Archives for April 2010

It is hard to believe that we are almost three weeks into the new adventure of owning a dog. Three weeks ago I could wander about the house without fear of stepping in warm piles of puppy love. Three weeks ago I didn’t worry about making sure that my schedule allowed for time to play with seven pounds of black furry love.

Seven pounds of black furry love has his moments. The silent ninja who preys upon the weak and unprotected baby dolls that lie helpless. He pounces upon them and savages their bodies with reckless abandon. And if you catch him in the midst of his murderous act he looks up at you with sad puppy dog eyes that suggest that you are the one who are at fault. You knew that he is a baby. You knew that he searches for objects to make his sore gums feel better even though you have purchased toys that are his.

Seven pounds of black furry love is slowly learning that there are places for relieving himself that do not resemble tile or hardwood floors. He already recognizes that his crate is best used as his private resort and as such cannot be sullied by such things.

Slowly but surely he is training you to recognize the signs. He runs to the door and looks outside, sometimes he indicates his need and desire with a soft whimper, sometimes silence. Sometimes all you can do is open the door and wait to see if he goes bounding outside and down the stairs.

The children, those that walk upright are learning that it is not all fun and games to have a dog.They have seen his handiwork and have learned that taking care of him is a family responsibility. I intentionally don’t take him out when they are home. It is good for them to take care of this, to see first hand what it takes.

It is good for all of them. Together they are learning. Together they are learning about life, about love and what it means to care for someone who isn’t quite capable of doing it on their own.

It is a beautiful thing to watch.

We were standing in line at the Israel Independence Day Festival when he asked me “why do they want to kill us?” I looked down and smiled at him and took a deep breath. It is a good question, a valid question and one that I hate having to answer.

Because he is 9 years-old and I hate shredding pieces of his childhood. He still remembers when they stole his mother’s purse and wants to know if I still look for them. I answer him truthfully and say that sometimes I do. We haven’t discussed it in a while, but the last time we did he said that he wished he was older so that he could have helped me stop them.

I am still Superman in his eyes. He tells me that he is sure that I could have taken the guy. I don’t tell him that I am confident that I could have too, but never want him to see that side of me. It is one thing to see me get angry and another to watch me become violent. He has never seen that and short of having to protect the family  I don’t expect that he ever will.

He looks at me and asks me why I am smiling. I don’t tell him that it is meant to reassure him, to soften things somewhat. Because he is old enough to understand that people die. Old enough to be happy that his grandfather didn’t die in Vietnam and curious as to why I didn’t go into the army.

My smart boy is sharp, inquisitive and interested. But he is still young enough that nuance sometimes escapes him. He doesn’t need a ton of details, just enough to whet his whistle. So I smile and consider the best approach to his question. Before I can answer he begins to tell me how stupid it is to go to war and that people who do must be idiots.

I try to explain to him that he is right, but that not everyone feels that way. Some people are nice and others are not nice. And sometimes the not nice people do things that require a response. As I start talking I realize that the bullying episode from last summer is lingering in my head. I want him to be soft and cuddly but also to recognize when it is time to stand his ground.

I want him to know that if he needs to defend himself he has my support. I don’t want him to have a physical altercation, but if need be he needs to know to swing hard. He needs to know that I have his back. I won’t accept bullying, but that is a different topic and I don’t want to muddy the waters.

So I ask him to tell me why he thinks that they do it. He gives me an answer and I smile again. We’re about to go through a metal detector. This is a happy occasion and we are about to go through a metal detector. I am sure that if you saw my face you would have seen a flash of anger pass over it. There is something wrong about that.

We walk inside and I take a knee and look in his eyes. I tell him that there is no good reason for it. Logic doesn’t always apply and some people are unwilling to use their words. I tell him that it makes me sad, but that sometimes you have to be willing to use force to bring about peace.

The conversation just got much deeper than I wanted it to. I pull him into my arms and give him a big hug. This time he smiles at me and tells me not to worry. “I won’t fight unless I have to dad.” It is a combination of innocence and knowing, the look he gives me. We’re silent as we walk towards the booths. I know my son and I recognize that for the moment he is comfortable.

I am grateful for that, but still part of me seethes with the knowledge that some more pieces of innocence have been shorn.

I don’t teach my children to behave for fear that to do otherwise will reflect poorly upon me. I don’t care, ok that is not entirely true. I care, but only in specific situations. The reality is that my children are well behaved because they have been taught to be so.

Part of that comes from understanding that they have parents, siblings and friends. One day those may not be mutually exclusive but not while they are young. While they are young there is a clear division between parent and child. My children may try to negotiate for better terms on things that are important to them, but ultimately it doesn’t matter because the final decision lies with mom and dad.

Some people claim that such an approach is backwards and that it is only established for the edification of the parents. They seem to think that such a thing strokes our egos. That is not the case. My ego is stroked when they say things like, “I want to be just like you” or other adults compliment me on their behavior. I love that.

But that is still not why the division exists. It exists for their benefit. It exists because there are moments in which a command decision has to be made. Privates don’t tell the general what to do. Children don’t run this house and they never will.

That is not the case with some of their friends. Some of them live in homes in which mom and dad fight to maintain some semblance of control. They fight because they were foolish and tried to be their friend. Kids need structure and boundaries. It is not hard to provide these things in a way that doesn’t hurt the child. You can do it without crushing their self esteem.

If I tell the kids to knock it off they will. I might have to say it a couple of times, but they listen. I don’t see that with all kids. Like I said earlier, some of them run the show. That is a mistake that will cost them later. My kids are still pretty young. In a few years though they’ll be big and we’ll be debating with children who can look us in the eye.

Form good habits early. It is really important.