One of the things that you probably didn’t realize about
becoming a parent is that you’re now a contestant in Ongoing
Parent-Kid Contest.
One of the things that you probably didn’t realize about becoming a parent is that you’re now a contestant in Ongoing Parent-Kid Contest.
For those of you lucky enough to have no idea what I’m talking about, let me explain. The Ongoing Parent-Kid Contest is the 20-year struggle between a parent and a kid that starts the very second you bring them home from the hospital.
But don’t worry, it’s not really a true contest because there is no way to determine who’s actually winning, which is a good thing since most of the time it probably won’t be you.
Oh sure, at times it may look as if you’re eons ahead. I mean once your child is over colic and midnight feedings and they’re potty trained and well on their way to learning how to walk, you might be certain that you’re winning. But this, my friends, is only the beginning.
If you don’t believe me, let’s take a look at a typical conversation that I used to have a few years ago, when my son was three, during a simple trip to the store.
Three-year-old: Me drive.
Me: You can’t drive. Only grown-ups drive.
Three-year-old: Yes, me drive!
Me: It’s against the law. You have to be 16 years old to drive, and you’re 3. So you need to wait thirteen more years. Besides, you can’t reach the pedals, see?
Three-year-old: Me drive NOW!
Me: Well, what if you couldn’t see the road and then ran over, say, a fire hydrant or another car or a house or something?
Three-year-old: Me drive! Me drive! Me drive!
It’s then you realize that no matter what you do: quote laws, cite statistics, try to reason, toss guilt around, whatever, you just can’t win. So I did what any intelligent and slightly weary parent would do: I gave up.
Oh, all right, so “compromise” might be a better word choice. But call it what you will, I ended up letting him wear his swim trunks and a pair of ducky slippers to the store. And, while he didn’t actually drive, mind you, I let him sit on my lap in the car and beep the horn. Twice.
As kids get older they will continue to rack up points in the Parent-Kid Contest using this same wear-you-down-until-you-crack kind of strategy.
Take my friend Susan’s daughter for example. Around the time she was 4, she decided that she liked her name much better backwards and refused to answer to anything, but Yesdnil Nna. When Susan called tried calling her by the first name she’d say, “I’m sorry, Mommy, but I can’t answer you.”
It went on and on this way until Susan finally gave in, which caused her to immediately lose about 15 bazillion points. It also caused her daughter to immediately change her name to Eizus.
But it’s not all bad news. Every now and then a miracle happens and you actually score a few points. This usually happens two ways: 1) by dazzling your child with your wits or 2) by sheer luck. Usually, it’s the latter.
In fact, just the other day my friend Judy said to her 4-year-old son, “I don’t care if it’s your best friend in the whole wide world, you can’t take Freddie the Plunger to bed with you. “And he said, ‘OK.’ Just like that. It was eerie I tell you.
Sure, I recognize the Parent-Kid Contest for what it is: a child’s way of testing their independence.
And there’s nothing you can do about it except keep on playing. And playing. And playing. Until, eventually, your kids grow up and leave home. And then both of you declare that you’ve won.
And that, my friends, is the beauty of the Parent-Kid Contest.
