I've decided that the secret of effective parenting for me is very similar to how I handle roller coasters.
Not seeing the connection, are you?
OK, so, maybe the one-to-one correlation isn't as obvious as one might like. But it all came to me the other day when my youngest asked if he could use my circular saw for a school project. That's when I flashed back to, well, every amusement park I've ever been to with my family.
I don't like roller coasters. Not sure why, except that putting my hands in the air doesn't make plunging off a 10-story height any more fun for me. And really, should it? Through no direct action of my own, I've grown too old to enjoy anything that involves multiple shoulder harnesses and the signing of a waiver. In fact, I may have been born that old.
However, at various stages of my life, I've been required to pretend I liked things I didn't, just to keep the kids happy. Music recitals. Succotash. Someone's prom date. And, roller coasters.
So, when whichever child or multiples of children I had in my possession at the time insisted we go on the roller coaster, and I was unable to distract them with ice cream or possible UFO sightings, I'd agree to go, and then I'd do what any sane adult does when confronted with something he really doesn't like.
I'd shut my eyes.
All right, it sounds goofy. But I was usually wearing sunglasses, so no one could tell. And it all seems to go more smoothly when you just can't really see what's happening. Or, specifically, is about to happen.
I wouldn't suggest this to everyone in every situation. If you're driving, for instance, it's probably best if you keep your eyes on the road. And open. Ditto with flying an airplane, diffusing a bomb, performing surgery, that kind of stuff. But if you're wanting to get through five or six minutes, much of it with you upside down, I highly recommend it.
Which brings me to the whole parenting thing. During an early portion of our child-rearing life, the Lovely Mrs. Smith taught me something valuable. Mostly, that the correct answer to most questions from your kids is, "Why do you want to know?"
And while that works to stop most bad ideas dead in their tracks, there are just times when it's best if you don't know. Why, for instance, they're wearing their underwear inside out. Why they've made an entire meal of a bowl of mashed potatoes and three mini-Snickers bars. And why they want to borrow a circular saw.
Now I sort of knew what was up with this request. For some reason this year he's been assigned an ever-more-eclectic and, on the surface, at least, more dangerous series of homework assignments.
There was the rocket that required an actual, functioning engine. And now the car that he and a partner had to assemble themselves, which required the circular saw.
Any day now I expect to come home and find him and his lab mate trying to hammer that tube of plutonium into the "OK, it really doesn't need to actually detonate for you to pass" atomic bomb.
But the assignment, at least as he communicated it to us, seemed fairly clear. He and his partner had to build the car themselves, with no help from parents. Or, in his case, other people who might actually be qualified to build things. Apparently, this wasn't supposed to be some Pinewood Derby deal (yeah, like your kid built his own exact replica of a Bugatti, complete with a driver in goggles and a scarf).
So, when he asked to borrow the saw, I heard myself actually saying, "Sure. On the shelf with all the other tools I never use. Be careful."
And that is the parenting equivalent of closing your eyes on the roller coaster. Something is about to happen. It will probably work out. But it's best if you just don't know.
As with most things, there was, literally, no blood and no foul. The car, or what at least passes for a car, got assembled with no resultant trips to the Emergency Room (although there was the observation that nothing was put back where it was supposed to be. A minor quibble since I'm actually not sure where all that stuff was supposed to go, and since everyone walked away with their original allotment of fingers still attached).
I'd like to think of this as a triumph of my parenting style. I'd be dead wrong, but it would make me happy, which is probably the point. And since I'm sure the Lovely Mrs. Smith didn't know what was going on, all the details got worked out before she had to get involved. Or find and load the ice chest so we could transport a severed digit to the ER.
And if it makes her feel any better, I once let the kids run with scissors. At least I think I did. My eyes were closed at the time.
Commentary on 04/08/2016