While I was growing up, I disagreed with my father about everything. Well, I thought I did. It wasn't until I was an adult that I understood that my father tended to take the opposing side in an argument, just to make sure that side got represented. Perhaps there was a bit of contrariness involved, but we're not going to go there.
I noticed the other day that I tend to do the same thing with my children. Before the elections, they were all solidly for a particular candidate. They were even more solidly against the other candidate and made disparaging remarks frequently. I decided that they probably had no idea what they were talking about. So, I started saying things like, "But, maybe he's right on that point. Why is he wrong?" and, "Can you prove that or are you just going off the deep end?" At first, the boys were shocked. After a while, they began to understand that they can't just make a statement. I don't want them to blindly follow anyone. I don't want them to support a candidate because I do. Eventually, that will not be the case. When they are adults, I don't want them to vote for or against someone simply because their mother or favorite pundit is voting for him. I want them to vote for someone because they understand what the candidate stands for. I also want them to understand the underlying issues.
I don't want my children blindly accepting things. I don't want them to believe global warming is caused by man because someone told them it is. I want them to do the research, read the writings, and decide what side of the debate to come down on. I don't want them to decide that a flat tax is good because they don't like paying more than someone else. I want them to do the research and decide for themselves whether or not a flat tax is the best idea for the country.
If you blindly follow the ideas of other people, you'll never know the truth. And, above all, I want my children to know the truth.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Contrary to Popular Opinion
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Encouragment?
Last week, the boys and I started taking Taekwondo. Last night, I had my first group class. Today, I am sore. While I was watching the boys' classes, the instructor came up and spoke to me. He wanted to know if I was sore. I said, "Yes." His reply was, "It'll be worse the second day."
Well, of course I know that. I've worked out enough to know that. But, really, was that terribly encouraging for his newest student? Did he think that would make me want to come back and work harder? Well, the truth is, I know that if I keep working hard, the soreness will be less with time. There will always be some amount of soreness after a hard workout. But, after several more workouts, I shouldn't experience the kind of soreness I am today. After all, it is rare that I have spent 45 minutes on my toes, bouncing up and down, running, kicking, and punching. In fact, it has not been since I was in the Navy, during school, (over 13 years ago) that I have spent any time on my toes, outside of wearing high heels. Today, when I slipped on my heels to leave the house, my calves protested. My thighs are protesting as we speak. In fact, while I may not accomplish anything else with these classes (although I think I will), I will at least be much more limber by the time Gary gets home. That can only be a good thing.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Helicopter Parents
Today, I met a true helicopter parent. I've always considered myself something of a helicopter parent. In truth, I only feel obliged to correct my children's misbehavior, not their technique. For example, I will yell at encourage my children to run, instead of walk, while playing soccer. But, I have no desire to correct their kick, or the way they block the ball. I will tell my children to be quiet during drama, but have no desire to tell them how to do their skit. That doesn't mean I won't critique their performance, but while they are in a particular class, I feel that it is the job of the teacher or coach to notice and take care of those things.
We started tae kwon do last week--all four of us. Tonight, we had our first group classes. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but one of the big bonuses of martial arts is the discipline that is installed, both self discipline and class discipline. The children (or adults) learn quickly to speak when spoken to, and to follow directions. So, I feel no need to exert any discipline at all. In fact, if other classes were as disciplined, I wouldn't feel the need in those classes. However, when a child is being disruptive and the instructor does nothing about it, I feel the need to correct that behavior. At any rate, there was another child who was there for the first time tonight. His mother sat up in the viewing area and corrected her child at every turn.
"Johnny, switch feet." (the teacher had said left, and the child was bending right)
"Johnny, don't forget to gihap."
"Johnny, do this. Do that. Touch your toes. Touch your nose."
Okay fine, the last was not what she said. But, seriously, I wanted to say to her, "He has a teacher. Give him a minute and he'll correct your son. Perhaps it isn't important for him to be perfect during his first class."
Oh well. So long as there are children, there will be helicopter parents. I'm just happy to know I'm not really a helicopter parent.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Dreaming of Code Pink
I would like to tell you about a dream I had. First, though, you must solemnly swear this oath, "I (insert full name) do solemnly swear that I will not reveal this dream in a court of law should Kristina ever actually do this." Okay, now I can tell you my dream.
Gary was deployed. The boys and I were going somewhere to file some military paperwork. We were downtown. (I'm not sure why we were downtown. The base would be much more logical, but dreams aren't logical.) For some reason, Code Pink is picketing the place we are going. I am trying to get through the line of picketers with my 11 year old, 8 year old, and 5 year old sons. There are people chanting, "Baby killers. Baby killers." One of the Code Pink men spits on me. So, I hauled off and punched him. He, of course, fell down. So, I proceeded to beat the tar out of him.
Now, I'm not a violent person. But, really Code Pink ticks me off royally. This was such a wonderful dream that, when I'm feeling a bit depressed, I daydream it. It just makes me feel so much better! But, I know this situation would not end well. Even if I just socked the guy, I would probably be arrested. They would take my kids... So, this is not likely to happen... Unless, I'm alone.....
