Right Mothering

On our way from ballet to Costco the other weekend, my daughter fixated on something that happened at her piano graduation recital a couple weeks earlier.  One boy in the class, older than the rest, selected as one of his pieces a song from farther along in the book than the class had thus far progressed.  My daughter had also actually learned the song, because it is well-known, which most of the songs in the book are not.  She knew, however, that it would not have been appropriate to play it at the graduation recital.  Why it would not have been appropriate was the topic of conversation in the car that day.

She began by asking why the boy should not have played the song.  I explained that although we too had gone ahead in the book to learn the song, playing it for the graduation recital is rude to both the teacher and to fellow students.  By playing a song that the class had not yet covered, the boy was saying to the teacher, “I don’t need you to learn this song” and to his fellow students, “I am better than all of you because I alone can play ahead in the book.”  Second, by playing that song now, he would have one less song to choose from for the graduation recital that covers that material.  Third, he had actually signed up for another piece, from among the songs we had actually learned, which many students had wanted to play, but couldn’t because he had raised his hand most fervently.

My daughter found this explanation fascination, for during this fifteen-minute car ride, she asked me at least three more times the very same question, about why this boy should not have played this piece at the recital.  I made my case three times.  She understood what I was saying, but the discussion fascinated her (just as do discussions about why soy can be bad for you and why smoking is a weakness in moral character).

I am thrilled that this topic fascinates her.  I know she had the right instinct – away from obnoxious behavior – and empathize with her need to understand in concrete terms why humility is important.  The bad behavior of others provides teaching moments and also affirmation of her good behavior.  Similarly, when a girl took snowballs and threw them onto the front steps of her school, I did not hesitate, within hearing of the girl and her father, to explain how putting snow where someone has once cleared snow is not very thoughtful of that person’s efforts.  Although the bad behavior of children and other adults can stress me more than it should, I just remind myself that it offers real-life cautionary tales.

We live in a metropolitan area populated by a majority of poorly behaving adults, most clearly evidenced by the their offensively inconsiderate driving habits.  I can only assume that they were all once poorly behaving children.  Because I must deal with these poorly raised adults each and every day, I am very sensitive to the sight of poorly behaving children.  So yes, I may not like your children (in response to the recent Motherlode post, “Do Strangers Really Hate My Kids?”)

Based on my own observations, the worse the behavior of the child, the greater the inattention of the parents to that child, at least in public.  Out in the world, my husband and I never take our eyes of our daughter.  We are vigilant, but we adore her, so we cannot not look at her.  In December, we were at a holiday celebration at our Sunday language school.  I was seated at a table, and my husband was chatting with another father.  Our daughter was cavorting with the other children in the middle of the room.  At one point, she walked over to a drum propped on its side and leaning against a chair and tapped it with her foot.  Within seconds, both my husband and I were at her side, each in our own language, asking her what she was doing.  She knew she had done bad and did not like us going on at length about her misdeed.  So we let up and moved on.  But she knows that we are always watching.

When we lived overseas, we lived in a country where parents made a point of ignoring their children on the playground as a statement about how they cultivate the independence of their children (attachment parenting is unknown in this country).  Children could throw sand, wield sticks, and otherwise terrorize other children without any repercussions (unless, of course, I was on the playground).  When we visited a neighboring country, each parent was within two steps of his or her child on the playground, and although the children were pretty wild, I felt so safe with my gentle daughter on this playground, because I knew that I was not responsible for protecting her from the bad behavior of the other children.  Now, is it a coincidence that the citizens of our country of residence are notoriously out only for themselves and those of the country that we visited are known for how deeply they care about others?

So, you see, the bad behavior of children is not charming.  It is the means by which nasty societies perpetuate themselves.