Uncomfortable conversations are a classic aspect of the parenting experience. Whether it’s in the car, grocery store, a classroom or any other location, the conversations can be challenging…and thought-provoking. Over the years I have tried to use the tools I have learned during my formal and informal training. These tools have both helped me respond as well as learn.
There’s a lot of stop and go traffic in our city. Our 3-mile drive to school tends to take us 15 to 20 minutes each morning. Needless to say, over the years we’ve been at a traffic standstill behind many cars that are…colorful. Especially the language on bumper stickers.
Over the years I’ve noticed bumper stickers and I think to myself, “I hope my kids don’t see that.” Whether they see it or they don’t see it, they rarely ask about them because they either can’t read them or what is on the sticker doesn’t make sense to them. There is a truck in town with a bumper sticker of a silhouette of a naked woman with her legs spread open and the words “spread the love.” Every time I see it, I hold my breathe and try to figure out what I will say If my children bring it to my attention. As of right now, that has not happened, but this week a different bumper sticker was brought to my attention by them.
During our evening commute, we were stopped at an intersection stoplight. There were about 15 cars ahead of us on the two-lane highway and I was contemplating changing lanes when my daughter asked, “Dad, why do people have bumper stickers?”
Boarding the plane for a recent trip, my daughter inched patiently behind me counting each row we passed anxiously waiting to get to row 26. As we approached our seats she tapped me on the lower back and said, “Daddy, can I sit next to you? Sister can sit next to mommy.”
“If that’s what you want to do, sure.”
We got to our seats, sat down and began digging around for our seat belts. Settling in, I started to untangle my headphones and quickly download some music before setting my phone to airplane mode. My daughter looked out the window curiously. After a minute or so she said, “Daddy, why are most of the people who work in the airport people of color, like the people who drive the carts and at the restaurants and the people on the plane like the pilot and other…whatever they’re called…people who help?”
“The flight attendants?”
“Ya, them. Why are most of them and the pilots white?”
About a year and a half ago my younger sister embarked on an exploration of the family tree using one of the many commercial DNA test kits. Like many others, especially those whose heritage is riddled with the various American storied outcomes of conquest, persecution, and integration, my family was very interested curious to garner a better understanding of our history.
For most adults there is no conversation more uncomfortable than talking about sex and sexuality with their child. This is especially true for fathers with daughters. But why is it so hard?
To start, we live in a society that objectifies women. We grow up watching and listening over and over again to messages that portray women as sex symbols. We are taught that real men are players, sleep with a lot of women, and have the upper hand in relationships with women. We are taught that menstruation is gross and taboo to talk about, and testosterone equals strong and entitled.
Most of the time the children and I are in the car we are doing more stopping and moving side to side than moving forward. I feel the circumstances elicit an unnecessary amount of hostile energy and negativity for my fellow drivers. However, my wife has a different opinion. I rarely honk the horn if a driver is not paying attention or they do something that frustrates me. Slightly more often I will say words such as, “What is this yahoo doing!?” My responses or lack thereof do not win praises by my wife. And the children recognize this.
The other day we were on our morning commute when a driver in front of me did not move after the light turned green. I honked the horn once gently. They still did respond. I honked the horn twice with a little more force. That got the driver’s attention and they drove. As we began moving forward my older daughter asked, “Dad if your car could say words what would they be?
On our way to school the other morning my daughter asked me, “Why are most of the people who do construction work Latino?”
“That would be a better question to ask a Latino person who does construction.”
She was silent for a moment and then said, “But I don’t know and Latino people who do constructions and I don’t talk to strangers. Why do YOU think a lot of construction workers are Latino.”
“Ok, you’re right. Hmmm…it’s hard to say because I only know a couple Latino men who do construction and I know that Latino men in construction is a stereotype. Latino men, like Tata, and your uncles, and cousins are Latino, but they don’t do construction.”
Every year around the holidays we receive a gift catalog providing us with an opportunity to buy a farm animal for families living in Africa. I have tacitly accepted it as a harmless piece of junk mail. The catalog typically sits in our pile of junk mail. But, after my older daughter commented on it, I was forced to give it some attention.
“Dad, can we buy an animal for a family in Africa. The animals are for families in Africa who don’t have their rights met. They need our help. Come, look,” she said. Continue reading →
About a week ago, I was supervising my daughters as they played on a playground. This was a new playground for us. It was pretty typical. A ground cover of wood chips, slides, bars to climb across, walls to climb up, etc. They also had six swings, two for babies and toddlers, two traditional and, less common two adaptive swings. These swings are typically blue or red, look like an upright reclining chair, and have four chains connecting them to the cross bar; two in the front and two in the back. They are designed to support children who do not have the size, core strength or muscle tone to sit on the other swings. Also rare for playgrounds were the rubber walkway/ramps that wove through the wood chips. Each ramp lead to a piece of playground equipment. I took brief notice of these features, but I didn’t consider them something worth pointing out to the children. I was wrong.