"Dumbass"

Our oldest son, Noah, is known to the family and his friends as someone who rarely shies away from using strong language. Partly this is a consquence of his impulsiveness. He is one of those persons who is very quick to react (though not always in the way we would like him to). Another part of this, however, cannot be blamed on his personality or character. Rather it is a deliberate and conscious effort for him to fit into the world as he perceives it. Two separate incidents should illustrate this.

Incident I:

Noah and I were driving along University Avenue in our hometown, Urbana. I had just picked him up from his evening swim practice. It was shortly before 9pm. As we were driving and talking (this is often a perfect time to chat a while and find out things that happened in school, during the day, with friends and in his life in general), I noticed that another car--going in the same direction as us--had not turned on their lights. I pulled up next to the car, honked very briefly and, when I had the passengers attention, gestured towards the light. They got it right away, smiled, waved a "thank you" and on we went. In the mean-time Noah was getting quite agitated in the seat next to me. In fact he tried to stop me from letting the people know about their light. We went around with this issue for a brief while until, finally, I said to him: I don't understand why you would want me not to tell them about their lights? He, still angry, said: YI don't understand why y,ou always have to criticize others. My thought process came to a quick halt. Criticizing? I hadn't even considered this possibility. In my mind I was being helpful, helping those people avoid an accident. I told Noah this and he calmed down a bit, but insisted that I was being critical of others (and, the implication was, of him). I listened carefully. Noah was telling me something I hadn't even remotely considered: Being helpful could be received as a kind of criticism. While this didn't so much dig at the foundation of what I believe to be an important part of communal livig, I was beginning to understand something about Noah that had, up to this point, eluded me. Noah's sense of the world, including his family, was not so much that they were there to support him. Rather, he felt that support and help, though he could recognize them as such, always also came with a hidden agenda of criticism. My most important realization about this: Noah was right. Especially when he or his brothers are concerned. Helping them always also carries with it a didactic component, i.e., a kind of correction/criticism of how they are doing a certain thing.

Incident II

It was a typical school morning. We were not rushing, but moving with the usual morning pace. Noah had forgotten something in his room and needed to go back inside to get the item. He came back to the car with his shoes in his hands, muttering to himself about something. He threw the shoes in the car, sat down and slammed the door shut. When I asked him to put his seat-belt on before he put on his shoes he started to yell at me. When I insisted Noah uttered The Word: dumbass. Contrary to my general intention and calm and quiet demeanor in situations like this one, I did not take this one cooly. We drove off and I, in a louder voice than I would have preferred told him he couldn't use his computer and I-Pod that afternoon and that he had to apologize. Noah refused. I escalated. Okay, I said, I'm going to turn around and you can stay home. If you need to go to school figure out a way to do it. He was still resistant, but on the way back to our drive-way he gave a pro-forma apology. I turned around and we were, once again, headed to school and work. I had also calmed down somewhat by this time and told him:

When you get home today, I want you to sit down, and write an essay about this word, "dumbass," and why you used it. It should contain a definition of the word, an explanation of why you used it, whether you think your father is a dumbass and whether you will use it again. And, I said, you will write it in German.

I decided not to let my wife know about this because I wanted to see, if Noah, on his own, would remember to do this. When I came home, he was in bed--complaining of a head-ache--seemingly only remembering his assignment as soon as he saw me. He tried to argue with me again about writing it, but I insisted, and he finally sat down to do it. When he was finished, I asked him to sit down with me and read it to me.

The result was captivating. Aside from the stuff one might expect(explanation: my friends and I say this to each other all the time; apology: I didn't mean it; clarification; you're not really a dumbass) Noah also explained that calling me a dumbass was courageous. Again, like in the first incident, this brought me to a complete stop. I had considered a number of things. Courage was not one of them. And yet, as soon as he said it I understood: Aside from who I think I am and who I think he sees when I speak with him, he also seems to see in me someone against whom it is hard, if not scary at times, to speak up.

We talked about this for a while. I told Noah how much I appreciated him taking the time to write this down and think it through. However, I also told him that using epithets of any kind to demonstrate one's courage is generally a bad idea, as it tends to escalate a situation, sometimes beyond repair. Courage--and I was taking notes for myself as we were talking about this--takes two things: a) clarifying what it is I am scared about, and b) speaking up about it. We had arrived, in other words, at a topic so central to boys and men, it is almost stereoptypical:

Boys and men struggle with expressing anger in constructive ways. It is our responsibility to support them in this struggle. If we shut down as soon as they get angry and/or get angry back at them, we have missed an opportunity. We have to unlearn and relearn just how to react when boys or men seemingly disrespect each other. In some families both stories would have warranted a verdict of being grounded for a while. But, while that might have shut Noah up, I have to wonder, if it would have helped him get to the bottom of himself. My sincere hope is that Noah learned through these interactions with me not only to act properly, but more importantly, that he learned to know himself better.

I have to admit that the label itself--dumbass--didn't insult me at all. Rather the insult was to my parenting. Would Noah, I wondered without knowing it, end up not knowing how to properly address others? And would that, in the end, reflect on my parenting? I had to remind myself, as I often do, that he is his own person. He is not just a product of our combined parenting efforts and failures. All we can do is help him understand himself as best as possible. And, yes, in that sense parents are guinea-pigs for their children.

These two stories together remind me of a number of things: the need for me to stay alert about how I come across to others (especially my children), remembering my sons' vulnerability (to criticism, to not measuring up (including to their father's expecations)), their need to understand courage and see it demonstrated in ways that are respectful and mindful of others. They also remind me how important it is to stay connected to them, to continue a conversation (even when it seems headed for stubbornness and nothing but stubbornness). Last but not least, they remind me of how wonderful it can feel to have made it through an issue like this with your child and to have come to an initial level of a truly mutual understanding.