A "for instance": last week, my son's babysitter was out in the front yard playing football with him.  All of a sudden, my child runs in with a big grin on his face and says, "We're playing Cheating!"  He obviously thinks it's a new game - or a new method of playing ball.  I was not happy.  I called her aside and asked her why she was putting labels on my son.  "He has no guile in him, no concept of what cheating means," I told her.  "He's kicking a ball.  He's not yet at the stage where there are rules and competition.  He's having fun.  Please let him play without judging how he does it." She was taken aback, but admitted that she was wrong to have said it; that there was really no fair context to her statement.  More credit to her.  Many people would not have seen the problem.

The problem, as it were, reared its head a few days later when a pal came over to play.  They were playing "catch" (the local equivalent of "tag") and my son's friend, who is a tad older, was running around and around one of our trees, trying not to be caught.  Finally, my son changed direction and caught him.  "You can't do that," said his friend, complete with the requisite disapproving tone, "that's cheating."  "Actually, it isn't," I said.  "It's a perfectly acceptable way of trying to catch you...and you shouldn't make up rules as you go along." His mother agreed; more power to her.

I think about how cavalierly this term is bandied about to children and I understand why.  We want our kids to grow up to be honest; to play by the rules.  But sometimes they're made to follow these often-arbitrary codes (let's face it, sometimes there are rules for the sake of them) to their detriment.  For instance, a teacher poses a question to a class and asks the students to solve it.  In most cases, if the kids talk to one another about it, it's labelled "cheating".  In the real world, it's brainstorming.  No wonder kids are grappling with an alternate reality when they emerge from the cocoon of "education".  

I remember being very disillusioned after I graduated from secondary school and took a year off to work before going to university: contrary to the "work hard, play fair and you will be rewarded" ethic that I was taught - and that I still believe holds water, by the way - I was exposed to adults, veritable "captains of industry", who were quite prepared to take credit for my good ideas, sometimes even outright stealing them.  That's what cheating is - a deliberate attempt to deceive and to gain advantage by it.  

In neither of the scenarios above was my child doing that.  What he was doing was effective problem-solving. He was coming up with solutions to challenges and thinking independently.  In my humble opinion, that's the kind of thing that should be encouraged rather than mislabelled.  When children understand how to think and are invigorated and inspired by it, they have no interest in taking the easy way out.  Cheating holds no charm because it's beneath their capabilities.  That's the kind of citizen I want to raise.  

"Mummy," he began, "would you like pizza on the way back?"

I smiled. "Would YOU like pizza on the way back?"

"Yes," he replied.

So we stopped for pizza. It was an inordinately long wait, even though I had called ahead, and the service was terrible. Honestly, I would have walked out if I hadn't promised the kid he'd get his pizza - and I have to say, my son dealt with the wait incredibly well, finding innovative ways to amuse himself. He noticed the letters on the glass window of the pizza parlour - and even though he was seeing the sign backwards because we were on the inside of the shop, he identified practically every one of them correctly. I was really quite astounded. Finally, we got our veggie pizza and got the heck out of there.

We had to make one more stop before heading home, though...I had to pick up some dog shampoo at the vet's. I convinced my son his pizza would cool down enough for him to start munching by the time we got back into the car, so he hopped out and came in quite happily.

Again, it was a bit of a wait...but he found a sign (just his height) stuck on the front of the receiption counter...and he started reading all the letters, one by one. There were even a few telephone numbers in there that he got right as well! I was so busy stooping next to him to encourage his interest that I hadn't noticed he was attracting an audience. By the end of the reading, the receptionist, two of the vets, a couple of assistants and customers, plus a few dogs were watching the proceedings. When my son was finished, everybody went, "Hooray!" and clapped. I think we were both surprised, but my son took it in his stride. Me? I continue to be inspired, not only by how my son learns, seemingly of his own accord, but by the positive effect it has on other people. And I think we must be on to something good.

But the real reason I've even brought up Thomas is that many, many people still view this authoritarian approach to dealing with children as perfectly acceptable. In fact, in the Caribbean context, it's practically still the status quo - and it sometimes makes itself known to me in the most curious of ways...

Last week, I was in the mall with my son. We had just come from the bookstore when I ran into an old school teacher of mine; we stopped to chat while my son ran about beside us with his book in hand. (He kept reminding me that the sooner we got into the car, the sooner he could read it - in other words, "Hurry up, Mummy.") But, Mummy wasn't hurrying up, so he occupied himself with other things, in the process of which he encountered a uniformed prisons officer who happened to be walking across his path.

"Hello," he told her.

"Well, good morning," she replied, leaning towards him.

"I got a book!" he announced.

She looked at me. "Do you realize how amazing this is?" she asked.

"What? That he told you good morning?" I asked, a bit surprised.

"That he was completely unintimidated," she said. "Do you know how many children are afraid of a person in uniform? You can tell he's really smart. You just keep on being brave, okay, young man?" she told him as she waved goodbye.

I was amazed. It hadn't occurred to me of course, but it makes sense that kids would cower from an adult that was wearing the uniform of "authority". And it made me sad, because that reaction means that children are used to being treated as lesser beings, just by dint of the fact that they're smaller and dependent on "big people". It's the "because I say so"/"because I can make you" approach. I'm not saying that authority doesn't need to be respected, but so do children. Moreover, respect is not gained by intimidation or fear-mongering. It reminded me, yes, of Thomas - and how the engines "shake with fear" when they think the controller of the railway, Sir Topham Hatt, might be "cross" with them. Which of course feeds into the creation of children that conform; kids that try their best to please, often at the sacrifice of their inner voice.

Which is why the best part of playing trains with my son is when we make up stories together and I take on the role of the railway controller. "Sir Topham Hatt called all his engines to the roundhouse to give them their jobs for the day," I'd say. And then my son would take over the narration: "But the engines wooshed and wheeshed past Sir Topham Hatt. 'Sorry,' they said. 'We can't come to the roundhouse right now...we're too busy!' And they chuffed cheerily away." Polite, respectful, but not at all compliant. Sounds like a good story to me.

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."

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."       

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.

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."

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.

“The more you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.” - Dr. Seuss

We've been meaning to do this with our son for some time now - and yesterday we finally did - headed down to the National Library (quite fitting after our recent visit to the National Museum to see an exhibition honouring the work of architect Colin Laird, who designed many of our country's public spaces, including the Library) to get him a library card.

Architectural model of the National Library, by Colin Laird

Turns out I needed some extra documentation to get my son's card processed, but I am now the proud owner of a library card! Yes, it does seem strange that someone who enjoys reading as much as I do has only just got a library card of her own. Maybe it was my perception of all the hassle involved - who wants to look for parking in downtown Port of Spain? It just always seemed easier to buy books or borrow from friends. Plus, you know, you can download books now.

But I'm happy to report that the process was really no hassle at all. On the contrary, it was quite pleasant. The library staff were accommodating, knowledgeable and friendly. I got the card in about ten minutes and was heartened to learn that much of the library's operations are online, so I can do everything from reserving books to checking return dates virtually.

We're IN! My new library card and information booklet from NALIS.

Like I told the Librarian, though, my son was really the impetus for my finally taking out a library card. She smiled and nodded. She must hear that a lot. I'm not surprised - the Children's Library is a doorway to new worlds! While the Early Readers section seemed a bit scant to me, the books that were there were good - and the choices only increase as your child grows! Even better for parents with kids who complain that there's nothing to do in Trinidad, the kids' library has a Calendar of Events that is chock-full of fun stuff. We were there for over an hour: we'd just missed the games and singing activity and there was a craft workshop about to begin for older kids. The atmosphere is comfortable and makes you want to linger: brightly-upholstered oversized chairs perfect for a parent and child to curl up for a good read - and nobody ever "ssssssshhhhh"-es you.

Some of the books we borrowed from the National Library.

So I encourage you to get your children a library card (if you haven't already). You can use it at any library branch in the country (though not Tobago, for some reason) so parking is no longer a good excuse. A child that loves to read is an empowered child, a creative child, a child who sees possibilities instead of boundaries. All that - just from one little (free!) library card.

I'm pretty good with numbers 1 and 4, wheras 2 and 3 need some work. But it recently dawned on me that these Four Agreements take on a whole new meaning when you have children.

Case in point: I ran into a longtime family friend this past weekend who started talking to me about her son, now a young man. She, like me, came into motherhood at a more "mature" time in her life (though to me, age matters not unless you're a cheese). She chose to go the route of alternative education (which in her son's case was homeschooling). She also made sure that her child was fluent in several languages, that he travelled widely and that he was exposed to as many different learning experiences as she and her husband could conjure up. And the kid still turned around and told her the other day that all the educational choices she had made for him were the wrong ones.

Ouch. I'm sure my eyes were as wide as saucers when she said it. Seriously? Kids can tell you that? Are they allowed to tell you that after all your blood, sweat and tears? [Flashback to when I was a teenager]. Um...yes. I may have told my own parents far worse. But the story unnerved me now that I'm on the other side of the fence, so to speak. And while the comment gutted my friend - she even made a knife-twisting motion as she said it - she came back with the perfect response: "Well, you're a big man now. Make your own decisions!"

The whole exchange got me thinking about the ways in which we try to do right by our children. All we can really do is our best - with what we have and with what we know - at any given time. If I had to add another agreement to the mix, it would be this: Trust your gut and have faith. If you follow the path of what you believe is right - for you and for your children - you shouldn't ever be steered in the wrong direction.