Ice skating comes easy to T, most of the time. She's my most coordinated child, the one that almost always lands on her feet on those rare times that she falls. When something doesn't come easy, though, she's not always sure how to handle it. To her, everything is either "easy" or "hard." "Easy" is anything she has mastered. She has a very short memory, though, for the effort that mastery may have taken. Because of that, "hard" frequently implies "not worth my effort," unfortunately.
With ice skating, at least, my best strategy has been to have her teach me how to do the "hard" moves. It helps her because she has to concentrate on all the details well enough to tell me what to do. I'm quick with questions when she's vague and enthusiastic with my effort, so she is motivated to create a good description. By going through the same learning process she is, I gain a perspective so that we can talk about it, too. Sometimes it's just a commiseration -- "Wow, this is tough" -- but other times we can help each other when we figure out something. And, for me, I also get the added bonus of learning something new. (Yeah, I'm a life-long learner.) One of my best successes with this was T-stops, which both T and I can now do naturally.
Now, though, we're getting near the limits of what I can physically do myself. I might be able to pull off, at least in an awkward fashion, the Mohawk turn that she's trying to learn. My backwards skating is pretty weak, though... I might not be able to get it. The next level is only going to be harder. I'm going to need to learn a new strategy soon. Research, I guess...
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Parenting is...
Parenting is trying to prepare your children so that you can be proud of them when the world meets them. Parenting is also trying to prepare the world so that you can be proud of it when your children meet it.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My champions
This weekend my kids and I participated in the 2010 Winter Olympics. (Maybe you saw us on TV, if they cut away to the events being held in the St. Peter's RecPlex. I was on the ice at the time, so I don't know what they actually decided to televise.)
The events for the day were figure skating, speed skating, curling, "downhill" slalom, and ice hockey. Now I'm the sort of guy who wants to try out everything, but my kids were more hesitant. F and Q were excited about trying hockey and speed skating, while T wanted to figure skate and speed skate. Every one of them stated that there was at least one event they weren't going to try. (In fact, I heard many other people say the same thing. "I'm not good that that event, so I'm staying away from it.")
I wanted to climb up on my soapbox and lecture about how you can be surprised by the amount of fun something can be even if you've never tried it before, how it's good for your mind and body to stretch into new fields, and how the modern world is saying we all need to be experts in one thing even while silently demanding, simply by the rate of its change, that we learn how to learn new things quickly. I could very easily have pontificated about how I'd love them to find something to be passionate about, but that it shouldn't exclude all other activities. Instead I simply told them that I was going to try every event.
Guess what. My kids tried every event, too. And they all had a lot of fun.
Q fell flat on his back when he tried to shoot the hockey puck after making his way through the obstacle course, but he got up laughing. He was also brave enough to be the very first figure skater. T's shot at the hockey net went wide, but she caught the rebound off the boards and had a great big smile when she shot it into a lower corner. F's slide across the ice for the final pose for his figure skating routine was copied by some of the next skaters. They all skated the slalom, raced around the short track, and slid the big curling stones across the ice. Each of them stood on the awards platform, having tried every event the RecPlex offered.
To me, that makes them all champions… even if I did totally outscore every single one of them in curling.
The events for the day were figure skating, speed skating, curling, "downhill" slalom, and ice hockey. Now I'm the sort of guy who wants to try out everything, but my kids were more hesitant. F and Q were excited about trying hockey and speed skating, while T wanted to figure skate and speed skate. Every one of them stated that there was at least one event they weren't going to try. (In fact, I heard many other people say the same thing. "I'm not good that that event, so I'm staying away from it.")
I wanted to climb up on my soapbox and lecture about how you can be surprised by the amount of fun something can be even if you've never tried it before, how it's good for your mind and body to stretch into new fields, and how the modern world is saying we all need to be experts in one thing even while silently demanding, simply by the rate of its change, that we learn how to learn new things quickly. I could very easily have pontificated about how I'd love them to find something to be passionate about, but that it shouldn't exclude all other activities. Instead I simply told them that I was going to try every event.
Guess what. My kids tried every event, too. And they all had a lot of fun.
Q fell flat on his back when he tried to shoot the hockey puck after making his way through the obstacle course, but he got up laughing. He was also brave enough to be the very first figure skater. T's shot at the hockey net went wide, but she caught the rebound off the boards and had a great big smile when she shot it into a lower corner. F's slide across the ice for the final pose for his figure skating routine was copied by some of the next skaters. They all skated the slalom, raced around the short track, and slid the big curling stones across the ice. Each of them stood on the awards platform, having tried every event the RecPlex offered.
To me, that makes them all champions… even if I did totally outscore every single one of them in curling.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Know Myself
A creek. One little boy jumps from rock to rock. His father does the same. His mother approaches another little boy, the slightly older brother. “Why aren’t you playing anymore?” “You said not to get our shoes wet!” the boy points at a shoe with a wet toe. “Oh, go play! I just meant you should be careful.”
I was the little boy ever so happy to be allowed to go back to jumping over the flowing water.
My mom says she should’ve realized earlier that she didn’t really need to caution me about anything. Yet she continued to do so. A few years later, when I started first grade, she told me “Come straight home after school. You cannot play; you must come home.” That turned out to be an unfortunate choice of words. Partway through the morning, my teacher told us to line up. It was recess time, but she said “We’re going outside to play.” That was another unfortunate choice of words. I grabbed my bookbag. While my class walked toward the playground, I ducked out of line and started home. It seemed strange that the crossing guard wasn’t at her place, but I looked both ways and crossed the busy street. I was nearly halfway home when a sudden thought struck me: I’d forgotten my lunchbox. I ran back to the school. In trying to get back into my classroom, I was discovered by another teacher who escorted me, despite my protests that my mother did not allow me to play, to my class.
So I sound like a definite rules-follower, right? For years, I ignored the evidence to the contrary. My mother’s #1 rule about walking to school was to never ever enter the bar at the corner, yet in second grade when my friend Mike wanted to go in there to buy licorice – he was hesitant to go alone – I went with him. More than once. How could I do something like that? I mean, I’m a rules-follower.
Can a person hold two contradictory ideas in their head at the same time, believing both? I profess a belief that there are no rules, only guidelines. Yet I still label myself as a rules-follower. That doesn’t make sense. I believe rules are semi-optional, yet I follow the rules nearly all the time. Only “nearly,” though. Once or twice a year, I shatter a rule or cultural norm, but then kind of forget about it. “I nearly never…” I know from engineering that the problem that nearly never happens is nearly impossible to track down.
Finally – recently – I quit ignoring the times that I broke rules and really looked at them. Was there some similarity between them? It turned out there was. In every case, I chose the happiness of someone else over the rule. In nearly all of the recent examples, it was something for one of my children. The mystery is solved: I’m a people pleaser, not a rule follower. I want to make other people happy, and if that means breaking a rule, so be it. I probably didn’t need to learn the motto of my high school – “Men for others” – because I came from the factory pre-programmed with that idea.
Self-knowledge is always good. Now that I realize what I’m doing, I can weigh the situation better. When I feel a rule going gray, I can try look for who I’m trying to please and see if it’s really worth breaking the rule. My guess is that the result will be about the same – that I’ll continue to weight the happiness of the person over the impersonal rule – but I could be wrong. At least I’ll realize when I’m making a dangerous jump off a rock-solid rule and won’t be surprised if my shoes get wet.
I was the little boy ever so happy to be allowed to go back to jumping over the flowing water.
My mom says she should’ve realized earlier that she didn’t really need to caution me about anything. Yet she continued to do so. A few years later, when I started first grade, she told me “Come straight home after school. You cannot play; you must come home.” That turned out to be an unfortunate choice of words. Partway through the morning, my teacher told us to line up. It was recess time, but she said “We’re going outside to play.” That was another unfortunate choice of words. I grabbed my bookbag. While my class walked toward the playground, I ducked out of line and started home. It seemed strange that the crossing guard wasn’t at her place, but I looked both ways and crossed the busy street. I was nearly halfway home when a sudden thought struck me: I’d forgotten my lunchbox. I ran back to the school. In trying to get back into my classroom, I was discovered by another teacher who escorted me, despite my protests that my mother did not allow me to play, to my class.
So I sound like a definite rules-follower, right? For years, I ignored the evidence to the contrary. My mother’s #1 rule about walking to school was to never ever enter the bar at the corner, yet in second grade when my friend Mike wanted to go in there to buy licorice – he was hesitant to go alone – I went with him. More than once. How could I do something like that? I mean, I’m a rules-follower.
Can a person hold two contradictory ideas in their head at the same time, believing both? I profess a belief that there are no rules, only guidelines. Yet I still label myself as a rules-follower. That doesn’t make sense. I believe rules are semi-optional, yet I follow the rules nearly all the time. Only “nearly,” though. Once or twice a year, I shatter a rule or cultural norm, but then kind of forget about it. “I nearly never…” I know from engineering that the problem that nearly never happens is nearly impossible to track down.
Finally – recently – I quit ignoring the times that I broke rules and really looked at them. Was there some similarity between them? It turned out there was. In every case, I chose the happiness of someone else over the rule. In nearly all of the recent examples, it was something for one of my children. The mystery is solved: I’m a people pleaser, not a rule follower. I want to make other people happy, and if that means breaking a rule, so be it. I probably didn’t need to learn the motto of my high school – “Men for others” – because I came from the factory pre-programmed with that idea.
Self-knowledge is always good. Now that I realize what I’m doing, I can weigh the situation better. When I feel a rule going gray, I can try look for who I’m trying to please and see if it’s really worth breaking the rule. My guess is that the result will be about the same – that I’ll continue to weight the happiness of the person over the impersonal rule – but I could be wrong. At least I’ll realize when I’m making a dangerous jump off a rock-solid rule and won’t be surprised if my shoes get wet.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Thank you for your generous donation
“… if you would help us by sending notes to your family members and friends, asking them to help support our cause? We are sending out drive kits in January.” “Sure,” I said, “Let’s do that.”
Now, I know how this conversation is supposed to go. Someone asks me to volunteer my time and I say I’m busy. Next thay ask me to make a donation from one of these fantastic levels with fancy names like “Gold level: $150,” “Supreme benefactor: $100,” or “Adequately involved: $25.” If I hesitate, thay say “Or whatever you can afford. Many people are donating just $10. Any amount helps…” That’s usually the point where I make a decision: I pick some number that feels reasonable, or else I resolve to wait tham out. I’m too polite to hang up first (even though I know it happens to tham all the time and that by cutting off the conversation early, I’m saving tham time and effort... I still can’t just hang up on anybody). If I choose to wait tham out, I respond to everything pleasantly but negatively. I’ve never changed my mind during thair endgame.
Waiting for the phone solicitor to give up takes time. A lot of them are surprisingly persistent. When I’m too busy for the series of rewordings of the same basic plea, I choose some amount to donate (“Any amount helps…”) and request whatever option is fastest. (“Please send me a reminder letter so I can try to get matching funds from my employer” works well.) Even busier? I’ll choose the “brass level” or “adequately involved” as soon as they name it.
So when the Alzheimer’s Association representative called in early October, she caught me at a busy time… so busy that I was actually tempted to hang up on her. She said, “We are sending out drive kits in January,” and I thought:
My kit actually arrived in late December. As I struggled to decide who I could possibly send these requests out to and what in heaven’s name I could write that wouldn’t make it sound like I was asking for money when I asked for money and why did I ever volunteer for this in the first place, I remembered that I’d rather discuss loss of control of bodily functions than money. I don’t ask people for money. I don’t even like to sell things; I’d much rather just give them away. I hate the question “How much did you pay for that?” So how was I going to appeal to people for… money?
In the end, I wrote “Anything you can do will be great!” (notice that I didn’t even mention money) and sent these things out to parents and siblings (my own and –in-law) and a few of my closest friends. I never mentioned the requests in person, just let the letters speak for themselves. I received a good number of replies and the number of people I became estranged from is actually very small.
Will I do it again? Probably not. I’ll spend the rest of my life with residual stress about whether I offended anyone by asking for donations. Maybe, since I know the routine, I’d be slightly more likely to volunteer my time, but only if I could think of a number of family and friends I wouldn’t mind losing. That means I’d have to get some new peeps, because I really like all of my current ones. Also, the mystery is gone. I’ve been disillusioned of my idea that I might get to hear the person say, “Oh, no! Nobody says they’ll help here. My script just ends!!”
Now, I know how this conversation is supposed to go. Someone asks me to volunteer my time and I say I’m busy. Next thay ask me to make a donation from one of these fantastic levels with fancy names like “Gold level: $150,” “Supreme benefactor: $100,” or “Adequately involved: $25.” If I hesitate, thay say “Or whatever you can afford. Many people are donating just $10. Any amount helps…” That’s usually the point where I make a decision: I pick some number that feels reasonable, or else I resolve to wait tham out. I’m too polite to hang up first (even though I know it happens to tham all the time and that by cutting off the conversation early, I’m saving tham time and effort... I still can’t just hang up on anybody). If I choose to wait tham out, I respond to everything pleasantly but negatively. I’ve never changed my mind during thair endgame.
Waiting for the phone solicitor to give up takes time. A lot of them are surprisingly persistent. When I’m too busy for the series of rewordings of the same basic plea, I choose some amount to donate (“Any amount helps…”) and request whatever option is fastest. (“Please send me a reminder letter so I can try to get matching funds from my employer” works well.) Even busier? I’ll choose the “brass level” or “adequately involved” as soon as they name it.
So when the Alzheimer’s Association representative called in early October, she caught me at a busy time… so busy that I was actually tempted to hang up on her. She said, “We are sending out drive kits in January,” and I thought:
- If I say “yes,” we’ll be done. That’d be great.
- Hey, I’ve never said “yes” here before. I wonder what happens on this path.
- January is forever away. I could be hit by a bus before then and not have to do it.
- Does anybody say “yes” here? I’ll bet she’ll have to check with her manager or something to find out what to do. Maybe she’ll say “Okay, you’ve my bluff. We don’t actually have a program like that. Can you just donate some money?”
- If I say “yes,” we’ll be done.
- Can I really ask people for money?!?
- Remember “Still Alice?” Alzheimer’s is one of the worst things ever. Maybe they can wipe it out. These are the people trying to find a cure.
- If I say “yes,” we’ll be done.
My kit actually arrived in late December. As I struggled to decide who I could possibly send these requests out to and what in heaven’s name I could write that wouldn’t make it sound like I was asking for money when I asked for money and why did I ever volunteer for this in the first place, I remembered that I’d rather discuss loss of control of bodily functions than money. I don’t ask people for money. I don’t even like to sell things; I’d much rather just give them away. I hate the question “How much did you pay for that?” So how was I going to appeal to people for… money?
In the end, I wrote “Anything you can do will be great!” (notice that I didn’t even mention money) and sent these things out to parents and siblings (my own and –in-law) and a few of my closest friends. I never mentioned the requests in person, just let the letters speak for themselves. I received a good number of replies and the number of people I became estranged from is actually very small.
Will I do it again? Probably not. I’ll spend the rest of my life with residual stress about whether I offended anyone by asking for donations. Maybe, since I know the routine, I’d be slightly more likely to volunteer my time, but only if I could think of a number of family and friends I wouldn’t mind losing. That means I’d have to get some new peeps, because I really like all of my current ones. Also, the mystery is gone. I’ve been disillusioned of my idea that I might get to hear the person say, “Oh, no! Nobody says they’ll help here. My script just ends!!”
Friday, February 12, 2010
New pronouns found
Scientists this week have announced the discovery of a previously unsuspected family of words in the English language: non-gender-specific, third-person singular pronouns. “At first, we thought they were just an aberrant form of the common third person plural,” one spokesperson stated, “and when we realized it wasn’t, we just started chuckling… all of is in the lab, just chuckling away.”
Theorists have long posited the existence of such a class of pronouns, citing examples from other languages, but until recently the evidence was sketchy at best. During the past century no less than 5 separate reports have been made of sightings, but none have withstood popular scrutiny. Some worry that the most recent announcement will also prove overly optimistic. “No way,” our on-site correspondent says, “This time, they have done it.”
The newly discovered pronouns – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – differ from previously reported examples because these are words people are already using. “People are already doing the correct thing. The average person already uses these words without even realizing what thay are doing. Thay may not be spelling these words quite right, but the standard American reads them and says them.”
Scientists recommend that everyone update thair spell checker to accept these useful words. “If you are using a hard-copy dictionary,” a government auditor says, “then write these words in there yourself.” Expect to hear these words – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – coming from the mouths of celebrities. “Eventually even the dullest Americans will be saying things like ‘My friend is gonna loan me thair car, if thay can’t give me a ride thamself,’ but look to the hip people to be first to get this right.”
“I’m going to make the change immediately,” the lab spokesperson says, “I’m going to buy my kid a new dictionary, too. I want tham to learn the language right.”
Theorists have long posited the existence of such a class of pronouns, citing examples from other languages, but until recently the evidence was sketchy at best. During the past century no less than 5 separate reports have been made of sightings, but none have withstood popular scrutiny. Some worry that the most recent announcement will also prove overly optimistic. “No way,” our on-site correspondent says, “This time, they have done it.”
The newly discovered pronouns – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – differ from previously reported examples because these are words people are already using. “People are already doing the correct thing. The average person already uses these words without even realizing what thay are doing. Thay may not be spelling these words quite right, but the standard American reads them and says them.”
Scientists recommend that everyone update thair spell checker to accept these useful words. “If you are using a hard-copy dictionary,” a government auditor says, “then write these words in there yourself.” Expect to hear these words – thay, thair, tham, and thamself – coming from the mouths of celebrities. “Eventually even the dullest Americans will be saying things like ‘My friend is gonna loan me thair car, if thay can’t give me a ride thamself,’ but look to the hip people to be first to get this right.”
“I’m going to make the change immediately,” the lab spokesperson says, “I’m going to buy my kid a new dictionary, too. I want tham to learn the language right.”
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