998 –

Listen more talk less. 

It may be possible your child is not talking, because the space has not yet been created to let them know their voice is valued.  It is possible your child doesn’t want to talk or has nothing to say.  That is okay.  Respect it. You can still teach them to be okay with silence.  Show them patience.  Teach them how to wait.  Show them you will wait.  No distractions.  No phones.  No looking down.  No pressure to say something or telling them “It’s okay”, you are here and will listen when they are ready.  Show them through doing. Teach them by not doing.  Show them by waiting until they are ready.  

If I have learned anything these past 8.5 years it’s that my daughter has so much to say, so many ideas, concepts, theories to express. So many things running through her heart, head, and mind (yes, those are three differing ideas and concepts).  So many wonderful things waiting to be said, waiting to be birthed into the world.  How many things would have been missed, how many things have been missed, because of looking down? How many words went unheard?  How many words went unsaid?

Space.  Time.  Wait.  Listen.  You’ll get your chance.  The more you listen now.  The more they may be willing to listen later.

999 – No electronics in the car. Leave space for conversation. Even if they, or you, are feeling board. That’s good. Ask a question. Ramble. Sing a song. Books, coloring, anything not electronic is okay. We know you can be distracted by electronics for hours. They will look up from a book.

1000- Turn your phone off

Childhood memories are more about stories told than stories remembered.  This idea created a curiosity of why?  Is this normal?  At what age does a child start to formulate remembered thoughts? Not just emotions and feelings.  Which starts another conversation of what is a memory?  Is it being able to create a physical thought of remembrance?  Is it feelings and emotions related to a particular event, or point in time?  Is it both?  Neither?

This always made me feel dumb.  Creating an idea that intelligence was based on a singular point at which memories formulated.  A story told that became a lens through which the formation of story became the story of me.

We live in a world of labels.  Labels that help to identify, create order, recognition, of a cohesive society.  Labels also help to divide, create chaos, descent, and fracture.  Both of which can happen to the whole, or individual.

We claim to not want to be pigeonholed.  Labeled or defined.  Yet, our independence and individuality are based around global labels, “American”, “Patriotic”, “Republican”, “Liberal”, “Mother”, “Father” on and on.  Limitless labels used to define our individually selves.

The more micro one goes the more individual labels are met with shame and guilt.  A weapon to humiliate and differentiate.  The very thing we claim to want, yet fail to achieve. Fail to validate positively.

A childhood taunt: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”.  Only to discover the physical wounds would typically heal. The words, planted themselves like a dark garden maturing slowly.  Only days, months, years, decades later to discover words do in fact hurt.  Piercing, burrowing words.  Physical can leave a mark.  A mark can be noticed.  A child can be punished for leaving a mark.  Without a mark?  Without the wounded flesh to show? The hurt isn’t seen as so.

Whether words spoken by others or ourselves.  The story gets told.  The story gets repeated.  For a child it is not up to them to create, tell or write their story.  Their story is told by, defined by, created by those bigger than them.  They learn what we teach.  They learn by what we display.  They learn by what we show them.  Children learn by what we tell them.  Either through words or actions.

At some point, we get to be in charge of our own story.  The when will be different for everyone. We grown, mature, and reach understandings at differing points.  Yet, whenever that time is for you, whenever the idea of the story mattering becomes something you understand to have impact.  Then, you can start to change the story.

This isn’t a “The Secret” moment.  It takes words and actions.  Nothing comes from just sitting around thinking happy thoughts.  But forward momentum doesn’t come from sitting around thinking the story and actions don’t matter.

There is an effort to not let the first six years of my daughter become bitter, hurtful, hateful memories with the person who identifies as my daughter’s mom (how’s that for a twist on words layer with issues).

Yet, there is the undeniable reality those times exist.  Those years happened. The way she acted and treated me (and us) were real.  There are flashes of moments that seep in and come to the surface at random times.  The difference between the not so distance past and today is how those flashes are processed and handled.  The unfortunate reality is many of the parenting choices and decisions made are in direct contrast to the experiences with my daughter’s mom and her family.

While reading “How to Live, 27 conflicting answers and one weird conclusion” by Derek Sivers, one of those memories came to the surface.  It was a time we were in Wisconsin for my daughter’s mom’s brother’s graduation.  A thing I like to do is to try new vegan restaurants in whatever town is visited.  It used to be coffee shops (and sometimes still is), but since going vegan it’s about finding a new vegan experience.

Well, the dad, of course, wanted to celebrate by taking his son out for a celebratory lunch after graduation.  Without going down a rabbit hole, their lifestyle and health choice are in direct contrast to mine and the choices I make for my daughter. 

Instead of respecting this and understanding I’m trying to do what’s best for our health, my daughter’s mom started to berate me, saying I was being selfish.  That I was embarrassing her and her dad was trying to do something nice, etc. etc. 

This, of course, started and argument and verbal fisticuffs.  I had said nothing about the choices they were making. I said nothing about the lunch.  I was just not going to eat food I don’t eat.  And after lunch wanted to go to a vegan place to get me food. Not saying a thing about my daughter or not wanting her to eat food I felt wasn’t good for her.

The point of this story is not to make it a bitter story.  It’s to take moments like that to help my daugther be kind and understanding.  To teach her to be in a place in her life to meet people where they are.  To be understanding. To be compassionate.  To have empathy for others.

Most importantly, for me, is for her to know she will never have to win her father’s approval.  There in lies the lesson and point.  My daugther will never look at a person she is with and feel she needs to protect herself from judgment or put her friend or significant other in a negative space to achieve her father’s respect.  She will never feel a pressure to prove anything to her father.  She will understand that her father understands.  That he is kind and flexible and opening and respectful.   

It is memories like this where the lesson is to find a compromise and understanding and respect for the people my daugther will one day bring into our lives.

As the distance grows from the horrible situation I was in for nearly a decade to today, the better the view of what was and the lessons that can be gleamed from it.  The better to understand what I don’t want and will not put my daugther through.  It does hurt that these are the lessons I take from that time.  Yet, they can be bitter memories that cause pain, or they can be lessons learned to be a better father.

I have never not picked up my camera and regretted it (for 99.9% of us picking up a camera means picking up a phone).

Looking at pictures of my daughter from the past brings joy.  Maybe a video of something sweet or special.  The question, what is the right number of photos to get that feeling of joy? 

Keep in mind those photos are for us and we’ll be gone at some point.  In which case our legacy is, literally tens of thousands of photos.  Most of which will never be seen or processed mentally or physically.

It is my opinion for every photo we take, every lift of a device, not for distraction, but for a picture, we are removing ourselves from creating a memory. Not for us.  For them.

If we are being honest, wouldn’t our child(ren) rather have us with them. Engaged with them. Playing with them, rather than another photo?

In truth, wouldn’t they rather have a picture of us, than themselves?  Something to look back on one day and think, “oh that’s what my father or mother looked”.

This is not an argument against pictures of our children or capturing a memory. It’s about getting back to a base number of photos.  A processable (I just made that word up I think) number of pictures.  Several photos that can be collected in a look throughable (did it again) album. Instead of a Yottabyte hard drive of photos so overwhelming it becomes pointless.

Next time the desire to pull out your phone, or more likely look up from your phone after switching to the camera app, to take a picture, choose it as an opportunity to engage in the physical world with your child.  Instead of taking a picture (or twenty, or thirty), use it as an opportunity to engage with your child.  Use it as a moment to connect and play.  Use it as a moment to interact and create a memory or feeling for them.  Not a picture for you (or more likely no one).

Currently, there is an ongoing inner debate with quotes. However, there is one by Maya Angelou that comes to mind:  At the end of the day people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel*.

Our children won’t care about the photos.  They will care about the time.  Maybe they won’t remember the exact moment.  Or the day you put down your phone and played. Or the day you put on a cape or got in the sandbox with them.  Yet, in his or her or their heart, soul, mind, logos, they will remember the feeling your action provided.  They will remember a parent that played and made them feel like the only person in the world.

We are constructing a lifetime of emotions for our children. We are setting an example. Are you going to create another feeling of “my parent on their phone”? Or are you going to create a feeling of “this is what it feels like to play with dad or mom”?

When my daughter looks back at the photos I’ve taken of her I’m gone, will she think, “wow, lots of photos.”  Will she think “what could my dad have been doing instead of taking those photos”.  Will she see less photos?  Will she look back and remember the times cuddled on the couch reading.  Will she remember the bed-time-battles?  Will she remember the conversations before falling asleep? Will she remember the time and attention and love and like she was made to feel? Will she remember, not exact moments, but the feeling those moments created.

Can those things have a cross section?  Of course.

I choose not to risk it.

* This is a very close paraphrase of a quotation attributed to Carl Buehner in a book published many years earlier – “They may forget what you said — but they will never forget how you made them feel.” quoted in Richard Evans’ Quote Book, 1971, Publisher’s Press, ASIN: B000TV5WBW, although it is widely (mis)attributed to Angelou in her book Worth Repeating: More Than 5,000 Classic and Contemporary Quotes (2003) by Bob Kelly, p. 263, Misattributed

Source: https://quotepark.com/fr/citations/841426-maya-angelou-at-the-end-of-the-day-people-wont-remember-what-y/

“I Would Leave Me If I Could” a collection of poetry by Halsey. Her poem “I want to be a writer!” took similar words from my mind, jumbled them, the put them on the page.  The poem ends with, “It’s simple. Write.”

We seem to forget, or behave as if that lesson is unknowable.  We crave the mysterious.  The allure of some-thing that makes a some-thing have meaning.  What does a painter do?  A painter paints.  A welder welds.  A runner runs.  Life can be crazy and complicated.  Why complicate things?  The advice from writers, as near as I can tell, is to be a writer you must write.  From Stephen King to Brian Michael Bendis.  That’s it. A writer writes.  Otherwise, you are simply a person with a thought.  An unwritten thought.  Now, does that make you a thinker?  Or a person that happens to have acknowledged having had a thought?  That’s up to you. Do you care?  Does it matter to you? Only you know that answer.

Now we are getting to the nuance of definitions.  Other people’s definitions.  Definitions that someone told us.  Then we try and smash ourselves into this box so we can then define ourselves by someone else’s idea of what it means to be able to be called *blank*.

Words are important.  Words are beautiful. Wonderously wonderful gifts created to allow communication between two or more people.  Communication through symbols create and agreed upon to relay information.  For entertainment, for safety, for greeting.  Something we take for granted daily.  Failing to properly utilize and appreciate.

So, a writer writes.  Words matter.  We have agreed upon understandings of words on a foundational level.  Yet, the more we progress passed simple words the more convoluted we subject those words to becoming.  Words can be manipulated to manifest a desired outcome or result.  This is not a political writing, just a thought experiment.  Think about what “freedom” means to you. Now, think about what it means to someone else that disagrees with your definition.  Wars start.  Relationship’s end. Houses burn.  Because two groups disagree on the definition of a word(s).

What does that have to do with a writer writes?  We determine, through our actions, how we choose to define ourselves.  Our work. Our words.  Our actions.  Our definition.

What is the point of these words?  So, today, I call myself a writer.  Once, this is posted, with no desired need for validation, you can call me that to.

What do you want to do today, so you can call yourself whatever it is you want to be seen as, defined as, acknowledged as, felt as, or just because?

Then do it. Because a *blanker* *blanks*.

A Vegan Father.  Writing to be a writer.

A lot of words have been dedicated here and on the podcast about changing perspective.  It was recently shared on A Better Father podcast the video of Jocko* and saying “good” no matter what happened.  A mental adjustment.  When you say “good” you are stopping one reaction and pushing your mind to accept another reaction.

With that said, it sucks how much of modern-day parenting is based on what we were told, sold, had pushed on us, communicated, learned through example and age ole stupid cliches.

The stress of getting two people feed, lunches packed, teeth brushed, hair done, clothes on, bags packed and out the door in the correct amount of time to be on time.  How much of that perceived stress is based on anecdotally being taught and told it is difficult to get a kid ready? 

Contrary to the lived reality, I treat my daughter and myself as if this were true.  Such is the power of having a story repeated.

Even though this pressure to get ready was not our reality, my brain was treating it as if it were.  Pushing time limits.  Thinking the communication of countdowns was productive and necessary.  Informing her of the time we “had to leave by”.  Creating pressure where none previously existed.

As with many things having to do with parenting I attempt to learn, adjust, access, and find better ways to be a better parent.  Last week, when my daughter was not at home, a change occurred.  I was up at the normal time of 525 am.  Floundering through the start of the day.  Struggling to get from point “A” to point “B” (up and awake and ready and out the door).

It was this moment the revelation occurred of the structure she adds to MY morning.  With her home there is purpose for doing.  There is need to accomplish.  I do better when she is there.  She does not create a barrier to waking, getting ready and out the door.  She provides structure from waking, getting ready, and getting out the door.

Mind… shifted.

No longer will there be pressure forced in our home to adhere to the cliché that getting a kid ready and out the door is hard.  No longer will there be a countdown.  No longer will there be the threats of the impending doom(s) that shall befall us if we fail to execute by time “x”. 

In retrospect, I was teaching my daughter this is stressful.  That we are doing something wrong.  That waking and getting to school is hard.  Maybe even somehow hindered by her.  That her actions create a barrier to success in being “on time”.  The negative implications are numerous for 1.5 to 2 hours every morning she is home.

How exactly will this be handled?  First, communicate this with her.  Tell her this story.  Share this insight.  Let her know her being home is beneficial.  That she contributes to focus and success of being productive and getting out of the house in a timely manner.  I will ask what she thinks would work best to communicate to her when we should leave.  Then, let her know we’ll adjust, and flex as needed.

This is a moment with benefits in other areas of life.  Identifying times and moments to do better. To be more successful and purposeful when my daughter is not home.  Not having floundering moments without her. Being more structured with time when she is not home.

A Vegan Father… learning, adjusting, identifying moments to be a better parent.

Posted.  Not Perfect.

Books.  Books.  Books.  Today’s run was listening to How to Change by Katy Milkman.  Its adjacent to Atomic Habits by James Clear.  She mentions it in her book.  A particular part that resonated today was, “People who have the most success with change are those that believe they can change”.

My journey these past few years has been a mishmash of books, podcasts, documentaries, writing, getting back to health, with sprinkles of other life eccentricities.  Hearing Katy’s words spoken out loud help adjust my brain waves.  The idea of change was never thought of as being able to change but needing to change.  It was not thinking or knowing change could happen.  It was either change happens, or… 

To learn change is more likely to happen with a slight shift in wording was incredible.  An adjustment of words to be able to facilitate a better or differing outcome.  While running, in that exact moment, I said, “Okay, I can change.  I can keep changing”.  The desire was there.  The progress was there.  Steps were being taken.  One forward.  Half back.  Two forward.  Half back.  Now, change could get easier.  The words in my head adjusted.

Sometimes, I think we make things more complex than they need to be.  We feel the need to have the weight of the world on our shoulders.  We are not making change if we do not put a dent in the universe.  It is disheartening to look back at the person who was all those years ago.  A desire and hope to make an impact.  To change the world.  To fight the good fight.  To want to be known.  Only to spend a lifetime running in place.

All the hopes and dreams lived in my head.  All the illusions of grandeur, stories told.  Nothing done to move forward.  It was existence in moments, minutes, hours, days. Just getting from point A to B to sleep.  Get up.  Repeat.

Then my daughter.  The world got smaller.  The focus narrower.  The illusions of youth came off because she is what mattered.  Ironically, it was also action.  You cannot be an attentive parent without action.  You give up the pretense of self to help another learn, understand, and claim their sense of self.  Temporarily relieving yourself of self.  Just long enough to get this little person from their first point A to their first point B.  Then, with patience and time you get to get you back.  Your sense of self is brought back into the present.

In boot-camp for the Navy we were not allowed any “extras”. Which included cigarettes.  After nine weeks of boot-camp a person was physically done with the need to smoke.  Yet, for many that did smoke, one of the first things they did when allowed was get past the gates and light-up.  That mystified me.  They were forced to get past/through the physical addiction.  They could claim a new self and move forward from that harmful part of their past.  Yet, they choose to reclaim that sense of old self.

That was parenting to me.  To tuck away this piece of me while another literally relied on me to live.  It was worth giving up those pieces of self to help another claim theirs.  Then, bit by bit bringing back the self.  Only, this time there was choice.  As if moving to a new town and reinventing yourself to people that know nothing about you.  Yet, you are still you.  There is only so much change that can happen.  You can move zip codes, but you cannot move from you.  Unless there is a forced changed.

I could have gone back to the old me.  Reclaimed out of spite, ignorance, anger, frustration, pick your poison. A me I was not particularly fond of, but was comfortable and known.  Every fear, worry, frustration, bit of anger, childhood hang-up was thrown into apot.  Then blended on high by another.  The exact reaction you would think you would get was got.  Another excuse.  Another reason to fallback.  Another reason to be able to let go and call foul and claim righteous indignation.  Another person.  Another time.  Maybe that is what would have happened.

Son.  Brother.  Uncle. Friend.  Boyfriend.  Fiancé. Co-worker.  Employee. Boss. Acquaintance.  F$#@ buddy.  Drinking buddy.  Late night buddy.  Make out buddy.  The list goes on.  But starts with…

Father. 

A Vegan Father…. A person capable of change.

Posted.  Not Perfect.

Kate Milkman How to Change:

https://www.katymilkman.com/book/