IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:EVERYTHING'S a habit. The way we respond to our parents, even now, all grown up, is habitual, harking back to childhood attention-seeking and teen drama. Eventually we manage adult-to-adult conversations without reverting to teen type and storming out at the first sniff of rebuke, yet, through habit or conditioning, we still occasionally respond in ways we wouldn't to other adults.
We reinforce the cycle by doing the same with our own kids. Okay, we buy the parenting books, swot up on self-esteem issues, encourage them to express their feelings and respect other people’s. Then they catch you on a Tuesday morning when you’re more tired than you expected, and they refuse to get dressed or eat their breakfast. Rather than sit them down and ask them how they’re feeling, we (I) catch ourselves (myself) hanging them by the ankles over the bin and screaming that they won’t be long for this world if they look at us (me) crossways again.
I drop the kids to school in the mornings. One of my favourite parts of this job is having the occasional blather at the gates with other parents. The ones who’ve had stressful starts to the day will show themselves. They’ll be a little late, adults tightmouthed, kid’s pigtails askew, and the child will be shepherded inside, wrist held a little firmer than usual.
After the deposit, said parent may stop and divulge relevant information with a random gaggle who have remained, hovering, looking for information without wanting to look as if they’re interested. The story usually starts with the child’s irrational and infuriating behaviour and ends with parental guilt at their own irrational and infuriating response.
An ad hoc therapy group forms. Stories of similar levels of Guantanamo Bay-type behaviour are revealed and the parent at the eye of the storm experiences a sense of relief that neither they nor their children are the monsters they had begun to build themselves into. They’re just typical, busy, thirtysomething parents.
Usually the relief of sharing the recent bout of parenting failure is enough to assuage the guilt, but sometimes you know you lost the head in such a childish manner you will have to work fast and hard to rebuild bridges with the children involved. Because in responding inappropriately, you’re teaching them that it’s okay to react like a loon when you’re tired, or distracted, or just feel like flexing your muscles.
You’re also reinforcing their behavioural habits. You’re teaching them that whatever you say may be wise and appropriate advice, but that can be superseded by emotion. And while your emotional response is important and an accurate gauge of how you feel, it does not give you the right to stomp on all around you.
Even writing this I am aware that the way I portray my kids and our particular dynamic in this column is habitual. It depends usually on me highlighting or exaggerating a particular incident, focusing in on it and finally attempting to justify or normalise it. Habitually, I tend to rely on those starting situations being negative to get my point across. The reason for this is that I distrust those who insist that their domestic situation runs smoothly. I’m sure a smoothly run, harmonious family exists in the same way I’m sure a black swan exists, it’s just I’ve never seen either.
Having said that, my brace of brats are well-behaved kids. They may occasionally be rude, surly, thoughtless, they may run me ragged, but they’re good-hearted, funny and loving. So when I receive a communication from a reader who states that my kids sound obnoxious and I need to take them in hand, I wonder have I misread the situation entirely. Am I the only one who struggles with this stuff? But worse than that, is my portrayal of them as demanding ne’er-do-wells taken as being their distinguishing characteristic?
It isn’t. I watch them growing into responsible, brilliant little humans and know we are doing something right. I convince myself that, even if it’s hard to decipher above the screams some mornings, they must be picking up some good habits too.
abrophy@irishtimes.com