siblings and me, my life as an uncle, my life with dogs and what I’ve observed in other families. Experts may disagree with me, and that’s fine.
What’s the point of teaching a new human being bad speech habits that will have to be unlearned later? “Me go bye-bye” may be acceptable Pidgin English, but won’t help a kid get into Yale.
Lesson: Don’t talk baby talk.
When I was a kid I asked my father why people didn’t fall down when riding a bicycle without training wheels. Pop told me that the riders were going so fast that they just didn’t have enough time to fall down. I thought about that for a few seconds and when I remembered that slow cyclists didn’t fall down I knew that Pop was conning me.
Lesson: Have respect for your kids’ intelligence. You can give a simplified explanation of a complex concept, but don’t bullshit.
When he was about two years old, my mother bought my brother Marshall a pair of red shoes that he hated. He really wanted blue shoes, but they were unavailable in his size.
One day, instead of waiting for Mom in front of our house as instructed, Marshall went for an unsupervised walk down the block and he threw the shoes and his socks into a sewer and then he walked home barefoot and defiant.
I don’t know what was wrong with the socks. Maybe Marshall just liked being barefoot. Or defiant. Mom replaced the red shoes and Marshall was not allowed to wear them unsupervised.
Marshall was actually continuing a pattern that I had established earlier. When I was young I disposed of a dirty piece of paper by flushing it down the toilet.
Unfortunately the piece of paper, while dirty, was a perfectly functional $10 bill.
Lesson: Supervise your kids.
Some people inherit royal crowns. Some inherit billions. Others inherit Tay-Sachs disease, muscular dystrophy or fructose intolerance.
Lesson: You can’t choose your parents—but if you plan to reproduce, consider what you may pass along.
Years ago my brother did something that really upset our mother. She got so enraged that she kicked him in the ass—and broke three toes.
Lesson: When an irresistible force meets an immoveable object, something’s got to give.
When I went home from college to visit my parents, I frequently got really bad migraine headaches.
When I went home from college to visit my parents, we frequently ate Chinese food. It wasn’t available in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where I went to school.
Around this time, a theory started circulating that migraines were triggered by the monosodium glutamate that was used as a flavor enhancer in many Chinese dishes.
As an experiment, I decided to avoid Chinese food the next time I went home.
I still got a migraine.
Lesson: Parents can make kids sick.
My mother often bragged about the diverse foods she ate and she apparently thrived on weird stuff like kale, okra and Brussels sprouts.
Mom had a perverse ritual to demonstrate that she was the supreme ruler of the land and I was a mere serf with minimal rights, but with better living conditions than provided at Auschwitz. Once each year she’d force me to eat food that I hated: disgusting LeSeur peas and shepherd’s pie. I doubt that Dr. Spock would approve, but I couldn’t convince Mom to ask him.
If I rebelled about finishing a meal that I hated, or even if I was genuinely full of food, my mother would say, “You’ll eat it and you’ll like it and there are thousands of children starving in Europe!” Under the same rebellious conditions my usually compassionate and coddling grandmother would coldly remind me of the “starving Armenians.”
Even as a very young child I detected a large gap in the dining table logic of these two women.
Somehow I never quite understood how my eating every last disgusting lima bean or LeSeur green pea that was glaring at me from my plate would help fill the gaunt bellies of unfortunate refugees in Novi Pazar, Vagharshapat, Hrazdan or Yeghegnadzor.
I often hid the despised green things under a plate or a napkin or under the table, or even stuffed them in my pocket or handkerchief for later secret disposal.
Lesson: Don’t force your kids to eat what they hate.
I had expensive hobbies when I was young. I financed my SCUBA diving equipment by diving for lost golf balls in the ponds at country clubs. I paid for my cameras by developing film for neighbors. I had an allowance but started earning additional money when I was ten and knew that my allowance would stop when I became old enough to have a job on my 16th birthday.
Lesson: Kids have to learn to work and save.
I spent my first six years in the Bronx. From the time I was three I was allowed to walk alone to a nearby grocery store to shop for my mother. I never had trouble—but that’s probably dangerous now.
We moved to New Haven when I was in first grade. When I walked to school on the first day I missed a critical left turn and had to be rescued by a cop who drove me to school. I should have been given better instructions by my mother. Maybe she should have let me walk but followed me in her car a few hundred feet behind.
My only ‘child’ is Hunter, a Golden Retriever. I regard him as a child, friend and housemate—but never a mere pet and certainly not a possession.
He likes to run around and explore a certain state park. We go in pretty deep where he is in no danger from cars. He could run far from me but he doesn’t. Even when he’s loping through the meadows or sniffing exotic plants he looks for me every minute or so and likes knowing I am nearby.
Our back yard has a gate. Hunter has escaped a few times but never goes more than a few hundred feet away because he knows how good he has it here. We joke that he knows not to die because heaven can’t possibly be as good as life on earth.
When I was 12 years old I was given my own room on the lower level of the house. It was kind of a junior “bachelor pad” with my own door to the outside, a nearby freezer for ice cream and a phone. I rigged up a button and buzzer so I could be summoned upstairs for meals. I loved my independence but I became very alienated from my parents. In retrospect, they made a very bad decision.
Lesson: Independence is important for children, but there are limits.
When I was about ten I was carving a piece of wood and stupidly pulled the knife toward me instead of pushing it away from me. The knife slipped and I stabbed myself in the head. If I look closely I can still find the scar.
Lesson: Teach kids how to safely use tools, knives and the stove—and how to change a flat tire and jump-start a car with a dead battery.
Encourage
