Love Them Anyway
So I read a parenting blog that struck a chord with me. You are welcome to read it here: https://medium.com/@IjeomaOluo/parenting-advice-don-t-kill-them-177b00122ca8. It resonated on a number of levels. First, as the father of three daughters, it hit home as a parent. It’s a fearless blog post in a way because it gives voice to a side of parenting that people generally don’t like to publicly admit, which is that there are times, whether it’s moments, days, or weeks, that we don’t particularly like our own children.
Of course, we love them, and that overarches everything, but there’s almost none of us who can stand in front of our own child and be disrespected or yelled at or disregarded who simultaneously think, “Wow, this is great! Parenting is just so awesome!” Most of us feel anger or frustration; in those moments we don’t like the child. We have to fight back impulses and clear our heads and find a way to do the thing that will be best for the child in the long run. It’s no small feat, and it’s a good thing we love them, because in general no other human being can get away with treating you that way.
One of the hardest periods of my life was the first four months of our first daughter’s life. She had awful colic. Every single night around 5:00 she would start screaming and crying; not whimpering or weeping, but red-faced, uncontrollable, reasonless, unconsolable, angry wailing and shrieking. It would go on for anywhere from four to six hours unabated, and then was followed by sporadic periods of the same throughout the night. My wife and I were exhausted, frustrated, and worried. There were no remedies, and every evening the anticipation and dread would begin to rise in us, and sure enough the screaming would begin again. In the midst of it all the worst part for me was the deep and gnawing guilt I felt about the fact that I did not like this baby who was supposed to have brought joy into our lives, but who through no fault of her own was actually having the opposite effect.
And then one day (a month after people had suggested the colic might end) 5:00 PM came, and as with so many other nights, we braced for what was coming. And then, as if by some miracle, there was silence: sweet, merciful, energizing silence. Suddenly, as if it had never been there, the colic was gone. It was easier to find the joy of parenting after that day. Of course, not every moment has been joyful since then; in fact, I was just fussing at my kids this morning because they were making me late for work and risking missing the bus (an almost daily ritual by the way). But colic taught me an important lesson the hard way; there will be times when you have to love them anyway, and you must make sure your response doesn’t communicate the opposite.
Of course, there’s a corollary to being an educator (I see so many connections between parenting and educating, mostly because I do both every day). Middle school is a unique time for young people. Most people who do not work with middle schoolers, when they find out what I do, their typical response is “I don’t know how you can do it.” There seems to be this almost universal understanding that middle school children can be a real pain. That there is something uniquely difficult about working with them. And on the one hand, I would agree. But there is also something uniquely rewarding about working with them that makes the challenge manageable. In a nutshell, I generally think they are great! But there are moments, or days, or weeks, when they are hard to like. Those are the moments when we, and I mean all of us who are involved in the education of middle school children, must find a way to make sure they know we love them anyway.
So, when they are caught up in nonsensical and illogical personal drama, love them anyway.
When they are churlish or moody, love them anyway.
When they are unprepared or disinterested, love them anyway.
When they angry or ill-tempered, love them anyway.
When they are selfish or short-sighted, love them anyway.
When they are foolish or inconsiderate, love them anyway.
When they are ill-mannered or disrespectful, love them anyway.
I could go on. One of the things I often repeat is that every person who walks into a school building every day is fighting some kind of battle. It could be hunger, a fight with a parent, the death of a family member, illness, anxiety over a workload, a struggle with a disability, abuse, heartache, or any number of things. With middle schoolers, sometimes just being 12 or 13 can be a battle. We have to remember that behavior can be impacted by factors we are unaware of, and then measure our response appropriately. Loving them anyway doesn’t mean giving them what they want or think they want. It means giving them what they need.
As the adult, especially one who is working with kids, the gut-level emotional response is almost always the more damaging one (anger, yelling, sarcasm, dismissiveness, emotional manipulation, reactionary discipline, etc.). The loving response is one that requires a step back and is guided by the question, “what does the child need?” That can take many forms: calm, listening, redirection, space, a private conversation, a reasonable consequence, a hug. Sometimes no response can be powerful (i.e., see bait for what it is, and don’t take it).
It’s not always easy, because we are human, too. But we are not children. When a baby has a tantrum, it can easily be excused. It’s tougher to excuse when the adult throws a tantrum, too. A baby’s tantrum communicates a need; an adult’s tantrum (see yelling, sarcasm, etc.) communicates dislike. We cannot accept that from ourselves, especially not when we are interacting with young people.
Kids never ask in words, but at the heart of them lies one of their greatest needs: love me when I am most unlovable. Every adult who interacts with children, whether as a parent or as an educator or in any other capacity, must face this singularly difficult challenge: stand in the face of a child’s misbehavior and find a way to respond that ensures he knows we care for and love him, even if in the moment we don’t particularly like him.
It’s o.k. to have the feeling (it’s temporary), but it’s in those moments when our response counts the most.