As a child I wasn’t treated as well as we all should be. I don’t think that it’s necessary to get into it in detail, but it’s something that I think I need to say. It affects me every day that I spend with Ben. It’s a whisper in my ear for every decision that I make. Basically it’s important for me to tell you this, even if it isn’t important to you.
I don’t let Ben cry. I don’t think that people who let their children cry-it-out are bad people. I believe that is a decision each family needs to make for itself. But we don’t let Ben cry. I have this fear that mistreating a child is a little like alcoholism, and so, just as I don’t drink alone or ever have more than one drink in a sitting, I don’t let Ben cry. This doesn’t mean I think people who let their children cry are mistreating their children any more than I think people who have an occasional drink alone or order two drinks at a bar are alcoholics. I’m just afraid that there’s a slippery slope for some of us.
Another example: I am afraid of people who yell at their kids.
I am not a coward. I apologize too much, and I may be timid at times, but I am not a coward.
Really.
But when someone yells in my presence I have a desire to run away. It doesn’t matter if they’re yelling at a dog or merely to have their voice heard across the street. Every muscle in my body tightens up and I can feel my heart beat in my throat. And with Ben it is worse. If Ben is near me I suddenly have a keen understanding of where each and every exit is, where the crowd is thinnest, where that tree is that I might hide behind.
I think I can get over this. I think I can prevent myself from passing along this fear to Ben. Although, please don’t take this to mean that it’s okay to yell in my presence. I really don’t find it an effective form of communication.
What really scares me, what gives me nightmares is yelling myself. I worry about losing control and kicking in a door. Or hitting him. Or knocking him down. Or telling him “y’know, I wanted a life, too.” I have lost control of my anger in the past. And, like being drunk, the moment isn’t ever too clear in my memory. Mostly it was during high school and college, the only recent time being after one of the cats took a swipe at Ben when he was a tiny, tiny baby (you may have noticed I don’t speak of my cats anymore, they’re in good loving homes now).
I believe I’m more in control of my emotions now. And I’ve never hurt anyone. But I’m terrified of it anyway. I can’t imagine anyone ever thinking they had the capacity to hurt a child. I can’t imagine that if anyone loved a child as much as I love Ben that they could ever lose control of their anger, but I know that it happens every day. Can you really say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it could never be you if you know that it’s possible for other people?
And every little thing that Ben does reminds me of a parallel in my own childhood. And I thought that would make it bad, like picking at a really old scab or re-breaking a bone. Honestly? There’s a relief in it. Maybe it’s that each day with Ben I’m able to rewrite memories of what childhood is, even if it isn’t my own. Maybe it’s that I don’t need to remember that stuff anymore. Maybe it’s the feeling that I’m breaking that cycle. Maybe it’s just that I enjoy every minute of every day so much that there isn’t any room for anything worse less than that.
And these are the things that go through my head. These are the things that I’m really trying to share when I talk about values. And I have been trying for months now to figure out how to write this without embarrassing my family, whom I love. But these things need to be written. Because I need to figure out the mathematical principles of love and discipline, of safety, security, and boundaries. I need to learn how to hold on to my children without crushing them, and the formula wasn’t written down for me by my own parents.
I just finished Big Lessons for Little People
