Throwing out the Labels

Anybody who has grown up in the West Indies knows we're champions at labelling. For instance, everybody has a nickname: the lanky man swaggering down the sidewalk may turn his head if someone shouts out, "Ay, Sprat!"; the kid with the big ears will, at some point, have to come up with a witty retort to the name "Trophy Head", just as women with generous posteriors will roll their eyes at being called everything from "Lobster" (all the meat in the tail) to "Clock" (they're "tick, tick tick"). I even met one guy who turned his label, "Miserable", into a tattoo. You can't make this stuff up.

Nicknames are one thing. Labels? Something else entirely - and I'm really not a fan. Here's why:

1. Labels are simplistic. Even if the label is flattering on the surface - take "Beauty Queen", for example, there's no way the full measure of a beautiful woman is skin deep. (Of course, the label can also be intended to offend, suggesting perhaps, that the person is superficial or primarily concerened about image).


2. Labels infer that someone outside of yourself gets to determine your capabilities or limits. Now, while this isn't necessarily so (the "Beauty Queen" may have every confidence in her brain power as well as her beauty), labels, if used often enough, can begin to change the perception of the person. And if that person is a little person, not quite understanding the ways of the world and their place in it just yet, labels can be more dangerous than ever.

Back when my career was a high priority, I once visited a primary school to do some casting for a film production. The school was very professional; everything was arranged perfectly, parents were informed I was coming to take photos. As I waited for the kids to arrive, I noticed a child who had obviously been put of of class, sitting on the floor looking positively defeated. When a teacher approached her to ask what she did now, the child glowered, said nothing, looked away. And I remember thinking to myself, "Self, I have no idea what this kid did to warrant her being expelled from her class, but I do know that's not the way to deal with it."

The teacher that labelled her a troublemaker with that one little word, "now", had no way of knowing if the child was right or wrong, whether she had ben treated unfairly or not, yet she was willing to draw a conclusion simply based on the fact that an authority figure saw it fit to banish her from the class. This is typical in an authoritatian setup, which of course is what the mainstream education system is, in the West Indies and in many other countries. It was established over two centuries ago to meet the labour needs of the Industrial Revolution and unfortunately, it hasn't really evolved to meet the needs of new eras, least of all the one we live in now - or the one our children will inhabit in the future. But I digress.

One common example of labelling, especially with regard to children, is the use of the word "bad", or "naughty". Pretty innocuous, right? Consider this: a friend of mine happened to witness a mother trying to get her two-year-old to pose for a passport photo. Except the kid was being made to stand on a rickety chair, by himself, while the expressionless photographer twiddled her thumbs and the mother ranted and raved at the child to "behave".

"Excuse me," said my friend, addressing the mother, "but your child is afraid. Don't you think you should calm him down?"

"He's not afraid. He's just being naughty. He's a bad boy."

Trying not to raise her voice, my friend retorted, "He's not bad. You're bad with him."

"Go ahead," quipped the mother, waving my friend in the direction of her screaming child. "You try."

My friend approached the terrified little boy, who was only too happy to have someone hold and comfort him, even if it was a total stranger. Then my friend started talking to him, in a gentle voice: "There's nothing to be afraid of, that lady only wants to take your picture. She doesn't look so bad, does she?" The little boy shook his head. "Would you prefer to sit on the chair rather than stand?" my friend asked. He nodded. In less than two minutes, the little boy was calm, reassured and willing to cooperate. "I just don't get some people," my friend told me afterwards. "When a child is upset, or does something the adult doesn't like, and the adult gets more upset, all it does it make everybody feel worse. When you play, it's so much better. Everybody's happy."

I think about this...about parents who call their toddlers "naughty" for doing things that seem perfectly plausible to them...like drawing on the wall. To them, it's art. You liked it when they did it on paper, or on the sidewalk, or on the blackboard. What makes walls off limits? It's important to see things from their point of view. And it's even more important to stay away from the labels, because they're hurtful and belittling. And they're everywhere. This morning, my son and I decided to get into the Christmas spirit by singing a few carols - and I had to stop myself dead in my tracks as I launched off into Santa Claus is coming to town. It's so outdated, so disrespectful to children:

"You better watch out / You better not cry / Better not pout...He's making a list / And checking it twice / Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice...He sees you when you're sleeping / He knows when you're awake / He knows if you've been bad or good / So be good for goodness sake!"

You may think I'm overreacting, but anyone else get the feeling that Santa's like Big Brother? The intimidation tactics are ruthless and quite fitting, I suppose, for a song that was first performed in 1934. But we're in the twenty-first century, now folks. Let's reassess. Didn't Shakespeare, one of the greatest observers of human nature, say (in "Hamlet"), "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so"? I'm the first one to call my son out on behaviour I think is unkind, selfish or otherwise hurtful. But I never label him "naughty" or "bad", because that infers that there's something wrong with him, rather than with the action or the behaviour. Going the "bad" route - along with the accompanying display of dissatisfaction (withdrawing affection or approval, etc.) - achieves the opposite effect because now the kid (or at least my kid) wants to test the waters. He's going for the big reaction. Much better to sit down with him and calmly explain the specifics of what was inconsiderate about what he did and how it affected everyone else. It gives him the autonomy he deserves and - bonus! - it usually results in the behaviour I was seeking to inspire. Here's an example - a few days ago, when my son was with his grandmother, he deliberately threw over a cup of water - for the second time. This is the talk we had afterwards:

"J, why did you throw down the water?"

"Because I wanted to."

"Okay, but that meant that Nana had to clean it up for two days in a row now and it's hard for her to get down that low and wipe it up. (What he did; how it affected someone else). Remember how she hurt her knee? (Inspires compassion). So you're making it difficult for Nana. And you're a big boy! You know how to use glasses without any spills! (Praise and encouragement). Plus, water can destroy photographs, so if you keep throwing the water next to the picture frames, there's a chance it'll seep in and you may not be able to see who's in the pictures. (Factual; new perspective). Maybe the next time you want to throw over the water, you can do it outside with your cups and buckets and play in the hose for a little while." (Opportunity for fun; water play is one of his favourite things).

The water has stayed in his cup ever since, without any cajoling or consequences. It's stayed in the cup because my son has chosen to keep it there.

Of course, it's hard to think on your feet when a child does something unexpected. But it's really important to not defer to the old script when we're at a loss for words. And according to my superhero friend who rescued the passport picture kid, "When in doubt, play!" How many kids of our grandparents' generation, our parents' generation, even our generation, grew up with a warped sense of self because they were called "bad" or "lazy" or "stupid" or "fat" or "ugly"? In a society where name-calling and labelling is the easy way out, we must be mindful of the words we use. Clyde Harvey, in reference to "the discourses about our socio-political life", puts it this way:

"Whenever I observe violent, disruptive behaviour on the streets or view it on the television, whether it happens in our underproviliged areas or in the hotspot to which Parliament itself is sometimes reduced, such behaviour in word or deed speak of a lack of respect for self as well as deep wounds in individuals and groups."

Of course children need boundaries. But they also need respect. Fr. Harvey continues:

"People love to speak about how difficult our young people are. They are just different. They are certainly different from my generation. I suspect that they are also different from you. See the mystery that is each one of them. Reverence them even as you seek to engage them."

Be The Change You Want To See

When our son was born - actually, throughout the pregnancy - I changed.  Not just physically.  As a matter of fact, some people would say the outer manifestations of being "with child" were hardly noticeable:  I put on only 18 pounds, my tummy was small and there were, thankfully, no stretch marks.  I looked just like me, only better.  Ah, but inside...my head and heart were going through changes as miraculous as my baby's growth. We were connected, from the outset.  Very early on, my husband asked if I'd had any dreams about the child's gender.  I hadn't, but I explained that I was "sensing a male energy".  I knew it was a boy even before the doctor told us, just like I had had a dream about our previous baby's miscarriage two years prior, even before our ObGyn had to break the news.  That's the degree to which I have been connected to my children from the very beginning.  

Unsurprisingly, the tenets of attachment parenting were like second nature to me; it's the approach we naturally fell into as parents.  It was instinctive to continue that strong emotional bond that was forged in utero with love and respect for our child - and as he grows, as we continue to get to know him, I realise how much he teaches us every day and how much we have to learn.  I soon realised this consciousness was not limited to my parenting approach.  It now shaped my worldview.  

I had been evolving into this new way of thinking for some time; I just hadn't known what to call it.  I had always felt, even as a child, as if I had been born on the cusp of something; that I was slighly out of place, sometimes before my time, sometimes completely out of sync with it.  I was born in the era of second wave feminism, which made me - quite willingly, I might add - turn my back on the "girly" things.  I was a tough cookie; my tender side wasn't at all in balance.  I graduated in film and media production the very year that the World Wide Web was revealed to the public; the digital revolution, which inlcuded the Internet, was to follow.  I had to unlearn and learn anew.  It was scary and exhilarating at the same time and I understood, very clearly, that the world was changing.  Evidence was (and continues to be) all around.  The unsustainability of the current status quo has manifested itself as everything from global economic collapse to ecological imbalance, food insecurity and political upheaval.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when all these thoughts, questions and ideas converged in my head after my son was born.  Because of course we want to leave a better world for our children.  And now, I understand what the change is.  It's exactly the change I started going through when I connected with my first child, the one I lost but have never forgotten.  It's the change in my head and heart for which my son has been the conduit.  And it is happening in other parents' hearts and minds, all over the world: a major cultural shift from an authoritarian paradigm to a more respectful, organic worldview.  

The shift, for me, was at its most acute when I considered my child's education. Ralph Waldo Emerson put it this way: 

"I believe that our own experience instructs us that the secret of Education lies in respecting the pupil.  It is not for you to choose what he shall know, what he shall do.  It is chosen and foreordained, and he only holds the key to his own secret.  By your tampering and thwarting and too much governing, he may be hindered from his end and even kept out of his own.  Respect the child.  Wait and see this new product of Nature.  Nature loves analogies, but not repetitions." 

Every word of this rings true in my experience.  I know that my son arrived knowing his purpose in life.  It is our calling as parents to guide him to it.  Not to show him what we think it is, but to have him show us what it actually is.  And for us to give him every opportunity to pursue it, educationally and otherwise.  To do that; to have him grow into who he authentically is, requires mutual respect, love and attention.  We must be flexible, we must be patient.  We must also be willing to learn and sometimes, unlearn.   

People often tell us how impressed they are with our son, commenting on everything from his motor skills to how articlulate he is.  Or they notice his strong sense of self, his maturity, his generosity.  After which, most people are surprised that "he's not in school yet".  "Oh, so you're teaching him at home?"  

No, he's teaching us.  "Well," someone concluded the oher day, "just keep on doing what you're doing."       

Inspiring Compassion

When I was pregnant, someone gave my husband this book, which is where I first began to learn about some of the tenets of attachment parenting. The approach resonated with me; it seemed almost instinctive anyway, so once our son was born, we followed his signals and that's predominantly what our parenting style became. So it was with some surprise that I learned that attachment parenting is a somewhat controversial approach. Of course, the TIME magazine cover didn't help. And then I came across this blog post that discussed eight controversial parenting styles - who knew there were so many? In the end, I think it boils down to what works for you and your family.

This does not stop me, however, from trying to learn as much as possible about parenting - and how to do it effectively - from as many sources as possible. I recently took a parenting course, which was pretty good in that it offered tangible and practical tools for raising children: rewards, consequences, encouragement. Where I found it fell short, however, is that it didn't always take into consideration the spirit of a child. Childhood isn't preparation for life; it's life. They're people, living their lives, and they deserve to be treated as such.

I remember, in one session, asking about the best way to help my son understand the importance of saying "sorry". I would sometimes notice parents making their kids apologise by threatening them with consequences, but it seemed to me that in most cases (not all!), if the child did apologise, it wasn't because he was genuinely remorseful, but that he wanted to avoid the consequence. So my approach with my son has been to try and paint a picture for him: This is how what you did was upsetting/unfair/unkind. It's basically the Golden Rule code. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, so I asked for guidance in how to inspire the behaviour I was trying to instill.

The answer shocked me: it basically amounted to "parents can't instill values like compassion in their children". Huh? To be fair, maybe the facilitators meant that it was a challenging endeavour with children of a certain age, or that parents can only do their best and kids will still make their own choices, but every instinct I had rebelled against this concept. Because to me, once you consistently treat a child with compassion and respect, he'll internalise those values. I suspect it may take a little longer to get the results you want, but I also suspect it works.

Proof positive was just this morning. I had had a restless night and knew my son would be up before me, raring to go. So when the usual wake-up call came, I explained how I was feeling and that I'd appreciate if he could just lie quietly next to me until I was ready to get up. Next came the usual plea of "No, I want to go outside". So I pulled him close to me and said, "Let me explain something to you. A lot of what we do in this house caters to your needs, because you're the littlest and your needs are the most right now. But other people need things sometimes too. And when other people need things - like right now, Mummy needs more sleep - we should try to help them because we care about them."

He fussed a bit, but then his protests grew softer and to my delight, my son snuggled up next to me and stayed quiet. Soon, his little hand found its way across my shoulder and he hugged me while I got about 20 more minutes of shut-eye. Of course, I was so heartened by his gesture that I couldn't fall back to sleep, but no matter: I got much more than 40 winks. I got vindication.

After lunch, just around the time that my son was due for his nap - yes, that which he consistently tries to avoid - he started acting out over a few things that weren't going his way. So he tried to push his babysitter out of his way and kicked at his grandmother. Deep breath. Calm down time in his room. When he was ready to talk, I sat with him and asked whether either of those people had ever pushed or kicked him.

"No."

"Well, then it isn't kind to do that to them, is it? How do you feel when you're playing with your friends and suddenly someone tries to push or kick you?"

He agreed that he should say he was sorry, but the first two attempts at an apology were insincere. No eye contact, grumpy voice. Back in the room.

"Let's practice how to say you're sorry." And I suggested words he might use, and that it's good to look the person in the eye. We try again. By this point, I'll admit I'm a little agitated, wondering whether I'm doing this right. My son hesitates, trying to reach for two bottlecaps on the nearby table. I think he's buying time. It turns out he wanted the bottlecaps as a peace offering to his sitter and Nana. And of his own accord, he went right up to each of them, gave them his little gift, and said, "I'm sorry." When they hugged him and told him it was okay, I jumped right in and asked, "Doesn't that feel better? Look how much your apology meant to them." And he beamed.

Compassion. You can instill it, but the only way to do it is by inspiration.

Children Learn by Example

I don't know Anthony Milne. But I feel compelled to write about him to make a point about how we, as a society, tend to function, and how it adversely affects our children. Mr. Milne recently wrote a letter to the editor, which got printed in one of the daily newspapers, suggesting that George Bovell, who represented Trinidad and Tobago in swimming at the London Olympics and placed 7th in the final of the 50m freestyle, should retire. Now, before I set off another firestorm here, let me just be clear: I do not agree with Mr. Milne and I particularly did not appreciate the fact that he starts off by saying, "Kicking a man when he's down isn't nice" - and then proceeds to do exactly that. I am not one of those people who feels that by congratulating our athletes for their best effort, whether or not that happens to include a medal, is enouraging mediocrity. In fact, I think our whole approach to competition and sportsmanship is skewed, but that's another post.

Back to my point. Mr Milne's letter set off a tsunami of vitriolic comments, both on the newspaper's website and on Facebook, which were very personal and quite frankly, juvenile. Here's the thing: the man expressed his opinion. He has the right to do that once he is not libelous, obscene, threatening or somehow intolerant (e,g,: racist, sexist, etc.) This does not make him an idiot, a moron, "dotish" or otherwise. It means he has a different point of view from you. Deal with it constructively. Address issues. Hurling insults like children on a playground accomplishes nothing. Ever hear kids call one another "poo poo head" or some variation on the theme? They didn't invent it themselves, folks. They learnt it from us. The proof is all around them, from the classroom to Parliament: disagreement with the status quo equals being laughed at, insulted, ostracised. In a word, bullied.

And here comes the irony, right on cue: these same adults will be the most outraged if their child is at the receiving end of a bully's wrath. But these days, bullying has crossed the realm of the tangible to the virtual. Teenagers have Facebook accounts, some of them are on Twitter - and words can be just as harmful as sticks and stones. Still, we routinely defer to that mauvaise-langue when faced with the slightest bit of opposition. It's the easiest line of defence, it seems, requiring little thought and even less time investment. And worst of all, it generates no positive debate. Debate; constructive discussion - that's what brings improvement, fosters understanding and helps us consider things from a different point of view. And in a world that is continually getting smaller - even Trinidad and Tobago now has a "Diversity" Ministry - having the tools with which to respond to such varied perspectives is critical. Unless of course, you're perfectly happy with the tribal mentality.

In this article, which at the same time has nothing and everything to do with the online reaction to Anthony Milne's article, journalist Sunity Maharaj writes:

"In our impotence, we resort to the standard weapons of the disempowered: character assassination and personal humiliation. We boo, we spread rake, unable to access institutional tools for initiating change."

If we want our children to inherit a better society - as citizens and netizens - than the one we currently inhabit, we're going to have to make some serious changes ourselves.

Every Day is a Gift

Gift. It's a loaded word, in that it can mean so many things. It can be a kind gesture; a present - a definition that I really like, because it implies being present in the moment. It can also refer to a natural endowment or talent. Every one of us is gifted because we all have something unique and special to offer the world; something that wasn't there before we arrived.

Which is why I often find elements of our West Indian society - not always child-friendly - so jarring. A for-instance: today, we visited the National Science Centre. In theory, it's a great idea: introducing children to the concepts of science from an early age, encouraging their curiosity and powers of critical thinking. In practice? The approach could be different. Staff, while friendly and knowledgable, didn't really grant us freedom to explore, in our own time or according to our children's interests. While two of the kids were running about happily playing a 10-second game of "catch", the guide's facial expression to my friends practically said, "Control your children." Who, by the way, were not at all out of control. It was like school - and not in a good way - which, to me, speaks to a lack of overall vision. Is it meant to be a boring science class or a realm of discovery? At the end of it, I was mentally exhausted; the fun quotient was missing. On the way home, I ran into an old friend whose eight-year-old son had visited before. He told his mother that he had been "talked at" the entire time.

It's after experiences like these that I'm encouraged we're doing something right as parents. My husband and I constantly observe our son; as a result, he's very self-directed. Today was a reminder that I should always listen to his instincts, because he knows what he needs to learn and grow and thrive. All we need to do is provide the opportunities for him to do it. The book I'm currently reading, which deals with how to recognise and develop your child's unique talents and abilities, gives this great example:

"Remember that creativity is a blessing. Kids begin to draw abstractly and we systematically beat it out of them till they are rubber-stamp realists. Give them credit. One 4-year old drew some classic emerging human figures - all round head with two stick legs descending from the chin and two stick arms radiating out of what [would] have been the ears...and said, 'Look - here's how I draw people.'"

"This is how I draw an ant."

Our not-yet-three-year-old has been doing just that. Yesterday, as he was drawing a congregation of different animals, he told me exactly where each one's tail was and which part was its face: "This is how I draw a tiger." "This is how I draw a dinosaur." And I genuinely admired the artwork because his perspective is just so darned unique and creative. His drawings have a discernable style; a definite point of view.

My son's rendering of a horse.

Supersonic bird.

My drawings, on the other hand? Literal and mediocre.

My attempt at a heliconia.

So to save him from this fate, I have no intention of trimming my son's imagination. Or pruning his art. Or distilling his music skills. Because he has many gifts. And day by day, he's showing us which ones will lead him to his purpose on this earth. Plus, it's a gift for us, as parents, to witness this unfolding in action. Every day.