As parents, you try to teach your kids the right things in life. How to walk properly, how to talk politely, and if you are like our family, the three "R's." There are basic things too, like safety. Chew your food before swallowing, look both ways before crossing, don't talk to strangers. All of this is done in an effort to raise a smart, well-adjusted, sincere, honest, good-natured child who will successfully transition into adulthood.
Parents are not perfect. We have to make mistakes ourselves to learn better ways to teach our children. Some mistakes will be made right out of the gate. Like learning how to bathe your child properly. The first time we gave Frederic a bath, we made a ton of mistakes. We didn't wrap him in a towel/blanket, we took our time; he screamed and cried during the entire experience. When Lily was born, we corrected the things we did wrong. They both survived and have no recollection of the event. But we do. Clearly.
Some mistakes are made long before we even think about being parents. Like when we are children ourselves. When I was in 3rd grade, I was playing in the school playground during recess. I remember running around, switching from play set to play set, trying to get as much aggression/tension/energy out (unconsciously, of course) before the bell rang. At some point, one of my classmates started chasing me. We may have been playing tag, we may have been seeing who could get to the swings quicker, he may have been chasing me for no reason at all. Either way, I thought the quicker I ran, the better the outcome. I also thought that the best way to run fast, was to keep my head down. Bad idea. When you run with your head down, you cannot see the obstacles in your path. Duh, right? You don't really think that way when you are nine or ten years old. You simply think: Run fast? Swing arms; head down.
And then you run into something.
In my case, I ran--full force--into an aluminum bench. I hit it hard, and I hit it with my chest. It immediately knocked me down and took my breath away. I was gasping, trying to figure out what had happened to me. Two teachers were sitting on the bench, talking. They immediately came to my side to make sure I was okay. I didn't cry. I was more scared than hurt. I was afraid I really hurt myself and that I was going to die. That's exactly where my mind went when it happened. Oh my god, I am going to die. My dad is gonna be so pissed.
My friend was no where in sight. He kept running; I didn't blame him. I got up on my feet, and started to walk to the nurses station, as instructed by the teachers. Halfway there, I could breath normally, and I felt fine. I was more embarrassed than anything. I turned around and went back outside, keeping a low profile during the remainder of recess.
I learned a lesson that day I will never forget: Don't run with your head down.
Striving to be the perfect parent, I have passed this knowledge on to our kids. I tell them to look up when they ride their bikes. I tell them to look up when they ride their scooters. And, of course, I tell them to look up when they run. I think it's nice of me to bestow my knowledge on my children. It's part of the job description. Just as I opted to pick and choose what I wanted to listen to when my parents shared their knowledge with me, my kids seem to be doing the same.
Case in point: Last night, Frederic lost the battle against the parked car. We were about to go on a two mile walk, when I realized he was carrying a big book. We were only a few houses down from ours, so when I asked him to run home and put the book on the porch, my request was met with little objection. He thought he would read as we walked, thus not looking up. I didn't think it was a good idea. The last thing I said to him before he turned around and took off was, "Be careful...don't trip."
We both turned in opposite directions; me to catch up with Cyndi, Lily, and Rex, and he to run home and back. A couple seconds later, I hear a loud bang followed by an even louder cry. I turned back to see Frederic doubled over on the ground. As I ran to check on him, I also saw the rather large dent in our neighbor's car. The dent reminded me of when cartoon character's run through doors, and their body outline remains. You could almost see his nose and mouth imprint on the car.
The rest of the family ran back to join us, and the neighbor ran inside to get some ice. Frederic kept saying--in between sobs--"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He was more worried about the car and getting in trouble.
I'm not that bad of a person. A car is just a car. In fact, I swiped a curb the other day in my Honda, scrapping the bumper and pulling it out of whack. I'm not that attached to a car that I have to rush to a shop to have it fixed. I could care less about the neighbor's leased vehicle (the guy cares a bit more, but his wife doesn't really).
After we got Frederic home, had him lay down on the couch to relax with an ice pack, got some Children's Tylenol into his belly, we heard what happened.
"I thought it would be faster if I ran with my head down," he said. "I didn't see the car."
No broken nose, just a swollen one; no loose teeth, just some sensitive ones and a fat lip. He'll be fine, and so will the neighbor's car (when I pay to have it fixed).
Just as I don't, Frederic will no longer run with his head down. Lesson learned. Seriously.
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