Raising ‘Nice’ Kids Isn’t Enough — Develop Their Strength Too

“I don’t want to wear this dress,” my 8-year-old insists during a recent school morning. The mornings always seem rushed, always pushed to the last millisecond of packed lunches, brushed teeth, socks and shoes and keys and backpacks locked and loaded.

In haste, I dismiss her opinion and say, “Just get dressed. We only have 20 minutes.” Turning away, my eyes catch a hint of her crinkled expression — a mild “hmmph” thrown at my back.

Twenty years later, I can say with confidence that I did the best I could with the tools in my parenting toolkit. I can listen some afternoon at my kitchen table as my daughter complains that her husband doesn’t listen, doesn’t hear her. That her opinions don’t seem to count.

I can pat her hand, sigh heavily and tell her that men aren’t taught to listen.

Yeah, I’m not going to do that.

How can it be in this age of self-awareness and self-indulgence that I see young girls — and boys — apologizing without provocation, remaining silent, smiling through injury or cleaning up someone else’s psychological garbage? “Oh, it’s OK! She didn’t really mean that!”

No, it’s not okay. Put down the It's Okay Mop and step away from that social vomit, girls and boys! It really stinks!

Parents will beam with pride when a child politely accepts a sticker from a salesperson or eats every bite on the dinner plate. But we will shake our heads in disbelief when that previously "happy” child develops a “mean streak,” starts responding in two-word sentences or adds a blotch of purple dye to his or her hair.

One way or another, people find a way to be heard. They find a way to be seen, noticed and acknowledged. To deny an authentic humanity can lead to either self-destruction or an eventual build up of pressure that leads to outward destruction of everything that touches them.

Eventually, we become inert and not fully alive or we become explosive and psychotic. Of course, those are extremes; there are people of all shades in between. But there is also an alternative.

Mary Oliver wrote a poem, “In Blackwater Woods,” where she speaks of the changing season and reflects on the loss and salvation that comes from letting go. As parents, we have to know when to take hold of our children and steer them in the right direction and when to loosen our anxious grip and let them be fully themselves. We can only do that, though, if we’ve learned to do it too.

Stand up for yourself. Let go of petty differences. Find peace in the storm.

This balance is as difficult to locate sometimes as the balance between work and play, love and hate, contentment and restlessness. So we will muddle along, trying to choose our words with our children more carefully, allowing some discomfort when they publicly speak their minds, understanding that mothers and daughters and fathers and sons won’t always agree.

But on one thing I hope we can all agree. Honor and respect and love begin at home — whether you are showing it to someone at age 1 or 100 — then it flows out into the world. A child grounded in a strong faith and value system who can speak up without shame or doubt, but who can also show love and respect to those of differing opinions, will be better equipped to function in this world and contribute boundless gifts.

Instead of half-alive people pleasers, victims or extremists, we’ll raise the next generation of strong and influential peacekeepers — purple hair optional.

The men and women I know and respect are the ones who don’t take abuse lying down. And they handle it with a smile and a firm upper lip. They know who they are and whose they are.

So I say let’s not raise NICE girls and boys. Let’s raise STRONG ones. Because you’re all stronger than you know.

Deuteronomy 4:9

“Tomato plant.”

These words are my newest stop sign for worrying.

It happened a few days ago. It was windy, but finally sunny. The kids in the neighborhood were riding their bikes and jumping on trampolines. The neighbors were mowing their soggy lawns. I had just finished planting over three boxes of onions and some pole beans. My lower back was sunburned in the narrow gap between my shirt and the top of my jeans.

Earlier in the day, I went to church, cleaned the kitchen, wrapped gifts for two upcoming birthday parties and helped with homework.

As I got the kids to bed that night, I thought about the coming week. I thought about the laundry. I thought about doing some work on my computer.

My youngest, age 7, was in her bed with a book. She tugged on my arm.

“Mommy, could you bring my tomato plant into the garage tonight so it doesn’t freeze?” She had heard the weather report about one more chance of frost that night, death to any sun-loving plant like the tomato.

Her tomato plant was still sitting on a small table outside our front door. I told her to place it there for some sun in the afternoon.

Under my daughter’s watchful care, this particular tomato plant sprouted and grew at school, destined to be a Mother’s Day gift along with an eggplant and zinnias. She carefully labeled the milk carton planters and proudly presented her plants to me one day after school. She told me that some of the kids didn’t have plants because theirs died.

She wanted to plant hers in our garden right away, but I told her that the weather was too cold for the plants to be outside yet. So she placed them on the workbench in our garage. Every other day she added water.

I nodded my head. “Okay. Yes. Thanks for reminding me.”

I hugged and kissed my girls, said goodnight to my husband and proceeded to sit at my desk for two or three hours, fretting over my to-do list for the week.

The next morning I quickly showered, got dressed and headed to school to supervise an hour of marching band practice. My daughter found me in the gym. She told me she loved me and blew me a kiss before heading to class.

I headed home to grab some coffee and my computer before driving to St. Paul for work. I came into my driveway and that’s when I saw them. Three little milk cartons covered in construction paper. Red pencils lined up in each carton as plant stakes. Wilted and wet brown leaves.

I forgot about her tomato plant.

Kids don’t usually ask for much: “Play with me.” “Tuck me in bed.” “Can you get me a glass of water?” “Read me a story.” So this latest question cuts to the core.

“Mommy, could you bring my tomato plant into the garage tonight so it doesn’t freeze?”

There is a big reason that God tells us not to worry. Worry distracts us from focusing on what’s important right now! Worrying about tomorrow or about the past won’t change it. But we can make a difference right now. We can do what we promise before it’s too late. Jesus said, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.”

What’s your stop sign for worry? What have you failed at or forgotten to do in the distraction of your lists, selfish worries and troubles? A plant can be replaced, but a person’s trust and love is a far different matter and needs deep concentration every day for us to stay on the right path. Avoid distraction from your true purpose. Don’t leave your priorities in the cold.

Matthew 7:13-14