Dads and children: “Your comments are valuable, but I’m gonna ignore your advice.”

“I understand what you’re saying, and your comments are valuable, but I’m gonna ignore your advice.”

- Mr. Fox, from Fantastic Mr. Fox*

5-year old boy with sunglasses with a smug smile

How do you know who or what your children will become? 

Short answer: I don’t.

Duh.

But how can I, along with his mom and the rest of his ever-growing social ecosystem, be part of his world in the best way possible, knowing that the more we know, the more we must acknowledge all we don’t know?

Duh.

I look at this five-year old gentleman, with his confident smile and self-aware posturing with borrowed shades, and I see this quantum situation, an entanglement of past present future that feels like it’s all happening simultaneously, and there’s so much I know about what he was and who he is now, and so much I don’t know about what will be.

But I still wonder and I still hope.

And we still work to be good gardeners, to provide ingredients that life needs to thrive. We can do that. What will he continue to grow into; what will any of our children grow to become? I don’t know.

I don’t know exactly where his path will lead.
I know it will be an interesting one.
I know that one of the hardest things for me, over the years, will continue to be trying to give him the space and autonomy to make his own mistakes and find his own balance and rhythm,, while balancing that with stepping into the obligation I have as his parent to offer accountability, boundaries, and yes, some of the wisdom and knowledge and skills I’ve accumulated.

If you do your job well as a parent or teacher or mentor, then you will be surpassed. There is no other way around it: if you choose to give your best, to share your best, to help someone else grow and learn and develop, then they will take the good parts, in their own way, and go beyond you. They will fly further and jump higher and understand more and…

…that’s the way it goes. It’s a good thing. But a hard thing already. One of the big reasons I write is for my own understanding, and to lock down pieces of time with the mindset, for better or for worse, provides some markers in the rear view mirror.

I know there’s a lot of things I will not do very well with raising children. I will try to own up to my mistakes and challenge myself to grow alongside.

I will try to be kind and patient.
I will try to be understanding and open-minded.
I will try to be encouraging and challenging, accepting and involved, stepping back and stepping forward, competing and cooperating.
I will try to be wise.

But mostly, I hope to take the expression on our boy’s face, that expression so full of life and confidence and joy and hope and delight at his own autonomy, and I hope to help keep that alive; that sense of possibility and hope and love of life. I hope be a part of his journey, of his paths throughout life, forever and ever. Maybe from a distance sometimes, but always connected.

Always connected. That is my hope.

——-

(a fantastic book by the inimitable Roald Dahl, interpreted into a fantastic film by the oft- and pale-imitated Wes Anderson).

((seriously, the film is one of the best animated movies of the last quarter century. see it.))