Category: Positive Parenting

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The Toilet Works?

For his entire life, my ten-year-old has watched me grumble and curse my way through innumerable toilet repairs, installations, and temporary rigs. When the arm snapped in the downstairs toilet tank this week, I had just conquered a devil of a drain clog and was not up for another job. I didn’t say anything to the boys, I lifted the lid and manually flushed when needed.

Then, I heard the toilet flush. Westen emerged from the bathroom and I said, “How’d you do that?” “Do what?” he replied. “Did you lift the lid? The toilet’s broken.” “Oh no, the flusher broke, so I rigged it this morning.”

He’s a little hero. He holds the door for everyone, grabs a child’s hand on unsteady rocks, entertains wherever he goes, and sees problems as opportunities. “Dad, what can we do to help?” might as well be his catch phrase.

When he’s not being a leader and not making a situation better and I call him out on it (usually too harshly), I see the disappointment and embarrassment on his face.

I criticize my sons too much. They’re beautiful, compassionate, mature beyond their years, brilliant, and endlessly creative. But not always, just like any of us.

Today we’re going to adventure and I’m going to concentrate on praising them aloud when it is called for and supporting them when it is needed and loving them through all of it.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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It Ain’t Easy: Voluntarism

Honoring my sons as individuals can be my biggest struggle. Providing for their needs, desires, and opportunities gives me a lot of power over their existence. Not exercising that power as a single dad is an extra fight. Mary and I would check each other if we found the other bribing, manipulating, or strong arming. Now I’ve got to observe myself and self evaluate, sometimes on the fly. It’s taught me a lot about myself and exposed the subtle, and less-than-subtle, engineering I try to impose on their lives.

My (possessive language is an obstacle to individuality) younger son, Isaac, is a moving target. He always says “yes” to trying something new. At the Milton Farmer’s Market, he borrowed a couple dollars from his aunt and bounded over to get himself freshly shucked oysters from Johnson Bay Oyster Company. The follow through gets trickier. The oyster slid easily into his mouth…pause…I encourage, “Swallow! Go for it! Get it down!”…the exit wasn’t graceful.

When the chance to try BMX racing arose, both sons were all in. After practicing around the hilly track and observing the more experienced racers, Isaac was not interested in competing. I was convinced that he would enjoy himself and be proud of overcoming his fear, but I stressed that it was his choice and it would be fine not to race. Kim, First State BMX‘s finest representative, helped by enticing with a guaranteed trophy in the novice division. I could see Isaac retreat from an automatic reward, but I explained it would be earned by taking on a new and scary endeavor with courage. As an official Jiu-Jitsu Dad, I went for it, “This is your chance to earn your white belt.”

At Elevated Studios, new students have to earn their first belt by participating in a class. I was mildly chagrined at pulling out the big persuasion guns, but he jammed that helmet back on and went to practice on the starting gate.

Through three heats I watched him grow from awkward to, well, still awkward, but confidently so. Confidently awkward is one of our sweet spots.

Isaac was the last one off the track, bringing to mind one of his mom’s favorite bands:

“The arena is empty except for one man
Still driving and striving as fast as he can
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up
And long ago somebody left with the cup
But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns”

-Cake, “The Distance”

Voluntarism is a dance, often with ourselves. Sometimes we need someone to choose the song or nudge us onto the dance floor. I can make all the mistakes, music up too high or shoving instead of nudging.

Increasingly, I find the ways to create options and encourage the follow through.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Concussion Poetry

I fear days like today. In our two-parent life, we would have juggled a full summer Sunday from morning church to evening fireflies. In my single-parent life, my sons slept through church and got kicked out of a bookstore, then a concussion had them in bed early and me wondering how long I should stay awake. Not sure if I’ll get around to the poetry, but I know I can’t stare at this screen for too long.

This is when I question my capability to be a single parent. I still haven’t found a way to think of it as natural. Children are made in union together, shouldn’t they be raised that way? I never spent time thinking about any other way when I was married, we were going to raise our children together, it was assumed. Even at our rockiest times, we were committed to the union and to supporting each other. There was no reason to imagine one of us would be doing this alone.

Perhaps the worst part of the fear is that I have had a taste of co-parenting since my wife’s death. To see a woman care for my sons in a nurturing and loving way was bliss. But we made no promises and there was no union to work on, no commitment to each other’s children.

It was enough to lend heavy credence to my assumptions of the superiority of the two-parent life. It wasn’t enough to maintain them.

It’s certainly not just to have a motherly figure for my boys, I crave companionship as well. Especially when I’m sitting here with a likely concussion and no one to talk with.

So I’ll turn to my journal and see if I can’t crank out some Concussion Poetry.

God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason

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Ten Years To Get Here

“I’d be a proud father if my son serves in the armed forces.”

That’s where I was ten years ago when my first boy was born. Then I turned off the news. I didn’t want my baby to be exposed to all the negativity, violence, and intensity of the world. I still listened to Rush Limbaugh and read Drudge Report every day, I was an adult after all, I could handle all the negativity, violence, and intensity of the world. I relished in what I thought were intellectual battles around camp fires, on Twitter, and in blog comments. I thought that was how one tested his knowledge and sharpened his mind.

When I was alone with my son I was different. I listened to him and watched my speech for tone and content. I only wanted to share truth with him. I wanted it all to make sense, to be clear, and to help him become the best possible kind of man. I discovered contradictions in my arguments. How had they not been exposed in all those verbal battles? My wit was quicker than my brain. That’s plenty of fun when you’re at a bar and care more about in a social setting than actually getting things right.

Now I had two sons and it was well past time to get things right. War was my first stumbling block. I had supported a lot of violence through my writing and speech, I honored friends who served and died in combat, and one of my best friends was a Marine sniper. How could I now teach the Golden Rule to my sons and justify military interventions overseas?

A lot happened when I left my job as a proofreader to care for my sons full time. In a moment of curiosity about homeschooling I started listening to Tom Woods. He’s a homeschooling parent, Libertarian, and Catholic. I didn’t know this type of person existed. He introduced me to the Non-Aggression Principle (NAP). From FEE.org: “One version of the NAP states that while it is legitimate to use physical violence in defense of one’s rights, initiating violence against another person is wrong and can be met with proportional violence in self-defense.”

I try to apply this principle to my politics, parenting, and approach to the world.

Through Woods I found other homeschool voices and my wife, Mary, and I started the conversation to begin our own home education journey. We slowly looked at our own pasts and realized how the school system had been, and remained, unsuited to us. I linked my years in school to my years watching cable news and began to uncover assumptions I had adsorbed over that time. It was this process of deschooling that would fundamentally change my life and save our family. “Deschooling” is exactly that, the process of analyzing internalized assumptions and separating what is useful and what is holding you back from learning. It was the birth of my self-improvement journey and taught me how to face circumstances that I had never imagined.

I reconnected with the inquisitive learner inside that had been neglected. Initially, this was simply to model an energetic learning environment for my children, but I soon found myself experiencing personal enrichment.

It was about this time that Mary questioned me about faith (I said a lot was happening). I had long been acting out and defending Christian ideals from a practical perspective. I saw them as a good set of rules to live by, a recipe for success. But I had not seriously considered what God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit meant to me. Mary embodied an easy faith and I was a hard nut to crack. She was patient as I began to study the Bible, listen to commentaries, and spend hours talking and thinking about Jordan Peterson’s Biblical lectures. I put assumptions aside and took a clean look at the Word. There was a quiet moment during a men’s Bible study meeting when I accepted Christ into my heart. I’m still working on what that means for me, but I began to find peace in that moment. I began to find that love trumps rules and that I didn’t need a prescriptive regimen, but a path towards loving more fully.

It was less than a year from that moment that my wife suddenly died. I had yet to learn how much self-love I was lacking. I had yet to become the man that Mary deserved. I was on my first steps toward realizing my potential. Seventeen months later, assumptions continue to be burned like deadwood, the smoke chokes and blinds me with tears. I feel God with me on this journey. I feel that He has called me for this, even if “this” remains obscured from me.

It has been quite the decade.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Everyone’s Pants Are On Fire

Question from a friend:

What if people were forthright and more honest with each other? I believe there would be so much less pain in the world. It could be done in love and with kindness. Sometimes it’s hard to trust people in this world.

Quick response:

We can only do this for ourselves, in our own relationships. It ain’t easy if you are really thinking about all the things you say to avoid conflict, keep your spouse happy, get that raise, quiet that kid…other people aren’t the problem, we’re all the problem. Trying to make the world sound nicer than it is, it’s manipulation and tears us from reality.

People will lie to you, sure. but what truth did you hide from them? It’s probably a truth that would have scared them off before they lied.

How the Universe manifested a couple hours later:

My sons lied to me about sneaking screen time behind my back and I’m left wondering how I invited this.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Finding Order

This is my mess, my chaos. Well, it’s the mess and chaos immediately before me. We haven’t sorted our Lego collection since Mary passed and I’ve had the expedient habit of buying bricks when I didn’t know what else to do.

I’m going to spend some time every day getting this in order. My sons create amazing buildings, vehicles, cities, and, most importantly, stories when they can easily access the materials they need.

Also important is to bring order to our material life. I don’t regret focusing on our spiritual, emotional, and educational lives, but it’s difficult to focus on those things when there is physical chaos about.

Wish me luck.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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The Labyrinth at Union of Body, Mind & Soul

I’m not one for holidays and vacations. I believe in building a life that is enriching every day, one that doesn’t need an escape, but has moments of escape each day.

So as the park in Milton, Delaware, filled with Independence Day revelers and King’s Homemade Ice Cream served family after family, we snuck into the welcoming courtyard of Union of Body, Mind & Soul.

My sons are, well, boys, so any moment is ripe for wrestling, racing, and poop jokes. They’re also loving, compassionate creatures who recognize special spaces and look out for my wellbeing. A silly pose at the center of the labyrinth quickly became a twinkle of calm.

Once we got our selfies and completed the circuit, they went to the serious business of exploring and having a bit of fun with Buddha.

The peace of the visit carried us home to Wilmington and a raucous pool party with new and old friends.

Our life can become unbalanced with activities, explorations, and a constant pushing into the unknown. We are blessed to have found another place where much of that can be unwound and processed.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Patience and Voluntarism

I’m proud of my son for getting back on the mats at Elevated Studios this week. He’s been mentally wrestling with attending class. I’ve tried to have patience and remember that if I force him to do a thing, that he’ll eventually hate the thing, me, or himself. I’ve asked him questions and attempted to find a way to help him train again. I can’t say anything I did or said got him there. He’s always some mystery to me.

For all that I don’t know, I am confident that letting him make these decisions is the right path in allowing him to develop as an independent individual.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Under Cover History

We’re not the kind of unschool family who doesn’t have any rules about bed time. I try to get my sons in bed at a reasonable hour whether we are home or on the road. That said, if they wish to quietly read, I will usually fall asleep before they do. One of my greatest joys is to get up in the night and see them passed out in their books with the lights still on.

Books are everywhere in our lives. It’s not just a messy obsession, it’s my intention to surround them with the resources they crave when curiosity strikes. When I straightened the sheets at the end of my younger son’s bed, I had to capture what I found.

The graphic novel editions of Moby Dick and Treasure Island are key tools in how I introduce my children to classic literature. When language is challenging, they have these images to help them through difficult vocabulary. Skyscrapers is from when I was curious about a college course that didn’t fit into the “plan” I was supposed to be following. Another failure on the part of institutionalized education that brought me to the learning lifestyle. The essential oils guide is our latest acquisition as we explore plant-based holistic health and apply our curiosity in a most valuable way. Paddington connects me to my youth visiting England and embracing those stories as part of my heritage (as well as my English, non-author, great-uncle Michael Bond). The Little Prince is an oddly wonderful library book that both sons are working through. Sniglets has been mine for ages and I don’t know why. The action hero guide has also followed me for years and is a garden for feeding their imaginative play.

These moments remind me why I have this crazy assembly of texts. They remind me of the car repair manuals, Calvin and Hobbes collections, and Joseph Campbell books I dove into as a child looking for the secrets of the adult world. They remind me why I make extra space in our lives for reading and don’t dictate when, what, nor how it is done (although library books at muddy campsites set my teeth gnashing).

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason

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Solo Dadding at Mountain Jam

This one was intimidating. Assumptions had crept in as I planned and envisioned our spring and summer adventures. I expected to have more support, a co-parent, to teamwork on grand excursions. I thought things might be getting easier. After 16 months of having my parental assumptions repeatedly blown up one would think that I should be used to this; or better yet, that I would give up on assumptions and the future. But I can be a slow learner.

Cap the dissolving of expectations with waves of grief and a busy unschool schedule, and I wasn’t feeling up to the task of four nights of festival camping. Especially since this music festival, Mountain Jam in Bethel, New York, would feature bands that had significant ties to memories of my late wife, Mary.

Screw all that. I have slept in tents since I was an infant, attended day-long festivals since I was a preteen, survived the riots of Woodstock ’99, logged thousands of hours alone on the road with my sons, and honed my situational intuitions over those many hours. I set my back straight and climbed into our Dodge Caravan with confidence.

The road smoothed and eased before us. The trip was shorter than expected. Somewhat miraculously, an online friend spotted us as we drove by her camp site and hollered. The rain came down and the van got stuck in the mud, but, with help, we got the tent up and had ourselves set for the first night of music before sundown. We continued to find the right people at the right times. Friendly staff and volunteers, helpful young people, generous vendors, fun and engaging performers, and very special families made for easy going days and nights.

Above all, I was reminded of how good my sons are at this. They made friends, charmed adults, and carved their own unique experience out of the weekend’s offerings. For my own part, I simplified personal obligations and expectations, enjoyed as much music as I could consume, and let myself have a whole lot of fun. We stayed up late, danced and played recklessly, and took care of business when circumstances called for it.

I came away from the weekend with my shoulders back and my head high. Our story seems impossible, I saw that in many faces as I told it to new friends, but there is an immense power in mastering an impossible task. Or just in taking it on and failing, as I have many times.

God bless and thank you for reading,

Jason