Teach by example. Monkey see, monkey do. Do as I say, not as I do.
Whenever I am around my kids, I watch what I do, because I do believe it matters much more what I do, than what I say. This is a harsh belief. For I do not want my children to grow up being negative, or thinking of suicide, or knowing depression. At the same time, I want them to be prepared in case they face these issues. I want them to know they have an increased likelihood of having to deal with depression because I am dealing with it.
I don’t want them to freak out, because it is manageable. But I want them to know the signs so they can get help much earlier in the process. And that’s just one thing.
I want to demonstrate how hard work helps you build something big with only a little bit of work each day. I want to demonstrate how to have fun, and how to dig your teeth into meaty issues. I want to demonstrate joy. I want to demonstrate responsibility. I want to demonstrate love.
Not all of these things go over well with the kids. Can you guess which one they dislike the most? Yup. Love. My daughter said that two years ago (when we were at our most estranged), we were much better than now, when we kiss and hug all the time. It embarrasses her something fierce.
Demonstrating joy and positivity are much more difficult for me. My daughter is often complaining about how negative I am. I find myself saying things—denigrating myself in front of the kids; knowing it is a bad example. No matter. My son is already like that. He is a wonderful musician, but utterly shy about performing in front of strangers. He is a popular friend and responsible person, but he feels like he has no friends. Is this from me? From my example? From my genes? Well, I believe I am doing as well as I can.
One thing he is proud about is his art. He has a portfolio that he carries with him everywhere, showing it to anyone who will take time to look. He seems to feel confident about that. Wouldn’t you know it? It’s something I simply can not do. I can only look on in amazement, and be genuinely proud of his skill and accomplishment. A lesson for me, I think. I model perfectionism in music, and he is shy about his unusual skill. I have nothing to say about art, and he just runs with it.
I think my daughter doesn’t remember how much trouble she was in at school when I was really sick. My mental state affected them strongly. Now she’s 13 and her friends are her most important models. Parents are to be embarrassed by. Yet she still jumps up on me (my God, how heavy she is!), and she still asks for my approval for every little thing. She is in that transitional age, but has not become sullen or uncommunicative, like I hear often happens. Or maybe that’s boys?
It is so hard to be on guard all the time; to model the things I want my children to have, and to stay away from the ones I don’t want to pass on. Half the time—no, more—I am not conscious of what I am modeling. I complain about my pills. I take over the TV. I disappear to the computer (which is what my daughter does all the time, now).
Sometimes, like with table manners, we’ll try to tell them what to do. But we end up harping, and then we end up ordering our kids around, and I don’t think those are good things. I want to be respectful, and ask them to behave politely, and tell them the reasons why. I don’t want to fight them.
But the fighting is a habit I learned long ago, when I was growing up, and my parents were trying to whip me into shape. They still don’t let me forget how I was then. I don’t want them to run the same trip on my son, and I don’t want to run that trip, either, but it’s hard to break a habit like that. The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying.
So…. what was the question? ;-) Oh.
I guess I try my hardest to walk the walk, not merely talk the talk. Since I want them to question me, I have to take their questions seriously, and I do, and sometimes I change what I do because of their reasons.
It’s all based on that principle that actions speak louder than words. Sure, I fuck it up all the time. But it can’t be that bad. We’re not the only ones who think we have some pretty talented, polite, caring and considerate children. Although, many’s the time that I don’t think that—this is for public consumption, of course! ;-)