A lesson in caring

I love my kids.  Occasionally, if I am having a particularly difficult time with one of them, I will remind them of this fact.  The truth is, if I didn't care about them then I wouldn't care if they got to bed on time.  I wouldn't care if they finished their homework.  I wouldn't care about their dental hygiene.  It is precisely because I care about them that I care about all these other things.  I am certain there are times they wish I didn't care so much.

Arguments between children and their caring parents are inevitable.  As my boys get older, they are taking on more responsibilities for their lives.  This is a good thing but with greater responsibility comes greater perceived power.  Rules are questioned, negotiations attempted.  I try to listen, even when I already know the basis of their case is faulty.  To dismiss them out of hand would be rude and might discourage them from future attempts.  I don’t want to do that.  I want to raise people who are not afraid to question things.  Sometimes, the arguments get heated.  It is probably a sign of their development that they are able to upset me so.  I suppose this is a positive thing, but I sometimes miss the days when "because I said so" was accepted as a valid and reasonable explanation.  I'm often surprised at how quickly a simple argument can escalate into a shouting match.  Again, I like to think it's because I care so much.

When the boys argue with each other it gets trickier.  As a parent, my first instinct is to step in and restore order.  But, at some point, they need to learn how to resolve things without me arbitrating.  I don't want that job long-term.  I usually try to hold back and wait until they work it out or one of them is screaming.  I try to limit the screaming, for the neighbor's sake as much as anything else.  My older son has the advantage, both in size and experience.  He is adept at getting under his brother's skin.  My younger son has learned that mom and dad step in when there is screaming.  Thus, he jumps to that stage fairly quickly.  Not exactly the outcome I'd intended.

Yesterday, the boys and I were out riding bikes.  We were on our way to meet friends at a local coffee/ice cream shop.  We'd only gone a few blocks when my older son made a remark that I deemed was aimed at irking his younger brother.  In this particular case, I also felt that his action had the potential to negatively impact his brother's overall safety on the road.  Looking back, it really probably wasn't that big of a deal, but at the time, I was upset.  It wasn't the specific incident as much as it was the general issue that we don't screw around when we're out riding.

I began my lecture (perhaps tirade better describes it) as we rolled down the street.  I was out front, with my younger son, shouting back at the other (yes, I scream because I care).  My older son was lagging behind and, as I finished a rather salient and eloquent point, he shouted back, "What?  Dad, I can't hear you!"  Aggravated, I raised the volume and gave him the short version of my previous message.  He interrupted me midway; apparently still unable to hear me, even though I could hear him fine.  I tried a couple more times, feeling the frustration build each time.  Still, he could not hear me.

By now, I had passed from upset to angry.  I decided I would slam on my brakes and skid to an impressive stop, thus punctuating my mood, and speak to him when he caught up to me.  In anger I squeezed the brake levers.  Usually, I only use the rear brakes, but this time I clinched both fists.  And I learned something.  I learned that my front brakes work much better than my rear ones, perhaps because they have been used so seldom.  The front of the bike stopped.  I kept my grip on the handlebars as I flipped over the front of the bike and landed in the street.  If I was going for an impressive stop, I couldn't have done much better than that.  As my older son approached, I was still upset, now more with myself than him.  "Can you hear me now?", I asked.

I got back on the bike and we continued our ride.  I've got an impressive bruise on the inside of my left knee but I know I could have been hurt much worse.  My accident scared both boys and made the older one feel bad because he thought it was his fault.  In some ways, this hurts more than the knee.

A painful reminder to take a breath once in awhile.