At 6:17 a.m., I walked into my older son’s bedroom and flipped on the light. His face was turned toward the lamp, so he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and twisted his head into his pillow. I sat down on his bed and said good morning.
“What time is it?” he mumbled into his pillow. I glanced at his alarm clock.
“It’s 18 minutes after six,” I said. “Time to get ready for the bus.”
“Six-eighteen,” he said. He’s learning time and money in school, and he’s getting pretty good at both.
And then, because I read a story about the impressions our kids have of us, and because I saw a commercial the night before that showed kids mimicking the behavior of their parents, I had this question buzzing around in my mind as we began our morning wake-up ritual.
“Hey, let me ask you something,” I said. “How would you describe your dad?”
Now, this wasn’t fair of me and I knew it. He was still basically asleep. His mind was primed for another day of second-grade exuberance and angst, possibly still full of Frozen songs from our little movie watch party of the night before.
I asked anyway, even though I wasn’t sure I would like his answer.
As drowsy as he was, he did not hesitate.
“Sweet, kind, funny, courageous,” he said. After a pause, he added, “Likes to play soccer.”
It was as if he had tapped into my mind and pulled out the exact words I would have used to describe him. Except I would have added a few.
Loves to read.
Good at math.
Loves to ride his bike.
Loves his family.
On and on I could go. His answer was not what I expected, but it instantly lifted me emotionally and mentally. I could not stop smiling when I told my wife what he said, and even the morning commute to work couldn’t get me down.
When I think of some of the words he might justifiably have added to his description of me − strict, grumpy, always tired, yells too much, hard to please, sometimes makes kids eat healthy food − I feel exhilarated, but a little guilty, too. Even though I would describe myself differently, he chose to accentuate the characteristics that place me in the most favorable light as a parent. The guilt sneaks in because his act of lifting me up with unvarnished praise also served to remind me that I have a long, long way to go to be the parent − the person − I need to be for him, his brother and their mother.
I won’t let it go to my head. I know that if I ask the same question at a different time (say, when he’s being forced against his will to spend 10 more minutes on homework instead of watching Clone Wars on Netflix), his answer might be vastly different. But it did feel good to hear it. It does feel good.
Nothing wrong with a little parenting validation from the most relevant source there is, as long as I keep it in perspective.