I Let My Kids Fight
(T
hese are being published one at a time. Stay tuned tomorrow for #4)
#5 Stop arguing!
Sike. I say this every other hour (And let me continue to be real: Pretty much every numbered item here is about what I REACH towards, not necessarily precisely what I’m actually doing… it’s my blog and I’ll lie if I want to).
If you are lucky enough to have more than one kid living in the same physical space, then they’re
going
to be mean to each other.
I’m beginning to wonder: what’s so wrong with that?
I was sitting in an Adirondack chair on my front lawn one late afternoon overseeing my three boys engaged in a tussle of rage (Note: this was
not
voluntary rough-housing – I’m pretty sure at least one was captured and crying) when a gentleman walking his dog approached. When his mouth opened (the man, not the dog), I was sure the words that came out would be some variation of, “Aren’t you going to
do
something about that?”
I wanted to hide.
Instead, he locked eyes with mine and offered, “I raised a couple of these myself. I always thought they shouldn’t fight. But they will. Trust me, they just will.”
I still think that day an angel with a silver mustache and a wiener dog came down from heaven
just
to tell me this. (And to verify this, I will say that I never saw that dude, nor his dog, in the neighborhood again. Clearly: Angel).
If you’re anything like me, your tackling of your kids’ sibling rage towards one another vacillates between CUT THAT STUFF OUT YOU NEED EACH OTHER IN LIFE WHERE IS THE LOVE? And BE MEAN TO THE DEATH IT’S ALL PART OF GROWING UP YOU’LL FIGURE IT OUT. (Frankly, I’m also wildly forgiving of my inconsistent emotional states that lead to snaps of polarity on this subject, cuz, well, not everyone can be Gandhi).
In the end, I try to remember that I’m a somewhat mature adult and I’m mean toward my roommate all the time. I pick fights and argue and lose my cool with him. So, why shouldn’t I assume it to happen with kids whose brains and mediation skills are still dramatically underdeveloped? Sure, I don’t want them bickering, nor causing one another physical pain. But my Angel said it’s going to happen. So, I may as well accept that it will.
When I’m at my wit’s end, I also try to remember that somewhere beneath the pummeling there are lessons happening. Tougher skin. Resiliency. A sharper edge in a less-soft-than-we’d-like-it world. I mean, at least if nothing else, they will have insults and punches at the ready whenever a real-life brawl in their future stirs up.
As for
my
lesson, I think it’s more simple than I sometimes feel I need to make it: Next time I’m in my Adirondack chair, I will a) move the physical and psychological abuse my kids are issuing one another to the
back
yard (because not all neighbors are angels, some call Children’s Services) and b) put in my ear buds (because everyone knows Gandhi-state can be more quickly realized when classical music replaces the sound of war).
