Listen and Love First

In a sea of thousands, I felt seen. Again. I listened to his story, and although I knew it was nothing like mine, in a way, it actually was. The moment he finally felt seen and heard was pivotal for him, and it reminded me of mine.

Here I was at my first school board conference with nearly 5,000 school board members from across the state preparing to be a new board member next year, something I never thought I'd be. The first keynote speaker was Brandon P. Fleming, author of MISEDUCATED: A Memoir, an at-risk youth and college dropout turned award-winning educator. 

I felt that feeling of being seen and heard again because of a very specific part of his story. He was a failing black college student whose only role models were drug dealers and athletes. An English professor took the time "see" him, to meet him where he was in his life, to lead with love and help him turn his learning and his life around. She introduced him to black writers that he never knew existed and it changed his life forever. 

Brandon went on to finish college and launch a debate residency program that recruits under-served youth with no prior debate experience who he trains to compete against hundreds of elite debaters from over 25 different countries around the world. For five consecutive years, since the program’s inception in 2017, every cohort trained by Fleming has won the international competition.

My story was nothing like his. I was a privileged white high school student who got straight A's, took all the college-level AP classes, sang in choir, played football, and participated in student government. However, the pressure to constantly excel and the ghosts of my childhood growing up in domestic violence and sexual abuse became too much for me and I began to have severe anxiety and panic attacks. 

However, I didn't know what they were at the time. I began skipping classes, my grades suffered, and no one, not even my closest friends and immediate family, understood what was happening to me. It wasn't that they didn't love or care about me, but because I couldn't express what was happening to me, most took an arms-length approach with me. Everyone felt bad for me that I was breaking down, but no one could reach me. 

It wasn't until another high school counselor reached out to me when my perspective changed. Mr. Ash wasn't my primary academic counselor, but he connected with me in a way that others didn't. I told him as best I could what I was feeling and why, and he could relate; he had experienced that kind of stress when he was my age as well. He listened to my story without judgment, and shared his own story, and recommended that I take the time to heal and figure things out, that I should check out the field of psychology (which I ended up majoring in) but that I didn't necessarily need to go to college right away, if I needed more time. He took the time to "see" me, to meet me where I was in my life, to lead with love and help me turn my learning and my life around. 

Fully turning things around after high school would still take over a decade, but I got there. As a new school board member, I listened to Brandon P. Fleming speak and tears welled in my eyes. He said "stories are the gateway to empathy" and that as school administrators, educators, support staff, board members, and parents, we should "listen and love first, and then teach and lead second." Today, too many young people need mental health services, including elementary school kids, and we can do better to ensure they are emotionally, socially, and physically safe. We should meet each child where they're at, listen and love without judgement, and strive to provide the resources and support they need to thrive. 

To Regulate and Moderate

She could've just told me to turn off the TV. Which she eventually did. As did my dad. A lot. But early on she thought something was wrong with me.

"Kevin? Are you listening to me? I'm talking to you. Kevin?!?"

Part of the reason she thought something was wrong with me was because of the angle of my head, tilting it to the left to seemingly favor my right ear to hear while watching the TV. Plus, I'd poke my tongue out a little bit, which has always been a sign of extra focus for me. She'd ask me why I tilted my head, when she finally got my attention, literally standing in front of me waving hands in front of my face.

"I don't know," I'd tell her.

This continued for months, and in all fairness to the magic electronic box of the then limited but hypnotic programming (right before the even more magical cable TV became available), it wasn't always because of TV. I was a consummate daydreamer as well.

Regardless of the origin of my zoning out (and in), she worried that I had a hearing problem. She had also noticed a discoloration inside my left ear and it worried her even more, so she finally took me to get my hearing checked.

Thankfully it was normal. Plus, the hearing health professional told my mom that the discoloration in my ear came from being dirty and waxy. My mom wasn't happy to hear that one, and all the way home I got an earful about paying attention to her when she talked to me, and to please take a shower and use a washcloth to clean my ears.

Never again was there a fear that I had a hearing problem, so what I heard quite a bit throughout adolescence was:

"Kevin, turn that thing off and listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

And that was the edited-for-television version. Fast forward decades to our family today where we've been experiencing the same thing, except we know exactly what the problems are.

TV and iPads. And we know what the answer is.

"Turn that thing off!"

Yes, the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I fully admit of our generous approach to watching TV and playing games on devices, which means a lot. But, in our defense we do restrict their programming and the games they play (which is getting more complicated as they get older), and more recently having them turn everything off more in order to play the old-fashioned way, or to clean the living room where kid stuff explodes every day, or to clean their bedrooms where kid stuff explodes every day, or to earn money doing other chores --

Or to get them to sit and listen with rapt attention when we're talking with them. Beatrice is more of a daydreamer like I was, and so it's harder to snap her out of it than Bryce, but Bryce is our little gamer, playing Minecraft as if she was in deep discovering the next theory of relativity, oblivious to Mom and Dad's looming gravity. And don't get me started about the kid's YouTube family reality shows they like (another post for another time).

"Beatrice? Did you hear what I said?"

"Bryce? Did you hear what I said?"

"Girls, we will turn [insert TV and/or iPads] off immediately if you don't answer us!"

Which is what we do now more often than not. It's up to us to regulate and moderate the brain-melting mind control of games and media and to help instill good listening skills.

"Kevin? Did you hear what I said?" The Mama calls out to me as I finish writing this piece.

"Kevin?!?"

Tilt my head to the left, poke tongue out and press publish. 

"What?!?"

Daddysaur Magic and Positive Discipline

It stirred, sensing something in its realm. It slowly opened one bleary eye -- suddenly two smaller creatures appeared. Probably B-hivers, it thought. It jumped up from its lair on full alert, scaring the larger of the two creatures.

The Daddysaur bounded to the floor to chase the B-hivers from it's cave, while the Mamasaur stirred restlessly behind them all.

"Girls, wait out in the hall and we'll go downstairs. Mommy's still sleeping and I'll be right there."

Such is the life of late with preschoolers in our prehistoric wake, those moments when we as parents feel older and "tireder" than usual that leads to the grumps with little ones who have boundless energy and endless brain activity.

Last night Bryce woke up yet again from a bad dream and came in our room crying, with the Mama waking, carrying and comforting her back to her bed to sleep. It's been a weekly event even with both of them being pretty good sleepers.

It's when they're awake when it all becomes a handful, playing well with each other one moment, then pounding on each other the next. Or hitting us. Or not listening to us. Or not getting ready to somewhere when we need them to, like school. Or being picky eaters. Or not picking up their things when we ask them. Or Bryce twisting her glasses and popping out a lens on a Sunday when the optometrist isn't in the office, like this very minute.

All very frustrating for fairly emotionally aware, balanced and impulse-controlled adults, like us. And probably you, too.

The Mama's been reading Positive Discipline for Preschoolers, by Jane Nelsen, ED.D., Cheryl Erwin, M.A., and Roslyn Ann Duffy, and now I'm reviewing it. The girls' preschool is based on the positive discipline research and methodology and although I've been aware of it since Bea started preschool, my cursory knowledge has run thin like my patience.

The fact is -- three-year-old's have more energy than at any other time in their lives. Yikes. No wonder that the B-hive continues to buzz so loudly.

The Mama and I grew up in a mixed discipline world of firmer hands and less softer touch, discipline more often associated with punishment and negative behavior extinguishing than positive learning and development. My parents' and Nonna's worlds even more so. Goodness, I was even spanked as a child.

My gruffness today as a parent just doesn't make any magic happen. It only squashes it.

According to the positive discipline book, we as Daddysaurs and Mamasaurs should focus on "Eight Methods for Implementing Positive Discipline":

1. Get children involved in the creation of routines, through the use of limited choices and by providing opportunities to help.
2. Teach respect by being respectful.
3. Use your sense of humor.
4. Get into your child's world.
5. Say what you mean, and then follow through with kindness and firmness.
6. Be patient.
7. Act, don't talk -- and supervise carefully.
8. Accept and appreciate your child's uniqueness.

Easier said than done when you grew up differently as I did, although my parents incorporated some of the above. Miss you Mom and Dad. Mindful positive parenting is where the magic happens.

And yes, Daddysaurs need to get into their B-hivers' world, which thankfully I do.

Who will travel with Daddy next?