Asshole Parents

12-5-11

Children are sponges. They soak up every ounce of knowledge that you give them. They pick up phrases. I know both Dax and Bobby have said Cool Beans because I do. They learn songs you play for them. It could be the Itsy Bitsy Spider or Dream On. They don’t care. They just know you know it, and they pick it up. They will learn how to read, write, cook, play and so many other things from your influence.

They can also learn how to be an asshole.

Reality check, people. How many of you have cursed out another driver while your kids are in the back seat? How many of you have reduced a BK employee to tears because they didn’t take off the pickles on your order? How many of you have been a complete douche on something when you really didn’t have to?

Not only do kids see the cool things you do. They also see the horrible side of you as well. They know when you call a friend a bitch. They know when you bag on Daddy. They know when you run a stop sign. They know the most mundane things you have ever done, good or bad. We tell kids to watch out for Santa since he sees all, but Santa has nothing on kids when it comes to who sees more.

This point was cemented this weekend for me. It was Bobby’s championship soccer match and the excitement was in the air. The kids were pumped up and ready for a fun game. The parents and coaches were ready for a blood bath.

The two coaches both spent a good portion of the game screaming at their players, who are between the ages of 6 and 8. These kids aren’t making millions of dollars playing for LA Galaxy. They are playing for AYSO. This game wasn’t going to determine who lives or dies. It was just for the fun of the sport. Yet the hostility in each of these coaches’ tones was terrifying.

Then they turned their anger on the head referee. It was brutal. They called him an idiot. They called him blind. They threw up their hands in the air as if life as they knew it was about to end. Where was this coming from?

As if the coaches were not enough of an ugly vibe, then the parents started in. They yelled across the way at each other, making rude remarks to point out the unfair calls or bad plays. It was completely ridiculous.

What no one seemed to notice was that there were 16 kids on this field that heard every word. They felt every sting of the harsh words being used for what should have been a fun afternoon of soccer. There are some that would argue that they don’t notice the nonsense of crazy sports parents, but I disagree.

Number 4 on the opposing team was a force to be reckoned with. He was clearly one of the best players on the field and he knew it. I wanted him to do well because he looked like he truly enjoyed the game. This was until I watched him break several rules, fake an injury, and rough up several of our players. His passion was not with the skills involved with soccer. It was all just him wanting to win at any cost.

I found out later that this boy has been doing this all season, and although the yellow card warnings reserved for much older kids don’t come into play normally, the region had okayed the use of it for his poor sportsmanship.

Sure, there are bad kids out there, but you want to place a bet on whose kid he was? He was the coach’s son. The very same coach who was screaming profanities and acting the fool over a kids’ soccer game. Guess who is mom was? The very same mother who was screaming across the field at our parents. Two asshole parents made one asshole son.

I agree it is good to teach your child to stand up for themselves. I am also all for competition and playing hard. There is no reason for your kid to have such poor sportsmanship that at the tender age of 8 he is already being discussed at board meetings because of his disruptive play. What makes it especially sad is that this was just this boy doing what he was taught.

We have the responsibility to our kids to show them the correct way to act. We need to show them that as an intelligent species there are better ways to handle things than to just act like an uncivilized beast.

Your words and actions are the soundtrack of their early lives and they don’t just get to listen to the good tracks. Please make sure you give them something pleasant to listen to.  

The Epic Tantrum

11-9-11

The Epic Tantrum

When Dax was shacked up in my uterus, I knew he would be stubborn. There was a certain frustration I could feel in his kicks that told me he would be a force to be reckoned with. When the doctor popped my water when I was in labor, he told us this was the first time he ever saw a baby move up higher instead of dropping down into position. When Dax is set in his ways, he is a tough bird.

I have dealt with many a tantrum with him. We have had kicking, screaming, even one incident in which he threw up because of the struggle he and I had with him getting into his car seat.

What makes it even worse at times is his super hero strength. He is already strong, but then add to that rage and adrenaline, and you have hurricane Dax. I really wonder if I should tattoo somewhere on his body one of those warning labels that says contents may explode if agitated.

On Saturday, Dax seemed to be his usual, jovial self. I didn’t sense any storm brewing. We got to the soccer field, bid Bobby and Ken a good game as they headed to their field, and we set up our banner. Practice before the game was a lot of fun and I could tell our team was ready for the soccer game.

Our coach even told me to be the in field coach, which made me all kinds of proud. This prestigious duty means I would direct the players on where they should be and also decide who would take throw ins or kicks. The game would be a fun one.

By the end of the first quarter, we were up by 2 points. We were all fired up and I could tell we were really playing well together. Coach Ed then announced who was out for that quarter. With a team of 5 players, we had to rotate so that everyone got to play 3 quarters. One player would play the whole game, but the following week they would only play 3, and Ed kept a good record of this.

Ed told Dax that it was his turn to sit out.

I don’t like it when my kids are disappointed. I am sad when they are sad, and angry when somebody wrongs them. I will be their biggest supporter.

What I cannot support is when my child makes a complete ass out of himself.

Dax broke down into deep sobs when he heard this news. Dax acted as though he was told he was kicked off the team, not merely out for a quarter because it was his turn. He has always been rather sensitive to his turn to be out, taking it as a punishment rather than realizing that in fact this was just a way to let everyone play an equal amount.

The second quarter was about to begin, but I had a 5 year old attached to my leg with force. I had to get back out on the field. I also needed to be a parent. What was the correct action? On one hand, I felt like I needed to handle my responsibility to the team and Dax needed to suck it up. On the other hand, I knew that the team had a coach, and I should be the one handling the situation with my own son.

Thankfully, my mom was there. She told me she had Dax and told me to go back on the field. Turns out, her parenting also kicked in and she knew I had a responsibility to the team, and knew that she could handle the kicking and screaming Dax, who was now being held back from going onto the field.

Truthfully, my head was not in the game. I had massive guilt, watching my mom struggle to keep her grandson from running onto the field. I did my best to not let the other 4 kids down, but when I saw my mom essentially having to drag him away from our game, I knew I needed help. I tagged in Ed and walked over to my child.

He was screaming with my mom. When I got there I told him he needed to calm down, and for the most part he did. I explained to him what I needed to have happen. I knew I had to be stoic. I couldn’t just let him be upset on this one. I also felt like I needed to show my mom that I would not buckle under the pressure from his fight.

I told Dax that in order for him to be allowed to play, he would need to come over and cheer on his team. He promptly whined that he wanted to play on my iPad. I told him this was not an option and that good sportsmanship would be adhered to. He argued, so I told my mom to take him to the other field. She didn’t bat an eye at this, and took him away. As I walked back to the game, there was so much guilt in my heart. I also felt a sense of pride. I did what so many parents now days don’t do. I spoke rationally to an angry kindergartener. I explained the consequences of his actions and let him know that it would not be tolerated. He was given the opportunity to play the rest of the game. Instead, because of his lack of compliance, he was denied said opportunity. Isn’t that what is really better for him? He has to know that rules are important and even though his mother understands his frustration, she also knows that teaching a child that by pitching a fit he gets what he wants is no way to parent.

I don’t know that Dax will understand this lesson now. I don’t even know if he will understand it for many years to come. But perhaps this lesson wasn’t as much for him as it was for me. Despite my son’s disappointment in playing such a small amount of his game, he still loves me. He still is excited to see me and still looks forward to his soccer game this coming weekend. Will he flip out when he is subbed? I don’t know. I will prep him as best I can, knowing that even by being proactive will not eliminate all risk when it comes to his feisty nature.

My lesson has been learned. I will stick to my guns, and be confident that all of his hurt feelings and disappointment are for a good reason. Rules are there to help guide us, and even though they can be hard to comprehend, we need to know to follow them, both as a child and as a parent.

High Noon

11-4-11

High noon.

That’s when all the trouble begins. Isn’t it always? Thankfully this isn’t a showdown between good and evil. But it does present the dilemma.

Both Bobby and Dax have soccer games at the same time tomorrow.

Ok, sure, this doesn’t mean the end of the world, but in the land or parenting, this represents so very much in a young child’s mind. Which game will each parent watch? Does it mean mom loves me less because she watched my brother’s game instead of mine?

Oh, but it gets even more complicated. I am the assistant coach/team mom for Dax’s team, whereas Ken is the assistant coach/ref for Bobby’s team. I am also the team mom for Bobby’s team. This means there are certain responsibilities for Ken and I to be present during the bulk of our team’s game. This also means that we will effectively miss much of the opposite child’s game.

It would not be such a big deal had Bobby not said these very words to me the other day.

“Mom, why do you always go with Dax and I go with Daddy? If Daddy dies, who do I get to hang out with?”

What you would have heard next had you been standing there was the splash of my heart falling into my stomach acids and burning up inside.

It was true, though. Since Dax was an infant, I ended up being the parent with him. It came out of necessity at first. He was the baby, and Bobby was older, so as mom who also had the milk source, I held Dax while Ken held Bobby. It also didn’t help that Dax was hell bent on allowing no one but myself to comfort his cries.

But as the years have passed, I don’t know why this has kind of been the norm. It certainly isn’t due to any known favoritism. I adore Bobby just as much as Dax and I find their company equally entertaining. Bobby did get to bond with Ken for a good year with his tagging along to Ken’s classes. Dax didn’t get to do this as much, and this in turn also meant that he and I spent greater amounts of time together alone.

Whatever the reason, this presents a certain concern when it comes to game time tomorrow. Although the boys have not mentioned it, I am sure it will come up once we hit the field. The hope is that since the fields are supposed to be next to each other, I should be able to catch both games. In addition to this, Dax’s game is significantly shorter, which allows for watching the last part of Bobby’s game.

I still have this horrible feeling of guilt, though since it will mean feelings may be hurt.

I wish I knew how it would all turn out in advance, but I know that I will just have to wait for the sun overhead to signify the beginning. Wish me luck.

I have a Special Needs Child

10-31-11

My son is Special Needs.

I am sure if I told this to someone, there would be the inevitable questions like, “Is he autistic? Does he have Asperger’s? Is he retarded?” The answer to all of them would in fact be no. My son doesn’t need special classes. He is very smart and talented and he has lots of friends. He is a good kid. He does have a weakness, though, which makes being his mom difficult sometimes.

Bobby is painfully sensitive.

He wasn’t always like this. In fact, when he was only about 6 months old, we flew out to Pennsylvania to a family reunion. My aunts and uncles fell deeply in love with bald headed , blue eyed sweetie pie. My uncle Dennis announced, with complete shock, “He’s definitely not strange!”

I was confused at this declaration, and inquired further about his observation. Turns out, back East, ‘strange’ would mean that he didn’t want to be held by anyone. Bobby, in fact, was the hippie baby, full of peace and love. He was more than happy to have you hold him or kiss his cheeks. He didn’t cry much and was a joy of an infant.

Yet on Friday, when I was with my boys at their Halloween carnival at school, I was once again hit with the terrible ailment that now plagues him.

All of the kids in costume were to go in the middle of the playground track since they were going to do a costume parade. They would go by grade level, with Kinder and Pre-K first. I shuffled my children off telling them where I would be so I could take their picture. Dax instantly found some of his classmates and Bobby was left standing in a sea of Marios and princesses, and within a few seconds he was reduced to tears, unable to function.

He was terrified. He didn’t know where his classmates were, nor did he have the power to start looking for them. His entire being shuts down, and it is even hard for him to calm down once he sees his friends.

This isn’t the first time this reaction has come. He has been known to break down in class over very small things. His teacher has even pulled me aside with the dreaded parental question of, “Is everything ok at home, Mrs. Brenan?” You would think we were getting a divorce or something. I have to explain that my son is just, well, sensitive.

I feel bad giving him a label. But in reality, it is not all that uncommon to deal with. I actually have it pretty good compared to some horror stories I hear. Kids who can’t even make friends due to their fear of even talking to someone. Bobby is at least fine in most instances, which actually makes these mini breakdowns so confusing at times.

I am shy. I always have been. I have learned to overcome a lot of it, so in a lot of ways, I completely understand what he is going through. I certainly don’t make fun of him or call him a baby since it isn’t as though he chooses to be this way. There have been times when we ask him why he is crying, and he honestly doesn’t know why. How very confusing for us as parents, and even more so for Bobby.

Having a special needs child does mean that you are a different kind of a parent. It means that I can’t just assume that Bobby will run off to play with his classmates at a Halloween carnival. It means that more of my attention is often allocated to his well-being in certain situations. It also means that my aspirations as a PTA president or even head coach for soccer are probably going to need to be put on hold.

It doesn’t mean I won’t be involved. There is no way I can’t be. It would go against my nature. However, it also goes against my nature to be the person who is selling tickets when I could be hanging out with my own kids at a school event, making sure their evening is awesome. It means that if Bobby has a meltdown, I cannot be responsible for 700 other kids and their issues.

I can honestly say that yes, it is disappointing that my dream of following in my mother’s footsteps to be PTA president will probably not come to fruition for a little longer. I also know that childhood is precious. In just a few short years, Bobby will figure out how to be brave and how to keep his emotions in check even when he is nervous. He will be able to hold his head high, even if he is not sure where he is going, and I will simply be the mom left at home while he goes out. But in that window, I can be his everything. I can give him the tools to navigate childhood and adolescence. I am more needed as the president of his self-esteem than of any school council.

I will always be a huge part of my kids and their upbringing. I am sure that in a couple years I will throw my hat into the ring to be a more prominent member of the PTA. But until then, I am happy that with a landslide vote of one person, I have been voted to the best position I could possibly have; I am mom to Bobby.   

Raising a Better Boyfriend

10-20-11

I have raised the best boyfriends!

I stood outside the gate of the boys’ school, chatting with another mom, while we waited anxiously for our kindergarteners to be released. Dax was near the front, smiling happily at me, clearly using all of his strength to not push past the other kids to get to me.

Mrs. Fasheh had seen me already and was telling Dax he could go. Dax, however, stopped and tugged lightly at her hand. It was at this point I knew that whomever my little man married would be the luckiest person in the world.

“Mrs. Fasheh, isn’t my mom’s hair nice?” His voice was booming enough to carry his kind words to every parent there. The collective, “awww” was awesome, and I was so proud of my son.

What was especially great about these simple words was the purity involved. This wasn’t a ploy to get me to buy him a toy. This wasn’t his way of distracting anyone as he made a mess. This was true and genuine admiration for how his mom looked at this moment.

As if complimenting my style wasn’t enough, when we arrived home, I was treated to yet another wonderful exclamation.

“Wow, Mom! You cleaned the house! It looks fantastic! Thanks, Mom!” Bobby danced through the living room, impressed with my simple sweeping that I had done before retrieving them from school. I had done something that was necessary, but the appreciation from my 6 year old made it seem like I had gone to great lengths to better his living experience.

My boys notice the little things. They are thankful and express it often. It is these gestures that I do encourage, but never expect. I think that combination of teaching, along with their already kind hearts, will help them in the long run.

I have known men who treat their mothers poorly. I have known men who have treated their mother with disrespect. I have known men who have simply been indifferent to the woman who brought them into this world. I feel confident that when Bobby and Dax grow up, they will not be those men. Sure, their girlfriends may resent their mama boy status, but I think in the long run, they will thank me for the attention they will receive from them.