(Season’s Greetings! In case you have a few minutes to read during this season of full schedules and festive activities, here is the final section of Chapter 1 of What Did I Tell You? I’ll hold off on sharing Chapter 2 until after the first of the year. Happy Holidays Everyone!)
Speaking of chapters, I was about to begin a new one of my own. As clinical training drew to a close, we discovered I was pregnant with our first child. Deliriously happy and more than a little terrified at the prospect of becoming parents, wholly responsible for another human life, we eagerly sought guidance and recommendations from family members and friends for everything from obstetricians to nursery furnishings. In spite of all my years of experience, education, and training, I knew enough to know I didn’t know enough.
If there was one thing I learned from observing, working with, and living in families, it’s that we tend to do what we know. And sometimes what we know is inaccurate, insufficient, or ineffective. Doing the opposite of what we know is not necessarily advisable either, however logical it may seem.
I had a mother who believed there were two ways of doing things – her way and the wrong way; a point of view not particularly conducive to exploring alternatives. Not only was her way the right way, it was the best way. Surprisingly, one of her mother’s favorite expressions was, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” This phrase, dating back to the 1800s, basically implies there are multiple ways to accomplish the same task.
Born in the early 1900s, my maternal grandmother managed without electricity until the 1950s, and never had indoor plumbing or a car. Due to the limited sources of information, she relied heavily on ingenuity to meet the challenges of everyday life. Survival demanded a willingness to adapt to changing circumstances. But I digress.
For now, suffice it to say, my inclination was to gather information from diverse sources. While it is impossible to know everything, learning as much as possible seemed a worthwhile endeavor. If I can only do what I know, then the more I know, the more I can do. As might be predicted, I consulted a familiar source to fortify my knowledge of child development and parenting – BOOKS.
Since books had proven to be trusted resources, I turned to them once again as I approached what would be the most momentous vocation of my life – bearing and rearing a human being. Dr. Miriam Stoppard ushered me through the stages of pregnancy and childbirth in her classic guide for parents-to-be, Pregnancy and Birth Book. Penelope Leach provided a thorough description of basic developmental milestones for the stages and phases of infancy and childhood in her comprehensive series. The work of Jane Nelsen and her colleagues, in their groundbreaking alternative to corporal punishment, Positive Discipline, completely changed my perspective on misbehavior. Stephanie Marston further supported my efforts to be proactive and preventive by using The Magic of Encouragement. Once again, my reading life informed my actual life, this time in the role of parent.
Academic manuals were not the only publications I turned to for instruction. Some of the most influential figures in my parenting life existed on the pages of favorite literary works. In Little Lord Fauntleroy, his mother, known to him only as Dearest, modeled patience, gentle guidance, loving-kindness, generosity, and grace. Atticus Finch, the widowed father in To Kill a Mockingbird, exemplified tolerance, humility, and compassionate wisdom. Matthew Cuthbert readily demonstrated his capacity for unconditional love, while his sister, Marilla, revealed the importance of willingly admitting mistakes, apologizing, and making amends in Anne of Green Gables. These were parent qualities worth striving to emulate.
Equipped with an arsenal of information, experience, and support, I was naive enough to believe there is such a thing as being completely prepared for the arrival of a baby. Only upon the birth of our first son did I begin to comprehend the enormity of the undertaking. The title of parent was easy enough to attain. It happened in an instant. One moment I was childless and the next I was a mother. But, there is so much more to becoming a parent than gaining the title.
Another son and a few decades of hands-on experience have taught me that becoming a parent takes a lifetime. Seeking wisdom from experienced parents and professionals combined with reading to refamiliarize myself with basic child development and fundamental parenting principles was time well spent. Having that solid foundation allowed me to focus my attention on getting to know each of my children as unique individuals, concentrating my efforts on becoming the parent they needed. Their changing needs challenged me to adjust accordingly. Even now, with two adult sons, their partners, and a grandchild, I still endeavor to become the parent they need. Ergo, becoming a parent is a lifelong commitment.
Those of us who find ourselves in the state of parenthood have reached a common destination, but the journey to parenthood was unique for each of us. What we bring to it – our childhood, our role models, our knowledge and expectations – in short, our personal story directs navigation through this territory. As a result, no two parents parent exactly alike. Likewise, no two children are exactly alike. The implications of these two actualities have long captivated my curiosity both personally and professionally.
Considering the vital role books have played in my life, it likely comes as no surprise that I would aspire to write one. Given my fascination with the evolutionary nature of parent-child relationships, it stands to reason that I would choose to write a book about parenting. But not a parenting manual.
A manual implies a set of instructions that, if followed, render a specific result. If we agree that no two parents are the same and no two children are the same, then the notion of a parenting manual seems moot.
So if we can’t parent by the book, why write a book about parenting?
First of all, the prevailing advice to would-be authors is write about what you know, what you are interested in, what excites you, what you’re passionate about. If perchance it’s not yet perfectly clear, in my case that would be parenting. Therefore, I write.
Second, unlike other jobs which are temporary, parenting is for life. I would even go so far as to say that the ramifications endure beyond the grave. And not only is it for life, we can’t not do it. We can choose whether or not to become a parent or whether or not to be an involved parent. But if we have children, we cannot choose whether or not to parent.
Our presence or absence is experienced as parenting by our children. The way our children experience our involvement in their lives, or lack thereof, has an extraordinary impact on what they come to believe about themselves and how they relate to the rest of the world. The relationships we establish with our children provide the foundation for every other relationship they will ever have. In light of the duration and scope of this relationship, I write.
Third, parenting, arguably the most profound privilege and responsibility we undertake, is one for which no formal preparation or training is deemed necessary or provided. Granted, as previously mentioned, being completely prepared is an unrealistic expectation. But equally absurd is the fallacy that parenting is governed by instinct; the erroneous belief that when the time comes we’ll automatically know what to do. Actually, we learn how to parent. Because it is learned, we can learn more about it. Parenting can be practiced, modified, and continuously improved. And so, I write.
Finally, Frederick Buechner stated that, “the story of any one of us is in some measure the story of us all.” Reading about how others have managed issues and problems enhances our ability to resolve our own. Books can assist us in addressing the challenges we face. While we can’t expect to parent by the book, books can help guide our efforts to parent by the child. With that in mind, I write.
What I Meant to Tell You
Reading is like an extra sense, a superpower.
Books, particularly works of fiction, enhance our ability to reflect on our lives by reading about others facing similar issues in theirs. Reading about others can help us develop our capacity for empathy.
Reading is transformative. What we read, especially as children, makes a difference. What we read becomes part of us.
Read a book and be changed. Share a book and change the world.
Words are powerful. They can be used to create or destroy. Choose your words carefully.
We each possess a personal vocabulary. How extensive it is depends on us.
It is possible to be objective without becoming detached. It is possible to be both analytical and caring.
No two families are exactly alike.
There is truth in fiction.
Viewing change as an opportunity rather than a threat can be advantageous.
We can only do what we know, so the more we know the more we can do.
No two people parent exactly alike. No two children are exactly alike.
Jobs are temporary. Parenting is for life.
If we have children, we can’t not parent.
Parenting is learned.
We parent by the child when we strive to become the parent our child needs.
