On Raising Children - Part II - The Hard Part

Being a parent is much like trying to stay afloat in a boiling cauldron. Keeping your head above water won’t necessarily save you. Children, it seems, have a mind of their own. They often refuse to listen to wise counsel. They can insist on making independent decisions that are ill-informed and can totally depart from what they’ve been taught. This, they feel, is what it means to be grown up. This is what it is like to be free from the yoke of parental control. This is the thanks their well-intentioned parents get for twenty years of love, support and involvement. Well, we all want our kids to become independent, except for a few freaky co-dependent sorts who would rather strangle their kids with apron strings, yet a parent’s greatest fear is to have their kids depart from the path they’ve tried to set them on. Having to sit back and watch your kids unnecessarily make big mistakes with serious consequences creates gray hair, bags under the eyes, stomach ulcers, and drives people to early graves. This “Children of the Corn” mentality carries its own curse. Children who despise the rule of their parents and have no use for their advice eventually grow up and have kids of their own who give them the same thing--in spades. What goes around, comes around. The chickens always come home to roost. We reap what we sow, and in this case, sowing the wind, you reap the whirlwind.

Now from the child’s perspective: Dealing with parents can, at the least, be frustrating. At worst, you feel betrayed, abandoned, detached, and adrift. Obviously, the two parties involved--parent and child--are at odds with each other. They are differently motivated and work toward different ends. Parents ideally want to help their kids avoid making stupid mistakes and to help them avoid embarrassing themselves and their families with preventable indiscretions. They want their kids to embark on life’s journey well-equipped for every contingency. Kids want to have fun and make their own decisions. The conflict often arises because children, experience-poor and unprepared to make good decisions on a wealth of matters, insist on doing so anyway. They fancy themselves more mature than they are. Parents can be guilty of fancying their children as less mature than they are. Children think their parents have little to offer someone young and growing into adulthood. Parents think their children, rather than being free to roam the globe, should be locked up in the basement. This is, of course, always for their own good.

Study all of these frustrations and many more and you will come up with several common elements. Here are a few:

1. Children discount the experience and knowledge of their parents. - In the Bible, such knowledge is called wisdom, and wisdom is defined as “knowledge of what is true or right coupled with just judgment as to action.” In other words, knowing the best course of action and having the sense and initiative to make that choice. Experience is still the best teacher, and parents have been in that classroom a whole lot longer than you, kiddo. In many regards, children have yet to enter certain classrooms at all. Children: listen carefully to what your parents are saying. The chances are pretty good that their experience may trump your youthful exuberance.


2. Parents not listening to children or not explaining their decisions to them. - Even if a child is wrong in their motivations, the parent has the obligation to listen if for no other reason than be equipped to explain why one path is right and the other wrong or why one choice is better than another. “Because I said so” just fuels a contest of the wills. Explaining your decision to your child doesn’t mean they will readily accept your judgment either. However received, a parent should provide their counsel and present their wisdom in a non-threatening way, explaining as best they can the reasoning that goes into their decision.


3. Parents and their children position themselves as adversaries, not compatriots, in the growing-up minefield. - Working as a team with a common goal is essential. This means that both parents and children must be prepared for some give-and-take in the process. Kids: remember this--your parents are not the enemy. Parents: remember this--your kids aren’t the demonic little killjoy they may seem to be at times. Love and mutual respect softens conflict.


4. Unrealistic expectations of equality. - Children should be prepared to give up on having everything they way they want it. At this stage of a family’s development, egalitarianism will not work. There has to be a hierarchy of leadership, a place for the buck to stop, and someone who can have the last word. Unfortunately for kids, this role is best occupied by parents. When common ground and agreement cannot be established, the final decision should fall to the parents. A child’s deference to a parent’s judgment will prove to be a wise choice. Time almost always shows that the parents’ decisions for the children are better than the children’s decisions for themselves.


5. You cannot be parent and friend to your children at the same time. - The role of parent and friend are very often in opposition to one another. Give up on the notion of being a friend to your children until they are adults. Children: don’t expect your parents to treat you like your friends do. Don’t expect them to blindly embrace every idea you have. Don’t expect them to support every decision you make. Their job is to protect you from your own stupidity. Let them do this. You’ll appreciate it later. Guaranteed.

The challenges of parenting have changed over time. The remedies and tools parents use in their work have changed, too; some would say they have “evolved”. In the Mosaic Law, rebellion in children was a capital crime. Deuteronomy 21 says:

18 If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, 19 his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. 20 They shall say to the elders, "This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a profligate and a drunkard." 21 Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.

Things have softened up just a bit since then. Yet rather than view this as overly harsh and barbaric, try and see the value in having such a strict view of childhood rebellion. While I don’t advocate the reinstatement of laws requiring the stoning of the rebellious child,  I believe this law did bring benefits into the early Israeli society. Maintaining the order between parents and children, even if by rule of law, is better than anarchy. It is how militaries have kept order for thousands of years. It is what has kept organizations functioning properly for millenia. Reinforced order is what it is. Since the Mosaic law of that time was instituted and written by God Himself, we must also conclude that reinforced order within the family unit is not only beneficial, but is mandated. Today, we cannot expect to have that kind of attitude supported by government, but we still can as a family unit, short of the stoning part that is. When children willingly defer to a parent’s judgment, they are doing their part to create stability. They are also performing an act of self-preservation. Ephesians 6:1-3 (quoting Deuteronomy 5:16) tells children that the fruit of honoring their parents is that “it may go well with you and you may have long life on the earth.” It is therefore safe to assume that the inverse of these would be the fruit of rebellion: that it will not go well for you and you will not have long life on the earth.

Thus far, I’ve tried, albeit rather poorly, to point out that: a) It is easy to have children; and b) It is hard to raise children well. In the next episode, I will cover exactly what you should teach them.

On Raising Children - Part I - The Easy Part

Having recently written my very popular (kidding) multi-part informative series on marriage, I’ve decided to embark on the next logical step: children. I’m thinking that many who read this aren’t even to the marriage part yet, but I’m hoping that you will experience an epiphany of common sense when reading this new series, the scales will fall from your eyes, and you will find yourself reformed in your thinking on the subject. So go ahead: feast on the wisdom I now set before you.

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Simple observation of history and our surroundings has shown us that any numbskull can create offspring. It’s an easy thing to do. Dogs do it, and many adults and not-yet adults do it with the same mindset as dogs. Blindly led by their hormones and urges, they unwittingly create children. Children are too often born to parents who, not long before, were children themselves. Adulthood has been forced on them by responsibility which many will shirk and others will lazily acknowledge. Their offspring will be poorly raised by parents who were themselves poorly raised, not embracing responsibility, but putting it off as if it were a household chore that could wait until next week. A cycle is then perpetuated, with poorly prepared parents, unwilling to improve their child-rearing skills, raising poorly taught children who soon enough become another generation of ill-prepared, unteachable parents.

Thankfully, my observation is not as bleak as it sounds. There is always a chance for parents to break the cycle. There is always the chance for children of poor parents to overcome the fruits of their parents’ non-labors. So with the opportunity to overcome--the chance to step away from circumstances we are born into--what’s an excuse worth? Not much. Motivation and a desire to change come at a much higher price than apathy and indifference, and there are few willing to pony up the difference.

The most unfortunate scenario though is the parents, well-taught and well-raised, that don’t pass what they were taught on to their children. One excuse is laziness. Raising children properly is hard work. People who blow off this work continue to puzzle me. Perhaps they are thinking that their children, left to their own devices, will turn out OK. Perhaps they are thinking that their parents methods were backward and in need of improvement which they, the new generation of enlightened parents, will be better able to provide. The "new" direction is usually more laissez-faire, and is actually a downgrade. It provides nothing for making the children better people than they would have received had they been raised by wolves. Fools always see their generation as the best and brightest, as the most knowledgeable, and the best qualified to undo the ruination of previous generations. What a stupid, short-sighted notion! God save us from such as these.

Since trying to reason with a fool is like trying to teach a pig table manners, the most I’ll idealistically hope for is that some misguided soul will mistakenly stumble in here and unexpectedly glean some value from these lessons. I’ll also be content if those who agree with me are able to have their ideals shored up by a like-minded friend. The greatest possible benefit though will be for a young person, perhaps on the cusp of marriage and/or parenthood, to rethink and refocus their own notions of parenthood, both what they’ve received and what they will eventually administer to their own kids. There is one thing that separates us from those dogs mentioned earlier: we have the capacity to better ourselves. Whether we exercise our gift as a higher being to do so is another question.

An American Tragedy

As I've alluded to a nauseating number of times, my job as a funeral director, while full of boredom, is laced with a modicum of interesting situations. Interesting to me, that is. It would probably be 100% boredom to most of you.

The other day took me to Amarillo for a graveside service. Llano Cemetery is one I've been to before, but that was about 10 years ago, at the beginning of my career, and it was actually to the mausoleum. This time took me to the dirt, where the normal, everyday folks lie in peaceful repose.

Typically, I set up at least an hour before service time. The trip to Amarillo from Fort Worth took a little less time than I had figured, so I was set up early and was killing time, enjoying a very unusual summer day that felt more like spring. One of the cemetery workers was unusually chatty, telling me about having lived in the Fort Worth area for some years. I got a run-down on his employment history and every community he had lived in. I had nothing better to do, so I continued to politely listen to his stories. That, plus I was somewhat a captive audience for him. Eventually, he figured he had better get back to work, yet before he left he mentioned a grave I might like to see. He said it was the grave of a fellow named Husband who had been on one of the space shuttles that had crashed. He pointed in its direction and then went back to his work.

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On January 16, 2003, the Space Shuttle Columbia took off from the Kennedy Space Center. This was the 27th mission this craft had flown, and it was manned with a crew of seven. The commander of the flight was Rick D. Husband, an Air Force colonel and a veteran of only one other shuttle mission, having piloted STS-96 on the first shuttle mission to dock with the International Space Station in 1996.

On launch, a three-foot piece of foam insulation fell off of an external fuel tank and damaged the shuttle's wing. It is theorized that the foam created a hole in a reinforced carbon panel on the wing, possibly as small as 6 to 10 inches in diameter. NASA management felt that the damage hadn't created an unsafe condition and refused to take any measures to examine the damage in depth, including refusing to have an astronaut examine the wing and refusing to have DOD satellites photograph the damage.

On February 1, 2003, the shuttle was scheduled to land at the Kennedy Space Center at 9:16am EST. All preparations had been made for a normal re-entry with no concern given to the wing damage. At 8:53.26, Columbia crossed the California coastline west of Sacramento. It was traveling at Mach 23 at an altitude of 231,600 feet. At this time, the temperature of the wing's leading edge would be around 2,800 °F. At 8:58:20, the shuttle crossed from New Mexico into Texas. At 8:59:15, Maintenance, Mechanical, and Crew Systems (MMACS) informed the crew that pressure readings for the left landing gear had been lost. Flight Commander Husband responded, "Roger, uh, bu...", his transmission being cut off mid-sentence. That was the last communication to be received from the Columbia.

At 2:04pm EST, President Bush addressed the nation. He said what many already knew: "The Columbia is lost; there are no survivors."

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Debris was scattered over a vast area, from southeast of Dallas throughout East Texas and into western Louisiana, some even being found in southwest Arkansas. This was my home turf, my old stomping grounds. One of the largest amounts of debris fell around Nacogdoches, where I went to college and lived for 5 years. If the sorrow of having this happen there weren't bad enough, the scavengers snatching up debris and trying to sell it on eBay proved a more intense embarrassment. Ugliness exists everywhere, but you don't want the national spotlight shining on your hometown version of it.

It was reported that remains of all seven of the astronauts was recovered. Morbid speculation leads us to assume that it was most likely not all or most of any of the seven that was recovered.

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Rick Husband's funeral was in Clear Lake, Texas on February 5, 2003. He was then buried in Llano Cemetery in Amarillo.

Husband was known for his Christian faith. In his last-request form, which astronauts fill out before each flight, it is reported that he inserted a note to his pastor. The note states: "Tell them about Jesus. He's real to me."

 

Summertime in Texas

Here it is, the official first day of summer. Yet here in Texas, we've been experiencing summer for some two months already.

Spring here is short. Not in the official sense; in the official sense, it's still three months long, but in the practical sense, spring lasts but a month or so and then the heat sweeps in and kills everything that was verdant and lush. That's Texas. That's the price we pay for not having excruciatingly hard winters, lots of snow and ice and for not needing tire chains. Our cars don't rust away from the salted roads in winter, but they must have a working AC.

I recall meeting a fellow at a church we were once members of. He and his wife were from Wyoming--the mountainous part--and had moved to the area for seminary. We worked together on a building project at church for a few weeks, using his truck at one point to haul sheetrock. It had no AC. He bemoaned the fact, stating that in Wyoming, AC was pretty much optional. He had bought this truck new, opting to forgo the cost of climate control. Being in Texas for a summer made him regret that frugal decision.

I've lived in two different climate zones in Texas. I grew up in East Texas, which is a close to a tropical zone as this state gets. The humidity is high, there is usually abundant rainfall, and anything will grow there. Drop a penny on the ground, and in a week's time, pick up a nickle. I've also lived, for the past 24 years, in North Texas. While not arid, the climate here is considerably less humid. Here it is more of a dry heat. Somewhere between June and July, my yard turns into a nice shade of brown, maybe a rich tan. Other than the dustiness, I don't mind not mowing. The heat makes outside projects that endure over several hours unbearable. I've found that when I spend three or four hours outside in the heat of the day, it probably takes me twice as long to recuperate once I've retired. I've never been a big sweater, but Texas heat will draw perspiration out of anyone or anything.

I especially loathe my job in this heat. Imagine standing at a graveside, the temperature hovering at or around 100°F. You are wearing a wool blend suit, a long-sleeved dress shirt, an undershirt and a tie. Did I mention the suit is black? Ten seconds in that environment, and you feel the hot liquid your body is expelling running down your back. Here's some inside information: the coolest place to be in that situation is under a tree, not under the tent. I used to tell my biology students this. I would ask them what they thought happened to all that moisture that a tree sucks out of the ground. It evaporates through the leaves of the tree, and this evaporation cools the temperature around, but especially under that tree where the shade is. Being under that tree, you experience creation's air conditioning.

Fall will be here soon, yet not soon enough. It's usually November before we start seeing traditional fall-like weather. I love the bleakness and gray of fall. The clouds cover the sky, hanging there as if their role is to block all the joy out of people's lives. There's usually not a lot of fall color here, unless you consider brown one of those colors. Fall and spring are my favorite seasons. They are my most productive times. I can accomplish more outside when the heat is not sucking life out of me and when the cold isn't rendering my extremities into numb, lifeless stumps.

We once visited some friends that lived in Burlington, Ontario, which is part of the Greater Toronto area. They had a lovely, huge home in a nice suburban neighborhood. What I remember the most about their house, other than the huge basement, was that they had two--that is, two--double-pane sliding doors on the back of their house, one mounted inside the house, one outside. I don't want to live anywhere where it gets so cold that this kind of construction is necessary.

Living with humidity or heat is something you get used to. Living in East Texas humidity for twenty years, I didn't know there was anything different. Then I move to North Texas and become acclimated here. Now, when I return home for a visit in the summer, the humidity makes the air so thick you feel you are breathing in pudding instead of air.

So I live in Texas without regrets. I love this state and want to be nowhere else. Listening to others bemoan the heat, I just shake my head. Sure, there may be other places where the climate is perfect, never too hot, never too cold. But when the climate is perfect, the imperfections will lie elsewhere.

 

Practice Makes Perfect

I possess but a few hobbies, most of which I've alluded to in this weblog. Two of these--photography and the guitar--are basically talent driven. Pretty much everyone wants some type of talent: something we are especially good at, something that makes us shine. I'm no different. I want to be a talented photographer and musician.

Talent, in order to blossom, needs to be properly nourished. Most of us wish it was naturally instilled and all we had to do was turn on the faucet and out came all sorts of nice, creative things. Well, the truth of the matter is it almost never works that way. Such giftedness is as rare as hen's teeth. Virtually everyone who is good at something became good by one simple method: practice.

Laziness is my primary obstacle. I want the skill, but not enough to travel the road between mediocrity and excellence. It seems I enjoy sitting right where I am, watching the traffic speed by. There are always other obstacles, too. Life is never so empty that we have large pockets of time free so that we can fill them with practice. To practice, we take away from something else. Work and the responsibilities of family life take up pretty much everything that sleep doesn't claim, so it would typically be family responsibilities that would suffer. This is also a very convenient excuse that I don't mind using to explain my mediocrity. Family first.

So it's never a very big surprise when I apply myself to one of these hobbies and notice that my skill level remains somewhere between fair and middling. There has always been a market for my skill set in certain areas, the "jack of all trades". The complete verse from which this is lifted says: "Jack of all trades, master of none, though ofttimes better than master of one." There is therefore supposed benefit in being skilled in several things instead of being exceptional in any one of them. Most times, I would agree. My passable skills at car and home repair have saved me a boatload of money, which for a poor fellow such as myself is no small benefit. Yet I still would like to excel at either photography or music (or both, if I had my way). Excelling at music would be more fun, but excelling at photography would be more practical. Such is my dilemma, and I spend many long, long hours not worrying about it.

There will be a day in the future when all the kids have moved away, the nest is empty, and I finally have that large pocket of time. I wonder whether I will even care about photography or music then.

On Knowing Talent When You Hear (and See) It

It has never been a secret that my musical tastes are narrow in scope. My choices tend toward guitar-driven, classic style rock, the next closest choice being probably guitar-driven alternative style rock. However, there are times when I hear a song from across the tracks that catches my ear. There is usually something about it--a undefinable quality--that stands out. I'm a sucker for a good hook, so oftentimes it's more definably a hook that carries the song to the fore. If I had to guess at what constitutes that "undefinable quality", I'd say it is a creative melody. Creativity as I see it is a gift. There have been a lot of people who have written symphonies, but there have been only a handful of Beethovens, Mozarts or Handels. Also, in spite of whatever opinion some may have, Lennon and McCartney had the gift, both as a team and as individuals. I believe Bono and his homies have the gift, though it has been sporadically applied over the years. And in the realm of country music, I'm a fan of Clint Black, who I also see as a gifted writer/performer. The gift becomes evident over time when a person or group of persons reveal a body of work showing a consistent level of talent and skill. This gift, in whatever genre, can't be bought or learned. It is bestowed by a benevolent Creator.

In my college years, namely around my junior year, I had a copy of "Here at Last: The Bee Gees Live". This was an album they released on the cusp of their late '70s rise to dominance. It was a collection of some really good music, well-crafted and showing signs that the Bee Gees were absolutely gifted songwriters and performers. My roommate at the time was John. John and I had been friends for some time already. We graduated together from high school. We, eventually, were in each others weddings. John is one of a few acquaintances from high school and college whose friendship I still covet. Though we now live some 250 miles apart, I would do anything for John at the drop of a hat. John is also the kind of guy that would do the same for me, but I digress. During our days as roommates at Stephen F. Austin (Garner Apartments, Room #607), John and I would listen to this Bee Gees album often, while washing dishes, eating dinner or whatever. We both agree: those were good times. That was good music.

It's a shame that the Bee Gees are only remembered for their contribution to the disco music craze, linked inexorably to that horrible movie, "Saturday Night Fever". Their contribution to popular music scene in a career of fifty decades is beyond questioning. Going through their catalog reveals song after song after song, all great, all masterfully crafted. Many cringe at Barry Gibb's ever-present falsetto. Well, he has a great normal singing voice, too, but that falsetto fit into the Bee Gee's mix just right. When success follows a group such as the Brothers Gibb for so long, it is never a fickle thing, resting solely on trends or shallow opinions. It rests squarely on the shoulders of remarkable talent and the gift.

Put the DVD, "The Bee Gees: One Night Only" in your Netflix lineup. It is an absolutely great concert. It was recorded in Las Vegas in 1997, a little over 5 years before Maurice Gibb's untimely death on January 12, 2003. The death in 1988 of Andy Gibb, their younger brother who was a successful solo artist in his own right, was quite a blow to the Brothers Gibb, yet Maurice's death marked the end for the group. I'm OK with this. All good things must end, and ending this way is the most fitting tribute that Barry and Robin could offer to their brother's memory. This concert also ends up being more than a collection of hits, performed by three brothers whose musical chops rarely weakened over their lengthy careers. It is a window into a family that loved music, loved performing, and loved performing with each other. Here it is, 13 years after this great Vegas concert, and I still enjoy this music. I hope that I always will. It will show that I still know quality when I hear it.

In Defense of British Petroleum

I find it peculiarly interesting how chic it is to bash British Petroleum over this Gulf oil leak. The venom frenzy has led me to wonder if anyone out there is interested in taking the side of BP. When I say "anyone", I mean "anyone who doesn't stand to gain from a successful British Petroleum." I have decided to try and see some things from their point of view and to offer a few thoughts from my point of view.

1. Gulf oil exploration, at any depth, serves the interests of all Americans. - Unless, of course, you don't mind being held hostage by a group of very rich men that wear towels on their heads, or a lunatic or two from South America. The more oil that is harvested from our home turf, the less we need from under the sands of the Middle east or from the jungles of South America. Even if you drive a Prius or a scooter, you use gasoline and create the demand for crude oil.


2. Oil exploration, especially offshore, is frought with dangers and difficulties. - Imagine being out in the ocean on a relatively small platform, working around equipment that would be dangerous even on dry ground. Imagine the difficulties in sending a drilling stem down into the depths while the waves churn around this platform. Given all of these things, I think it quite remarkable that things like this spill in the Gulf haven't happened more often.


3. It's not easy to fix things a mile under the ocean. - The simplest tasks on land are made very difficult or near impossible one mile under the ocean. Men can't go there. The weight of all that seawater creates operating pressures that humans cannot endure. Also, the temperature at that depth is around 30°F. Troubleshooting and repairing equipment is not the piece of cake we might assume it to be. I, for one, am amazed at what they've been able to do thus far with the ROVs.


4. Handling this incorrectly could create a problem far worse than the present one.  - This blowout preventer, even in its non-functioning state, is still throttling down the flow of oil. Do something stupid (i.e., explosives), and you will both increase the flow and most likely create a situation that is unfixable.


5. Environmentalists are, in part, responsible for this problem, too. - Their demands that offshore drilling sites move further and further away into the depths and onto the ragged edge of drilling technology make them partially responsible for this accident. Partially, I said.


6. The government, in large part, is responsible for the problem. - A lot of people are saying that the government's failure in overseeing the oil exploration industry in general is to blame. I say the government, which includes every president, senator and congressman--Democrat and Republican--that has served for the past several decades, is responsible for not encouraging, by any means, America to move toward alternative, renewable fuel sources. Competition with Big Oil has been stifled, buried under piles of special-interest cash. Who knows what great ideas have disappeared under this pile of money.


7. The death of BP will not be a good thing for Americans. - It is very possible that the repairs, cleanup and settlements will do BP in. I don't know exactly how many Americans are employed by BP, but the number is substantial enough that the failure will shock the American economy. It would be a cruel thing to take delight in seeing so many suffer just to see BP get its comeuppance.


8. This is--plain and simple--an accident. - Nothing that humans have ever organized or participated in has been free of error, mistakes or accidents. And in the thousands of offshore rigs that have been employed over the last few decades, this is the first incident of this type. That seems to be a pretty good record.


9. Sometimes, technology has a hard time keeping up with progress. - Learning to drill in deep water does not come with a prerequisite knowledge of how to deal with every contingency, every possibility. Even anticipating what might happen doesn't mean you'll get the whole picture and be prepared to deal with it. BP is developing, at a phenomenal rate, new hardware and new technologies to deal with this spill. The best minds across the industry have been at work on this from the beginning.

My defense of BP is solely motivated by my desire that they be treated fairly in all this. I will not join the dogpile. What I'm hoping to see is that the threats, name-calling and blame-casting will cease and that everyone will pitch in to get this fixed and cleaned up. A few people will continue to posture and position themselves against BP, hoping the public will not see through the veneer that covers their disinterested, self-serving heart. Threats to "keep a boot on the neck of BP" come from such people. I prefer to look at it this way: if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.