Couldn’t help it. It’s just the kid in me, and it’s been especially on display lately. This edition of Six Words has to do with wishes for the new year. With all the diets and life plans, we’re taking charge of the season of resolutions and turning new leaves.
But wishes still have a spot in the madness.
Every month, I compile a post called “6 Words.” Hemingway inspired it when he said any story can be told in a six-word sentence. I ask bloggers, friends, strangers, and a few strange blogger friends to respond to a prompt.
Ann at The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally blog wrote about brevity last week. It made me think of the monstrosity that was my Coffee-House Applause post a couple of weeks ago. When I hit save, it weighed in at more than 1,000 words.
That’s too much, y’all.
I pared it down to 800-plus and published. I should know better. My mentor, copy editor Harry Pickett, said to make every word fight to stay on the page. On my blog page, words did not fight. They made love and had babies. Dozens of them.
It’s central to this page you’re on now. If this were a physical page, it would have pizza sauce stains. Butter splotches. A damp ring from a Coke Zero can.
When you have kids, food is central to your existence. And the bigger they get, the more they want. And the more sophisticated their tastes get.
The measure of whether a child is still a baby lies in her palate. If she’s still all chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and anything drenched in ranch, she’s a baby.
It exhilarates, exhausts, disgusts, and lifts us like nothing else possibly could.
How would you sum up the journey in six words? Inspired by Hemingway’s assertion that a story can be told in six words, I asked that to parents around me – at soccer practice, in the blog world, even at the grocery store.
Here are 55 responses … from the anxious to the delirious to the simply joyous, all honest, all from the heart.
There’s this delicate balance we want to establish in our kids. No, I don’t mean popular in school, without living like a starlet.
Or being the star of the team, without regard to the concept of team.
Or brilliantly smart, without knowing when to take time from the books and be a kid.
Come to think of it, we want those things, too. But that’s not the purpose of this particular blog.
There are three other things we want to instill in our kids, at some point between the moment we cut the umbilical cord to when we take the training wheels off the bike for the first time to helping to pull their jeep out of a lake after college homecoming (what?).
I want my girls to feel …
Confident, but not entitled.
Self-assured, but not self-centered.
Happy in their skin, but not oblivious to the world around them.
It’s like trying to balance an egg on one end on Arbor Day (or is that Winter Solstice? I forget.
The generations before were just as perplexed, from the era of Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard to Kids Are Just Little People to Let’s Idolize Our Child With Bumper Stickers Declaring Their Academic Brilliance, Window Stickers With Their Jersey Number, and Cost Of Private Lessons In Anything They Choose To Do Recreationally.
What is right?
There’s more validity in action than theory, as parents know.
These are a handful I try to put into action. The less you speak, and the more you do, the better. I even asked the kids for their input on this. After their initial suggestion that I instill confidence by buying them i-Pod touches were squashed like an Eva Longoria romance, we got down to business.
1. Hype it up, with good stuff
Grace told the world (or at least her first-grade class) daddy yells at her during soccer. No, not spittle-spewing, vein-popping, profanity-laced discourse, but something really simple: “Go Grace, go!” My sideline sounds are mostly confined to prodding the kid bringing up the rear.
I won’t scream “reverse field!”, “get to space!” or “Pass! Shoot!”; but, kind of like the horse crop on the flank, just a little prodding to get the lead out.
This happens to work, not as effectively, to finish school projects before bedtime (at which time they become parent projects. Definitely thoughts for another blog).
2. Pay attention. Always. Completely.
If your nose is still in your Louis L’Amour novel while she’s telling you about the salamander she found in her school lunch, she’s gonna be bitter. That wacky play he’s dreamed up for the next soccer game that involved sliced lemon and a hedgehog? Take notice.
When they ask to help mush up the hamburger meat for dinner, tell them to wash their hands first, then let them get messy with you.
Honestly, when there’s these sweet familiar brown eyes fixed on you, how can you look anywhere else? I can’t confirm this scientifically, but I feel like if I listen to them, they’ll listen to me.
3. Get behind them – in a real way
Drive the distance to be at the game. Switch shifts. Praise the effort, not the result. Make sure she has cleats that don’t pinch her toes. A saxophone that the b flat doesn’t sound just like a C. Think about it: If you feel someone cares about what you do, doesn’t it make you want to do it better?
4. Shoot straight
Not even a kid wants blown smoke. If it wasn’t her best game in goal, no need to call her Swiss cheese and an embarrassment to her heritage, but don’t also tell her she’s the next Hope Solo. “Those were great opportunities you created to shoot today,” you could say, “and I think with a left-footed shot, you might have ended up with a hat trick.”
Now, you can both work on that left foot together.
Beats the heck out of telling her you thought you saw the other team’s goalie driving herself to their U-12 match.
5. Love, Love, Love.
I had a goalkeeper who let in the tying goal with 10 seconds left, then missed a penalty shot, and gave up with winning PK. Lots to swallow in the span of 3 minutes, 37 seconds when you’re 10 years old and away from home.
She got hugs as she cried on the field afterward; no words would have done it justice. I’m talking from not only her parents and coach, but parents of other players. We all couldn’t help but think of our own kid in that very spot.
It’s really what makes us want to look into their eyes and root for them and listen to their ideas and watch their mouths move and eyes light up and just get as close to them as you possibly can, because they’re like a really, really awesome little version of you before you knew anything about mortgages and failing transmissions and downsizing.
Couldn’t help it. It’s just the kid in me, and it’s been especially on display lately. This edition of Six Words has to do with wishes for the new year. With all the diets and life plans, we’re taking charge of the season of resolutions and turning new leaves.
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Just a dad ... 