Welcoming

Being included was always a goal of mine growing up.  It may seem like a silly goal to those who have grown up with love and acceptance, but then you probably grew up having close friendships that have lasted a lifetime.  Perhaps you have cousins and other extended family who are happy with who you are, and talk to you for reasons beyond social obligation.  If you're a bit more sheltered, you may have nothing more than siblings and parents who accept you, and go out of their way to include you.  It's lonely outside of your family circle, but at least you would have a place that feels safe and welcoming.  I had none of these things.

The first time I experienced true acceptance was as an exchange student.  Nobody cared that my teeth pointed in irregular directions or that I had no sense of fashion.  My social awkwardness was also irrelevant.  All that mattered was that I was the exchange student from California.  Sure, there were many who disliked me simply for being American, as any American who has traveled internationally can attest to, but the overwhelming majority were willing to elbow their way through a crowd just to introduce themselves to me.  It may have been celebrity-like acceptance, resulting in mostly superficial interactions, but it was nothing like I had ever experienced.  Let's face it, when you spend the majority of your time being excluded at every turn, simple things like acceptance are not taken for granted.

The funny thing is, when you're accepted for who you are, flaws and all, you achieve a connection to humanity that is hard to measure.  Decades have passed since my year as an exchange student, and yet I have maintained relationships that began during that year.  Other students from all over the world have remained part of my life, but more importantly, my bond with the family that took me in has endured.  They were just being themselves, but the gift they gave me is irreplaceable.

I returned home to California to find things had not really changed — but my perception of them had.  Being included and valued for who you are starts with your willingness to accept yourself, flaws and all.  I found I was no longer able to value, or fight to maintain, toxic, one-sided relationships with people who were all take and no give.  As a result, my relationships improved, because I was seeking healthy connections and no longer settling for whatever I could get.

Naturally, inclusiveness and tempered judgement are traits we have actively sought to teach our children as parents.  Not only is it better for relationship-building, but things are much less stressful when you're not surrounded by toxicity.  Regardless of how much emphasis is placed on things, I'm not always sure how much my children absorb.  We do our best to lead by example, but you never really know what they believe until they show you.

When my daughter was eight, she received a new princess doll as a gift: Merida from Disney/Pixar's Brave (2012).  As I was going past her room, I glanced in and stopped dead.  I couldn't help but notice her princess dolls sitting in a circle with Merida clearly apart from the rest.  Before I could say or do anything beyond my quizzical expression, she advised me, "we're having a 'princess meeting,' to welcome Merida!"

Of course you are.  Even at eight, she gets something that continues to elude many adults.

Lucky Be Mine

Parenthood is full of curveballs and unexpected changes of pace that go way beyond the milestones that every "normal" child is expected to reach.  Some things, like Trips to the ER that end up creating The Gnarly of Scars, are par for the course for most of us.  Allergies can be bumps in the road, but aren't altogether unexpected considering the prevalence of seasonal allergies.  But when your child has an anaphylactic allergy of any kind, it tests your resolve as a parent, particularly if that allergy is food.

The reality that food — not poison — is suddenly poisonous to another human being is a challenging concept for most of us.  "Why?"  "Will it really be lethal?"  "But I washed it, so it's okay."  We've heard all of these statements.  When your child has an anaphylactic food allergy to anything that is a staple of your national cuisine, the complications become exponential.  Explaining the difference between protein and bacteria, or between food-related pathogens and protein, has become routine, and yet it confuses people.  Educated people.  Intelligent people.  Well-intentioned people.

Then there's everyone else.  Unfortunately, the intelligent, educated, well-intentioned people make up the extreme minority.  Everyone else deliberately or ignorantly goes out of their way to exclude your child.  They also want to argue the merits of our requests for accommodations as though the meme they read on social media somehow makes them as much of an expert on allergies as a board-certified allergist.  Take school parties, for example, where food is passed out and your child is forced to navigate the proverbial minefield that ensues.  There is a dearth of consideration for inclusion, and a general indifference when confronted.

When my son was in kindergarten, his class Valentine's Day party provided another opportunity for exclusion.  All of the other children received goodie bags full of various candies.  A selection of stuffed animals were also passed out.  Not one of the other parents thought to provide something my son could have other than the stuffed animal, but when they were passed out, the one he actually wanted and requested (a stuffed Dalmatian puppy) was purposefully given to a different child.

Seeing his disappointment, his mother went to the store and was fortunate to locate the last one on the shelf and add it to the goodie bag she had made for him.  Thanks to his mother, he had a plush toy and a goodie bag full of candy he could safely consume.  If his mother hadn't gone out of her way to create something special for him, the other parents would have succeeded in excluding our son from participating in a "normal" activity.

Children are amazingly resilient though.  My son's disappointment was a distant memory thanks to the efforts of his mother.  In fact, he couldn't stop discussing his new plush toy, which he decided to name "Lucky."  Carrying his doll around in a full embrace, front paws stretched open like arms, the way a child wraps their arms around a parent, he approached his mother and said, "Mama, Lucky doesn't have 'be mine' (like a conversation heart), but she can still 'Be Mine!'"  He flashed his golden smile, instantly melting his mother's heart.

Of course she can.

It Was Love

The day is coming.  We know it, because we are reminded constantly by seasonal displays in every store we visit, regardless of the type of shopping we are doing.  If I had some sort of cable or satellite service, I would be bombarded with advertisements designed to shame me into purchasing jewelry, flowers, and overpriced candy in order to adequately express my affection and appreciation for my spouse.  I should probably already have a reservation at a really expensive restaurant on the day, because marketing campaigns say so.  Anything less isn't really love.

Despite my contempt for the over-commercialization of many holidays, no other holiday marketing campaign rubs me quite as raw as one that distorts harmony, companionship, and yes, love, in favor of the bottom line.  What's more is the affect it has on the young and impressionable, creating ripples all of us have to navigate as we mature and seek a mate.  I definitely do not want my daughter growing up to become Scarlet Johansson's character in "Don Jon (2013)," believing romantic comedies are a reflection of life rather than a fictional distortion.  As entertaining as romantic comedies can be, it doesn't require much scrutiny to establish how firmly the genre remains grounded in fiction.

Regardless of my personal feelings toward the day (or romantic comedies for that matter), there is no shielding my children from pop culture, unless I want them to become social outcasts — which I don't.  Rather than attacking the things they feel compelled to participate in, like faux holidays, or movies that shouldn't be watched more than once, we have discussions with our children to ensure they are not accepting things at face value.

When my daughter was six, she watched Disney's "Frozen (2013)" for the first time.  It was a seminal moment for her because she was able to see a strong, female lead in Elsa, being shunned as a direct result of possessing far more power than any of the male characters in the story, with Elsa's inability to manage this power ultimately leading to her exile.  The climax of the story is when Elsa is able to reconcile with her sister, manage her power, and return home.

"That's amazing, isn't it?"  I asked my daughter.

"Yes!"  She exclaimed.  "Do you know how she was able to make everything better?"

"How?!"  My wife and I chorused.

"It was love," declared my daughter nodding.  "Uh huh."  She added confidently, continuing to nod.  "It was love."

Of course it was.

Knowing and Asking

One of the most challenging aspects of the human condition is the subtle art of reading social cues.  Most of us develop our sense of what is socially acceptable in our youth, which is subsequently adapted and adjusted as we navigate aging ... unless you're me, of course.

As it turns out, one of the most neglectful things parents do to their children is when they fail to adequately socialize them.  Without the opportunity to be socialized, children never have the opportunity to familiarize themselves with social cues.  A lack of familiarity makes it challenging to then recognize said cues and react or respond appropriately.  The social butterflies may struggle to comprehend this as an issue, until they remind themselves of all the people they know who have a knack for consistently shoving their feet into their respective mouths.  Knowing my children are bound to have a few of my socially awkward tendencies, we have been determined to socialize our children.

The best of intentions do not make it acceptable to have a shortfall of results.  My son, for example, has issues knowing when to ask for things.  It must be the way he is wired.  Despite the fact that he is fully aware he needs to ask to leave the table when he is finished with his meal, it took us quite some time before he would ask to be dismissed with any consistency.  Throughout our process, we would sometimes prompt him to ask to be dismissed.  Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't.

On the evening prior to Begindergarten, my five year old son took a late nap, and subsequently was consuming a late dinner.  My wife was keeping him company, and as a way of prompting him, asked him, “Are you finished with your dinner?”

Bypassing small talk, my son squealed excitedly, “Yes!  Now I’m not hungry anymore!”

Of course you’re not, only that isn't quite what your mother had hoped to hear.  Did I mention it was still a work-in-progress at that point?

When It's Good

There's something to be said about a meal that comes together properly.  Whether you're the cook or simply the right hand of the cook (chopping vegetables or setting the table or making other preparations), you are an active part of preparing the meal.  The cook can probably handle all these tasks on their own, but there's something to be gained from a cohesive effort.  My cooking, for example, improved significantly after I met my wife.  She had formal training as a preparation chef in a professional setting, which added a dimension I had not previously had, being self-taught.

It was that way from day one.  I was ready to prepare dinner and thought nothing of volunteering to cook, and she was equally willing to offer her assistance in whatever capacity was required for the meal.  We must have both surprised one another during that initial meal, because we couldn't help complimenting one another's efforts, and praising the resulting meal from our seamless teamwork.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised.  In retrospect, neither of us should have been when considering how our first date transpired.  Unlike my previous experiences, where my counterparts would order tiny meals or skip dessert, then constantly pester me for "a bite" of my food that turned into them inhaling half of my plate, my wife ordered a real meal and ate until she was full.  She not only ate until she was full, but she really enjoyed her meal, and she wasn't afraid to try new things.  In fact, she appreciated the variety of food I was able to expose her to.

Thinking about how this would work after having children was never really a concern of mine.  It was so far from conscious thought that my daughter blindsided me when she started eating solid food.  Sure, she consumed breastmilk and baby food purees with reckless abandon, but all kids do, right?!

Obviously that last part isn't true, but it represented my reality, and sometimes it's hard not to think our own reality as correlating to those around us ... that is, until your eighteen-month-old daughter inhales everything from burgers and fries to fried chicken to steak to broccoli and everything between as though the meal would be her last.  As meals were being prepared, she would hover near the kitchen, barely able to speak, but completely capable of conveying her anticipation.  

Just before her second birthday, a restaurant commercial appeared on the television, featuring a steak and baked potato, captivating her.  That's when she suddenly pointed emphatically at the image and chirpily declared, "Mmmmmmmm!  It's good!"

Of course it is.

Bright and Early

Mornings in our modern society can be a bit trying for those of us who tend to be more nocturnal.  Regardless of our preferences, society expects us to be available during weekday mornings.  There is no better example of this arbitrary requirement than when you're a child and required to attend school.  Bright and early in the morning never seemed to feel that way to me.  In reality, it still doesn't, and I doubt that will ever change.

Unfortunately for my children, this night-owl trait appears to be genetic, particularly at the end of the week.  When my son was six and being woken up by his mother for school on a particular Friday, he claimed he could not get out of bed because his stomach was hurting.  Not buying it, his mother told him to, "eat a banana and a cereal bar for breakfast and maybe you'll feel better," obviously thinking his aching stomach was related to hunger more than anything else.

As my son walked toward the kitchen in a defeated sort of way, my wife assumed the issue was settled and resumed her morning routine.  She had clearly underestimated his resolve, because when she got out of the shower and checked on him, she found him in bed, under the covers once again.

"Why are you back in bed?"  She asked him.  "Why haven't you been getting ready for school?  Did you eat breakfast?"

From under the covers issued his muffled response, "yes, I ate breakfast."  He then peaked at her from under the covers and indignantly declared, "Mama, it didn't work!  All it did was make me go pee!"

Of course it did.

Love and Loss

The stories of our lives are a collection of chapters that we're barely aware of.  We don't even realize we are in a new chapter until well after the previous chapter has long since concluded.  For example, there was a period in my life when it seemed like my wife and I were constantly attending weddings — and then we weren't.  If anything, weddings have largely been replaced by wakes; a result of the cruelties of life, tragedy, and circumstance.  It's no wonder books and movies are divided into chapters, given the parallels to our own condition.  Except with our lives, it seems only in retrospect can these chapters be fully appreciated as many struggle to appreciate the significance of things as they are happening.

Apparently "many" does not include my daughter.  When she was eight, she was sick for a few days and missed some school.  Although not normally a big deal, this time it was during a locally sponsored trout farming program for my daughter's class, and she was ill right in the middle of the die-off phase.  The night before her return to school, she shared her misgivings with her mother:

"I really think (specific given-names of multiple alevin, aka baby fish) died by now because they were really sick the last day I was there," she said with difficulty, taking a moment before continuing.  "They're probably dead, but I guess that's what I get for loving them too much," she said, breaking down as she was consumed by her sense of loss.

While this provided us with a great opportunity to discuss natural life cycles and the reality that everything that lives will eventually die, we learned more from the moment than she did.  Our daughter has the heart of a child, yet to be jaded by the cruelty of life, so she loved with all of her heart.  Of course she did.  And there's nothing wrong with that.