“Children. Ah, kids! They are just smaller versions of us,
younno, but I ain’t so crazy about me!”
Poopdeck Pappy - (Popeye the Sailor’s father.)
Patti and I were
‘baby boomers’, and being born and raised in the 50s and early 60’; never
understood the entire concept and consequences of parenting. During those years
children were seen as an unavoidable burden and consequence of the institution
of marriage. Our parents in those days
thought it was enough to keep children, (and pets), clean, well fed, and quiet
in another room. Children were to be
‘seen and not heard’. The responsibility of parenting and main caregiver fell
to the wife and mother who ideally in those years, spent her days making
cookies, cleaning the house, and doing the laundry. Husbands, on the other
hand, (according to socially acceptable norms at the time), managed their
careers, arrived home on time, and expected a hot wholesome dinner ready when
they got there.
At least, that was
the plan. Nearly every family discovered this universally accepted ‘societal
norm’ was both impractical and unrealistic in the real world. Children still
needed attention; parents still needed time together, and there just weren’t
enough hours in a busy day. That is, until the arrival of the ‘Great
Babysitter’.
In the late 50’s
there arose the miracle of the modern world. A revolutionary state-of-the-art
electronic fusion of sound, moving pictures with free entertainment for every
American home- the Television! With the flick of a switch, it was instantly
possible to get news from around the world, sporting events, variety shows
featuring hit music, game shows, and weekly installments of comedy, action, and
drama. More importantly to parents, ‘The Great Babysitter’ afforded a few hours
of quiet in a busy household.
Watching television
soon became a major activity of children of our generation and much of our
childhood was spent awash in the constant blue-white glow of the ‘Great
Babysitter’. In time, the TV grew from a pleasant diversion to a nationwide
addiction. Research at the time suggested that the average American child spent
3-4 hours daily in front of the TV. By the time of high school graduation, our
kids have viewed 8,000 murders, 200,000 violent acts, and have spent more time
watching television than in the classroom.
Patti and I didn’t
follow all the surveys and psychiatric research, but noticed that people around
us seemed to care less for the folks living next door, but were deeply
concerned about who shot ‘J.R.’, or the next episode of ‘Charlie’s Angels’.
When Patti and I
married we decided if we were going to be good parents there was to be no TV.
We were young and therefore idiotic and believed we could change the
world. In those early years we kept our
promise even though when friends or family would visit and notice we had no TV,
felt sorry for us and offer to give us one of theirs. We would politely refuse,
but came to understand we needed something to fill the vacuum. Thankfully,
Patti came up with a terrific idea.
Reading. It sounded
simple enough. The idea was that we would actually read all the classic
literature we were supposed to have read in school but weaseled out of. I have
to admit that in school, I never actually finished reading a book, but had
become pretty handy at faking it, and bluffing my way through tests.
Soon, just quietly
reading wasn’t enough. We started to read aloud to one another so we could both
follow the story at the same time. And the nightly readings became a habit.
After dinner and bath time, we would put the kids to bed, and start on a good
book. Back then, there were no audio books, except a very limited selection for
the handicapped at the library. Patti and I knew that most of our friends
wouldn’t understand our odd and selfish ritual, so we kept it to ourselves. Until
one night we were interrupted with company.
A couple of friends
stopped by for a friendly visit and had halted our progress on Heinlien’s
‘Stranger in a Strange Land’. I was
anxious to get back to the book and follow the story as it was just getting
exciting, but couldn’t bring myself to ask them to leave. Patti and I never made friends easily in
school and knew that friends would forgive you in time for an occasional
rudeness, but acting strange was freaking social suicide. I was more than a
little awkward in that moment, and could feel the outlines of the paperback I
had hastily sat on at their arrival to hide our ‘dirty little secret’ but
asked:
“Do you like science
fiction?” Before they could answer, my hand found the book and I brought it up
and burned through the rest of the chapter, aloud. I passed the book over to
them and waited. I watched them exchange some uncomfortable glances at first,
but to their credit, they gave it a try.
Before the night was over everyone had read aloud, and carried by the
story line read with enthusiasm and zeal.
For many years we
carried on the tradition, and it was accepted if you showed up at our house for
dinner on a Friday night, guests were expected to read aloud. It became more
than just a gathering of friends sharing a good story. Some friends were shy
and more than a little intimidated at first, but in a few weeks as their
confidence grew became real performers delivering their lines with passion and
power.
As in all things,
every action has consequences, good and bad, some of them unintentional; but
nonetheless has lasting effects that surface as the years pass. During those
early years when Patti and I discovered reading aloud we were completely
unaware that someone else was listening in. Our children.
Patti and I were unaware that after bath-time
when they were supposed to be in bed asleep, they would quietly creep out and
closely follow the stories.
The long term
effects on our kids began to become apparent when people began to notice our
children never used baby talk, always spoke clearly and distinctly, and had
vocabularies well beyond their years. At a time when most kids were just
learning the language, they would hold their own in any conversations with
adults.
Worse still, their verbal skills were only surpassed only by
a child’s natural logic and youthful sense of right and wrong. I have to admit
I never once won an argument with them. Many times I was reduced to:
”But I am bigger than
you! I am the Dad!”
My advice on
parenting? Never have kids smarter than your own self.
Jeff Wilson
