The rash (as I've mentioned before) was something called prickly heat, nothing serious. But in the waiting room I got an hour-long lesson in parenting.
Let me set the scene: the waiting area has about fifteen full-size chairs, and two kid-size tables with a few kiddie chairs around them. At one table sits a quiet, ragged-haired child. He haa a wire-and-block toy in front of him, with which he is distinctly non-plussed. This kid is staring into the distance, and seems pretty happy doing just that.
At the other table is another boy, about the same age. He is more energetic and squirmy. He has his own wire-and-block toy, which he loses interest in (understandably) after about thirty seconds.
The energetic kid goes over and grabs the toy from the quiet kid. Just walks up and seizes it from him. (keep in mind this is the exact same toy the energetic kid already had and didn’t want.) And he does it in that uniquely malicious way that only children can --- he stares straight into the other kid’s eyes as he jacks his toy.
Cut to quiet kid: couldn’t care less. He wasn’t playing with that toy, didn’t like it. Go ahead and grab it. So the energetic kid hoists the toy in his arms and starts to bring it back to his own table.
As far as I’m concerned, energetic kid is about to learn an important lesson about materialism. He’s going to get back to his own table with his “prize” and realize that two boring toys are no more fun than one. And he’s going to learn that taking from others isn’t a sure-fire route to happiness.
But that lesson gets interrupted. Because just as the energetic kid lifts the toy off the table, his mom jumps in. “Chris,” she intones seriously, “you leave that toy right there. You let him play with that.” Chris looks over at his mother to assess her seriousness. He makes a whining noise and continues lifting the toy into his arms. Mom springs into action, getting up from her chair and forcibly separating Chris from his loot.
The mom looks deep into Chris’ eyes. “Sweetie,” she says, “you have to share with the other kids.”
Chris, of course, starts to cry loudly, and his wail carries a tone of righteous indignation. A grievous injustice has been visited upon Chris this day. Forever will he remember the wrongs of this autumn afternoon.
And so, the lesson has been reversed. Where he might have committed a minor infraction and realized that it wasn’t all that fun; that crime doesn’t pay any emotional dividends; that selfishness earns you enemies, not friends; instead, he learns none of those things. His mother tries to force the lesson on him, and she ends up teaching him exactly the opposite.
Here’s what goes through Chris’ head: “Mommy doesn’t let me take stuff from other kids, just like she doesn’t let me have tasty candy or watch awesome TV programs or ride supercool motorcycles. So taking stuff from other kids is probably awesome! I’m going to grow up, become a greedy stockbroker, bring our financial system to the brink of bankruptcy, and walk away with a massive bonus!”
Am I reading way too much into one tiny incident? Absolutely. But one tiny incident a day adds up to hundreds and hundreds per year, thousands per lifetime. And that becomes our legacy, those are the values we leave our children with.
We say phrases like “share with other kids,” and pretend that that’s an effective way to teach a kid to share. But it’s pretty obviously not. Kids are watching, learning, and drawing conclusions every day. The lessons we are teaching aren’t the ones our kids are learning.
Which is why my plan is not to teach my child anything. I’ll be a good person, model good behavior, and let imitation do the rest.
I suppose I should discuss this plan with Hannah....
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