Now, if you think that by becoming a parent you will be in
charge of raising a child, all I have to say is Ha! Ha!
Now, if you think that by becoming a parent you will be in charge of raising a child, all I have to say is Ha! Ha! Anyone who has children knows that this isn’t how it goes at all.
Oh, sure, at least for a while, everything will seem perfectly fine. Your child will easily, even cheerfully, go along with wearing outfits with duckies on the front or a matching velvet hat that you picked out.
However, don’t let this act fool you.
Somewhere, between teething and going off to kindergarten, your child will stop thinking that your ideas as so hot and start developing some of her own.
Take, for instance, the issue of clothing. Every parent knows that sooner or later children develop very strict rules about what they’ll wear in public – none of which conforms to the conventions of civilized society. The minute you’re not looking, they’ll reject the teddy bear overalls and Oxfords and opt for an outfit made up of feather boas and snow boots or, in some cases, nothing at all.
Now, you might be thinking that it’s just a natural phase. But this, my friends, is the first clue that your child has other plans.
And don’t think it stops here. Oh no.
The very second you show the slightest inkling of being in charge, your child will suddenly think up a new philosophy to put you in your place like on, say, eating. And it will go something like “I will only take five bites of blue food that comes on a stick while sitting in the sandbox with the sun exactly overhead and three clouds in the sky.”
Oh sure, you can always just go along with it and hope that you’re child will grow out of it. But don’t hold your breath.
Why, just the other day, the very second I made the mistake of thinking everything was going along smoothly, my 9-year-old daughter announced that she hated her name and was changing it to a new one.
“But I like your name,” I said. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“I’ve thought of a new one,” she said. “Do you want to know what it is?”
Suddenly I had a premonition of going through the rest of my life introducing my daughter as “Madame Marvel.”
“It’s Francine.”
Frankly, I must admit I was relieved, but I had no idea where this might have come from. But whatever the reason, it didn’t matter because by dessert she seemed to have forgotten all about her new name and had moved on to changing ours. Her brother became Fredrick, her father was Alfred and I, strangely enough, was Mademoiselle Lasrissillima. We were like characters in a bad, one-act play.
However, things could be worse.
If you don’t believe me, just ask my friend Linda, a concert cellist. She played classical music for her son since he was in the womb. At 3, he could tell the difference between Pavarotti and Bocelli. By 4 years of age, he was groomed for a scholarship to Julliard and a life on the international tour circuit. Now his claim to musical fame is sitting at the dinner table each night, drumming on the salad bowl with his spoon and belting out bawdy kindergarten playground songs. And this probably wouldn’t have been so bad except the songs always have what you’d call a free-form melody and go something like: “Oh yeah, my daddy gave me pizza. And my favorite is cheese. CHEESE! And my underwear has Batman on it and you called me a booger-nose and I’m going to tell on you. Oooooh, yeah.”
“That’s how kids are,” my friend Julie explained one day over coffee. “They start out rebelling against you slowly and gradually build up momentum until suddenly they’re teenagers and you can’t recognize them anymore.”
Of course, she’s right. And, on top of that, it’s going to get much worse. So I did the only truly wise thing I could think of: I chucked the assertive parenting manual and have taken a more Zen-like approach. Truth be told, I’m not only happier, I’m much more relaxed.
And the best part is, after enough deep breaths, “Mademoiselle Lasrissillima,” has sort of a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
Debbie Farmer’s column appears every Monday.
