frame of mind and my attitude tends to influence them.  Often it seems that the more I yell, the more they misbehave and fight with each other, possibly because my irritation stresses them and they act out (or maybe they find my antics amusing!).  I need to get to bed earlier and be sure that I start the day well rested.  I need to plan some time for exercise and relaxation or reading- possibly in the mornings before they get out of bed.  It's not easy to juggle, but, as they say in the airplane safety speeches, I need to put my oxygen mask on first.  Only then can I assist my children.