Have you ever found yourself questioning the parental norms you grew up with? Relax and buckle up, you’re not alone.
I grew up in the southern US, a place where at the time “faith, family and country” was the prevailing theme and one’s right to bear arms was pervasively on display. I was raised in a conservative and rigidly-run totalitarian home, and went to a relatively strict and religiously affiliated private school. I had to be in church at least three times a week to punch my timecard and prove to the other churchgoers that my parents were raising children who were loyal to the beliefs of our religious affiliation.
My parents did their absolute best in terms of parenting, but now even they admit that there wasn’t much thought put into their overall parenting strategy. In their own words, they just repeated the same tactics used by their own parents from childhood.
Oftentimes they would call it tradition. But tradition to me was simply a set of outdated and obsolete rules that inherently ended conversations with “because I said so.”
I struggled in that environment because of my personality. My nature as a person was practical, pragmatic, and experiential in learning with a slight inclination towards risk-taking. I also had a tendency to be the class clown.
During my early adulthood, I would look back on my younger years and say that I was a rebellious teen, always trying to buck the system and push the limits, but now being in my 40’s, I don’t believe that to be true.
Deep down I just desperately wanted to have my own identity. In my simple mind, being in an environment where everything from politics to clothing to even the way I spoke essentially created an expectation that I fabricate this image or persona that I knew I was not. Talk about imposter syndrome.
Then enters parenthood. My radiant and beautiful baby girl. I didn’t really have many females in my immediate or extended family, so to be frank, I was both elated and terrified. All I knew was that entering into this phase of my life, I would take a page from the great Khaleesi and “Break the wheel” (Game of Thrones nerd alert). I just wanted to stop the repetitious parenting cycle that wasn’t tailored to this beautiful individual that my daughter was and would eventually become. And to be clear, I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
Over the years and as she grew and matured, I noticed these little idiosyncrasies slowly developing in that magnetic personality of hers. It wasn’t long until the stark epiphany hit me like a ton of bricks. Holy shit, she’s just like me. Once again, I was elated and terrified.
After a lot of soul searching and many late night conversations with my intelligent and insightful wife, we came to the conclusion that the standard “book of parenting rules” needed to be thrown out the door. And yes, it was her idea. Sure, it was really easy to say, but putting it into practice? Uhhh not so much. Not for me.
Those innate rules were engrained into the very fabric of my being, so much so that even remotely challenging them felt sacrilegious. It was borderline blasphemy in my world, and my inner monologue brutally kicked me in the ass for even having such thoughts. While I knew without a doubt that this was the best for my daughter, I also had to readily acknowledge that the inner struggle of fighting my very own prescriptive norms that I had come to despise so much would not subside any time soon. And it would actually get harder as she got older.
There were 5 basic rules in which the kids needed to adhere. One of the rules in its simplest form was as follows: If you make a poor decision, whatever it may be, disclose it first and tell the whole truth. If someone else brings it to us, or if you lie about it, there will be consequences. But, if you bring it to us first and are honest and upfront, you won’t have any consequences inflicted by us and you’ll be met with compassion and grace. Any resultant self-inflicted consequences were theirs to bear.
Yikes. I would get grounded for just about anything. Looking at my parents wrong. Asking the question why. Missing a ridiculously early curfew by one minute. This was the complete antithesis of my “normal upbringing”.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten how many poor decisions that I made as a kid. Some were near failures. But like all kids, I was human and bound to make mistakes, although I didn’t know that at the time. The key difference in my upbringing was that my bad decisions were always near failures. My parents never allowed me to fail. I always had the parental golden parachute to fall back on when some form of self-inflicted damage was on the horizon. And subconsciously I knew that.
Either way, the lesson of a poor decision with real consequences was never experienced, despite having parents that handed down some pretty severe consequences for my ongoing stupidity. They just cleaned up my mess and grounded me. Looking back, it was such a missed opportunity on their part, but not just for the chance to teach me a lesson that I would eventually learn at the school of hard knocks in adulthood.
Over 18 years have passed since that amazing day that my daughter entered this world. I remember it like it was yesterday. As an 18-year old freshman going into one of the most prestigious colleges in the country, she’s learned some hard lessons on her own. Has she had her own failures? She might say yes. But I would say that anything she might perceive as a failure is in fact a success story.
To be clear, I am not even close to being qualified enough to psychoanalyze the benefits and detriments of the style of parenting she received growing up, but what I can say is that we played the long game. One poor decision or even a series of poor decisions made by a kid who is learning how to do life does not define them or who they are, nor should it.
The opportunity that she embraced so gracefully was learning compassion, accepting forgiveness (not just from others, but also from herself), putting things behind her, owning her mistakes and being accountable for them, and being able to live authentically with the confidence that she is unique and beautifully made, and that there is no one like her.
And through those experiences, not only did she learn a few things, but I learned how to have a deep, meaningful and long-lasting relationship with this beautiful soul that I get to call my one and only daughter. She’s wise beyond her years. She’s better than me. She has an amazing heart. She’s smart as hell. And she’s a force to be reckoned with.
If you’ve ever felt like an imposter in your own parenting story, you’re not alone. I look back on those 18 years with her and as most parents do, I wonder where the time went. One day she’s learning her ABC’s and before you can blink she’s off living her best life. I miss her dearly. Certainly more than I ever could have imagined. And that’s real pain for a dad. Fortunately, I get to call it a win and a success story. She undoubtedly knows that she is always with me everywhere I go, and I know the same is true with her. And as for some of those hard lessons learned…those are with her as well.
P.S. I never give parenting advice. This definitely should not be construed as such. I still don’t know what the hell I am doing.
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