Dear Partners with Parents,

I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for my son’s Bar Mitzvah. Planning an event like this is mystifying, especially when trying to meet everyone’s needs and address each age group.  I just can’t tell you how amazing your team was. Your coordinator was so lovely.  She and our ceremony leader helped me with every aspect, from start to finish. The cantorial student you provided fit in perfectly as well.  She, too, was warm and totally tuned into our specific needs.  Every generation and people from all backgrounds felt welcome and included and thoroughly enjoyed the occasion.

The speeches were a huge surprise. Normally, I would be concerned about leaving them “to fate” but I totally trusted the team, especially our tutor who led the service.  She came so well prepared and was so professional in her communication with everyone involved.  Her talk during the service was beautiful.  She totally understands my son and values him the way I do.  She’s like part of our family.  My son’s speech was amazing.  It was funny, on point, and in his own voice.  She promised me good grammar, my one requirement, and she came through!  I had no fear about what would happen on the big day because I so trusted her judgment.

Most important, my son loved this experience, and it was meaningful for HIM. He was so happy to work with his tutor that he now wants to continue his Jewish education because he finds it fun and interesting!

I just have to tell you and anyone else who wants to know, it was a fantastic process and a beautiful result. The service was intimate and memorable, everything my family and I wanted.

Thank you so much,

Linda Bicks

I know that parents are the most important teachers, whether we like it or not, so it’s on me to pass these values along. But, I will be honest, I bristle at the notion of making up a community service project and “doing it,” rather than living as someone who serves my community.  What I really want to teach my children  is to become people who see being of service as part of their daily lives.   Recently, a neighbor’s experience crystallized things for me. . .

Last week, my neighbor, with whom my children and I interact frequently, confided in me that her two year old son has been diagnosed with PDD, which is on the autism spectrum. It was such a revelation. Suddenly—and if you are a parent with a child who finally got the right diagnosis, you understand—so much made sense. What an odd mixture of feelings I felt from her and for her: relief at understanding her son’s behaviors, fear about what this would mean for her and his life, questions like “What do we do now?” and “How can we help?

I teach and want to focus on the positive, so I stopped right there. In the midst of all the other emotions, I feel a tiny bit grateful to have been offered the opportunity to authentically serve our community, and teach my children while I am at it. How can we help best? Intending to find out, I’ve asked my neighbor to invite me AND MY CHILDREN (who interact with her son regularly) to the next home meeting with their therapists and advisors. There, together, as a community, we will learn how to help this little boy and his parents.

How to be of service to the community is one of the most important life skills you can teach your children. And believe me when I say that the experiences that result will be among the most enjoyable and fulfilling that you and your child have together. Absolutely everybody wins! As you look for a meaningful community service outlet for your children, please consider:

1) What will your child authentically connect to? There are literally thousands of ways to be of service—maybe it’s working with animals, caring for the sick and disabled, raising money a cause, or using technology to raise awareness.

2) Who needs help that is near by? Trying looking for things you can do “locally.” This will allow your child to see the positive results of his or her efforts, reinforcing the values you are trying to instill.

3) Will you join in yourself? Your children are learning everything from watching you, and, for good or for bad, kids do what their parents DO, not what they say or teach.

Happy helping!

Laurie

Owner, Partners With Parents

Interestingly enough, the other parents who I have chosen to spend most of my time with are not quite so permissive.  Most of the time we can see eye to eye.  It’s not so hard when we’re outdoors (It’s not like I let my son run in the street or anything), but when we’re in one of our homes, it can be a bit more tricky.  Do I tell my son that it’s okay to bang or climb the furniture or walk around with spatula in hand and bucket on head in our home but not in others?  You bet.  Do I spend a lot of time deflecting what is perceived as “bad behavior?”  You bet.  Is it worth it?  You bet.  Do I think that my son gets it now?  If he did, he’d be a truly astounding 18-month old.  But, I live with the hope that my consistent inconsistency will make sense to him in the future.  Let’s not forget that one of the best principles that we can teach our children, and for that matter, live by ourselves, is respect for others’ ideas and practices.  It is not easy to tell our children no, especially when we secretly think they are right, but it is important to do so when they are violating another household’s rules.  I have the task of teaching my son that he will experience many different sets of rules and that part of functioning in society is understanding when and how to act in different situations.

I remember from my own childhood having to grapple with the same inconsistencies and carrying around resentment for the conflicting rules.  My parents were not so much about the “why,” but more about the “do.”   I am thankful that my son is growing up in an era where explaining things to your child is looked upon as a matter of course.  I will, unlike my own parents, carefully explain why certain behavior is correct in different situations, instead of telling him, “That’s just how it is.”  But I firmly believe that in the end I will, like my parents before me, successfully instill (with a few embarrassing moments for all, of course) the necessary understanding of social graces and respect for others that will get him labeled “such a good child.”  After all, we do not live just in our own homes, but ever increasingly as citizens of “the world.”  Let us equip our children to do the same—but maybe still also get the thrill of throwing the football in the house with Dad on a fun Sunday morning.

-An “Underprotective”  NYC Parent

Each student has a different set of conditions under which he performs his best.  Each of us needs to be a scientist, making and testing hypotheses about our ideal study conditions.  Spend a number of weeks experimenting and finding out the answers to the questions below.  Remember what works the best for you is not necessarily what feels the best or most comfortable. The ultimate goal is finding what makes you most effective.

• What room in your apartment is best for homework and studying?

Do you have a dedicated area where you can go when you need to do work?  Are there some types of assignments that you can do in a more public place, like the living room, while some require more seclusion?  If you live in a “zoo,” consider the library.

• What position is best?

Sitting at a desk?  In a comfortable chair?  Lying on the floor?  Do you have access to everything you need?  Do you benefit from getting up and moving around periodically?  Does it vary based on the type of assignment?

• What kinds of noise are distracting?

Music?  Parents talking?  Siblings playing?  All of the above?  Are there places in the apartment/house where you can get away and have comparative silence?  Again, if a Yankee-Red Sox game seems like a quiet retreat, consider finding a place outside your home.

• What time of day are you most effective?

Are you a “day” person or a “night” person?  Are there certain times of day when, no matter how hard you try, you can’t absorb information?  You don’t want to wait until you’re 30 to find out that you get more accomplished from 6:00-8:00am than during the entire rest of the day.

• How often do you need to takes breaks?

Can you realistically concentrate for 5 hours without interruption?  Would five 1 hour blocks serve you better?  Three 100 minute blocks?  How long a break does it take to refuel your battery?  What can you do to reward yourself during your break (if you’ve earned it)?

• How do amount of sleep and level of hunger affect you?

How many hours of sleep do you need to be at your best?  Would a half hour nap at some point make a difference in your ability to apply yourself?  Are you able to work effectively after having a full meal?  What about when you’ve had two candy bars and a can of soda?  Do you need a (healthy) snack for energy before starting your homework?

• Do you work well under pressure?

If you know that you don’t, you’d better not save things until the last minute.  As soon as you know the assignment or test date, schedule the tasks you are going to accomplish each day (or week) to ensure that you have plenty of time to complete your work.

• Do you learn well in a group?

Would a study partner enhance or detract from your productivity?  Perhaps certain subjects yes, some no.  Certainly, who you choose as a study partner is vital; try to find a classmate who is equally committed to academic success.

Let the answers to these questions guide where, when, and how you approach your work.  Of course, you will never be able to work under your ideal conditions 100% of the time.  Moreover, the answers to these questions will likely vary depending on the type and complexity of the assignment (memorization, research, reading, writing, problem solving, etc.) as well as your level of interest.  Discovering your brain’s likes and dislikes at least gives you the opportunity to structure your schedule and set up your physical study environment to enhance your chance of success.

Of course, it’s laughable when the robber claims “Mine!” about the goods in question, but it represents a crucial first step toward articulate self-expression and negotiation.  We want to coax our kids out of their adversarial stance into something a little more humane, urbane, and, well, sane.  “Mine!” is the simplest articulation of wanting, and a critical step in the progression toward “Me too!”, “Can I have a turn?”, or, best yet, “Let me know when you’re done with that, okay?”  We all know what it’s like to want something and it’s our job as grown-ups to help our children use language to get it.  They must view language as the means to express what they want and negotiate procuring it in light of what others want.

Encourage your toddler to speak as the means to resolve conflicts.  Give them opportunities to express what they are feeling.  Don’t be tempted to steer children off to some other distraction without getting to say what they have to say.  But also teach them that just because they want it doesn’t mean they are going to get it, or at least right now.  Above all, they need to see you model the right way to conduct themselves in interpersonal interactions.  Otherwise, they might model themselves after what they see on Jerry Springer or in Congress.

In times of stress, we tend to stay up later to “get things done,” we sleep fitfully when we do get to bed, and then we wake up prematurely with that cool burning sense of worry over getting things handled.  It may feel restful to spend time in the simulated unconsciousness of chatting online or staring at the television until late hours, but maximizing your actual sleep hours is critical.  It seems a small thing, but inadequate sleep only adds to one’s level of anxiety and diminishes performance across the board.  Especially with a book-bag full of new syllabi weighing heavily on their shoulders, students need extra rest to handle the stress and stay well both physically and academically.

So, get to bed!

If you’ve had occasion to muddle through the early stages of speech development with a child of your own, or even a niece, cousin, or friend’s child, you’re very familiar with that frustrating moment when you know that they are earnestly talking to you, but you have no idea what they are saying.  “Throw me a bone, here, kid.  At least give me one word clearly!”

It’s all very cute, of course; how else would we ever get to have “hawk-dahs” and “noonoos” for lunch, or end up with nicknames like “Cashy?”  The grinding of the gears occurs when we are working with these little people in genuine partnership but the rope-bridge they’re extending across the chasm of communication just doesn’t quite reach this side.

Haven’t you made eye contact with a toddler who sincerely tells you, “Goby junkinow mizhou” and then expects you to respond, or to do something?

“Uh, get the cabinet tissue?”

The worst is when they nod, emphatically, when you repeat back something ridiculous.  “Go buy junk, now I miss you?”

“Mm-Hmm!”  You figured it out . . . great.

The important thing to remember is that like every other learning process, repetition is paramount in language acquisition.  Trying though it may be, especially when emotions are running high or time is of the essence, we have to slow ourselves down and encourage our smallest children to express themselves verbally.  It comes in stages – from vocalization of sounds to words to sentences to treatises on your parental inadequacies.   Throughout, we must affirm their attempts to communicate and try to understand what is being said.  When we succeed (albeit infrequently at first), we can model it back correctly.

No matter what, we can reinforce the value of what they are offering.  That way, they learn to speak and develop a voice.  When you respond to your little cherub like what he is saying matters, he not only learns to speak, but also to speak up and be heard.  Now that’s a lesson worth repeating.

I had another stare-down with a street-boss.  I was letting my daughters walk on the icy snow piles along the curb as we made our way to the park for sledding, and a friendly, neighborhood Volunteer Parenting Advisor stopped us for a moment.  You know who I mean; one of those generous souls that come up to us on the street and grace us with unsolicited pearls of parenting wisdom.

She approached with the friendly, open body language that says “I want to tell these children how cute they are.”  She said something indecipherable to the girls with a smile on her wrinkled face.  They smiled back with their best “I have no idea what you said, but, yes, we are quite cute – bye now” expressions.  Then she turned her frosty glare on me and I realized she was going to zap me.  She asked me if the sleds I was carrying were for the girls. A deer in headlights, I replied that they were, at which point her evidence collecting phase concluded and I stood guilty, guilty, guilty before the judge.  Those girls should not be walking on the ice; they will slip and fall.  They should not be going sledding; it is too cold out.  Besides, they will fall and get hurt.

I proceeded to explain that when they walk on the ice, they LEARN to walk on ice, and when they fall down, they LEARN to fall down.  The sidewalk-boss would hear none of it.  It was too late.  The layers of purple and pink bundling up the girls against cold and contusion counted for naught.  Their joy was irrelevant.  I was a bad father, and a bad man.  Additionally, I was now an angry, flustered man, trying to defend his parenting style to someone who stopped assimilating new information in 1963.

Volunteer Parenting Advisors have taught me many things.  For instance, I had no idea that my child may not curiously open the freezer door at the grocery store, my preschooler may not come naked to the front door to see with whom I am speaking, my child may not walk ahead of me on the sidewalk, my child may not go out on a cool day without a winter coat, my child may not go out on a wet day without a raincoat, my child may not climb on the playground equipment at the park, my child may not stand up holding the bar on public transportation, my child may not eat something that has touched a floor or the ground, my child may not speak during an hour and a half long worship service, my child may not run outdoors, my child may not run indoors, and many other may-nots.

Maybe the reason the Volunteer Parenting Advisors stop us is that they just want to antagonize us and experience a little sadistic glee.  I could sense her quietly laughing at me as she turned her back and left me with my shattered parenting reverie, and I called out my last desperate attempt to equalize our footing: “If I wanted your help, I’d ask for it!”  Feh.  Too little, too late.  I lose and she wins, taking the spoils of my pleasant family moment with her down the street, like a head in a sack.  She stopped to chat respectfully with another septuagenarian just down the block, leaving me brainstorming better comebacks as I snapped at my kids to get a move on.

Walking with my kids to the snowy park, I thought a bit more about the street-boss’s perspective, and her motivations.  As hard as it is to remember in the moment, her warnings and disapprovals are not about my parenting, or about my children.  They are about the fear and sense of powerlessness in which the sidewalk-boss stews.  I realized that merely by parenting at all I was stepping on her toes.  My very existence as an involved young parent, let alone a father, is a threat to her; I’m a rival, an upstart.  Maybe parenting was the one thing she considered her expertise.  She can’t outrun me; never could.  She can’t outlift me; never could.  She would never have gotten a shot at an executive position in her day.  And here I am taking this job from her as well—and doing it all wrong, wrong, wrong to boot.

So the next time I stare into the eyes of some aging Volunteer Parenting Advisor, I may have a little more compassion.  I may grant her the expert status she is claiming.  I may even heed her advice . . . at least until she is out of sight.

Processing death is a little different from our other parental duties and the regualar disruptions to our familial stases.  It’s a bit richer, as parenting challenges go, existing as it does at a confluence of emotional and spiritual avenues of unparalleled magnitude.  Bring together a touch of gut-wrenching sorrow, add some deep-seated fear of the unknowable, shake them together with even mildly differing parenting inclinations, and you’ve got quite a paralyzing cocktail.  It’s no wonder wincing parents want to sidestep the issue of death, for the sake of their own comfort and that of their young ones.  It’s awkward, challenging material, which for many of us is worse than simple sadness.  We just don’t know the truth about death, and we don’t want to mess this up.

You would think that given the frequency and inevitability of death we might all be sharing a clearer pool of collective wisdom on presenting it to our children.  Part of the confusion, the hesitation, we experience when confronted by these dicey topics in our children’s rapidly changing lives is that the windows of application are so brief.  I’m only going to have to deal with a major first-love scenario once for each of my two daughters, right?  You talk to a preschooler differently from an elementary-age kid about a new pregnancy in the family, right?  The landscape of child development changes so dramatically and so rapidly, we are left with only our instincts and reflexes to guide us through perpetually uncharted territory.  And then, of course, there’s the fact that none of us actually knows anything about this topic, the far side of death.

Adding to the complexity of death’s presence in our lives, the collective American marketplace is not much for pain and sorrow.  Our beauty-failures receive their fair share of advertisers’ attention, but for the most part we are informed that we are good enough, that we “deserve a break today,” and “why ask why?”  We have innumerable opportunities to consume products that will make us more “happy,” or at least numb our discomfort.  So pervasive are these pathways to happiness, that we can experience an acute sense of failure if our children are not happy – if their “needs” are not met, even for a moment. “Quick, get a toy!  No, honey, get one that makes noises!”  Confronting death is just hard emotional work, without the quick fixes we see portrayed in the world around us.

On occasion when I’m out with my kids on the street and one of them happens to be crying because she didn’t get the color gumball she had her heart set on or she smashed her finger, strangers will approach her and say things like “Don’t cry.  You’re so young.  You should be happy.”  That’s a pressure, and a false way of living, that I don’t want my kids to have to manage.  Life, even for a child, isn’t just joy joy joy, and if a person can’t bear for a child to feel some sadness or disappointment in life then it’s for that person’s own sake, not the child’s.  Our overprotection cripples our kids, not helps them.  They are young humans, and to grow up to be well-sorted older humans they need to have real experiences and to have age appropriate answers to difficult questions so they can get to know their feelings.  The answer to their sadness is not to eat a “happy” meal.  Their sadness IS the very encouraging answer to the question “Are you alive and perceiving?”

Death remains a part of every single life cycle, regardless of its duration. Just as it’s important to allow our growing toddlers experiences with balancing and falling down to build their resilience, insight, and coordination, they need to practice experiencing the complexity of empathy, rage, and grief.  So, get your kid a pet if you’re willing – he needs the practice. Our pets give our children small, meaningful doses of death practice in a world in which our technologies have limited the omnipresence of death and pushed it to the periphery.   Only a few decades ago, even in our rapidly advancing American society, fairly rarely did anyone reach adulthood without losing a sibling, or at least a cousin.  So, thanks, pets, for being there for our emotional enrichment, and doing the dirty work.

Most important, honestly tell your kid the mix of thoughts and feelings YOU experience when death presents itself–he needs the modeling.  When we experience death and loss, it is a sad, uncomfortable time for us.  Let’s not pretend to our children that we are “fine,” or that our families never have to visit the stone forest, or that this important, quiet place does not exist.  Just as having children gives rise to the exhilarating status “with” that defines our lives, death and loss gives birth to the inevitable status “without” to define them as well.  Let’s prepare our children for that, and lead them through the process genuinely.  How dishonest it would be never to acknowledge the hope and expectation each of us parents carries soberly, silently within us: long before our children pass on, we want go take our places in the stone forest first, leaving them to grieve and carry on without us there to guide them.

Because no single entity was ever able to wrest full control of the scene, Coney Island remains remarkably underdeveloped.  The self-interest of all parties claiming a stake and steadfastly clinging to it continues to save it from overdevelopment.  In the same way, each visitor can stake out their own experience, from the toddler who derives his perfect entertainment from the Coney Island sand to the teenagers looking for love to the adult pedestrians wondering about life as a freak.  It is not the main attraction of summer on the East Coast like it was a hundred years ago, but Coney Island remains a permanent carnival, by the beach, in New York City.  Let’s repeat that; it bears repeating: Coney Island is a permanent carnival, by the beach, in New York City.

Coney Island serves as a grand microcosm for the American experience.  The place was overrun by rabbits when Europeans arrived, became the epicenter of America’s burgeoning entertainment industry over the course of the next few hundred years, and remains a high-ranking hotbed of capitalist ideas both coming to life and being washed out to sea.  Irony of ironies, it’s not even an island anymore, the creek separating it from mainland Brooklyn having been filled in decades ago for the construction of the Belt Parkway.  Coney Island is a constantly evolving, contentious place, a mini-America, that encapsulates all of what we owe our kids in terms of intelligent breadth of experience.

If you are remotely inclined, pay it a visit for yourself.  If nothing else, pay a visit for your kids so they can track their progress by Coney Island’s progress.  It is a historical site the evolution of which is still in the making, and it seems perpetually will be.  Although it most assuredly will still be there in some form when your children are grown, we know not what it will look like.  So go sit there on Coney Island Beach with your kitchen spoons, found objects, and sand tools.  Dig canals with your kids that guide the water spraying into the air from the metal palm tree.  Put them on a kiddie ride, or twenty of them.  Eat something tasty, unhealthy, and overpriced that still costs only half of what it would in a centralized, self-contained, air-conditioned venue where there’s no competition between vendors.  And don’t forget to mention to them that there was a time, before Disney, before Xbox, before Barbie, before television, that this was the most famous beach in the world, visited by billions of people throughout its history.  It will ALWAYS be here for us—as long as we keep coming back.