I try not to be racist, but the truth is every single person on the planet is a little, I think.
Yesterday, I was in the post office, patiently standing in a line behind four other folks. To my right there was a young man who was Middle Eastern. He was tall, probably 6’2 and wearing grey sweats. And he had a long black pony tail and a great big bushy beard. He had head phones and an I phone. I watched for seven or eight minutes as he walked around picking up different envelopes then putting them back. He picked up various sizes of shipping boxes and put them down and he kept looking back, at the front door.
When it was my turn to approach the counter I looked at him and smiled, “We’re you waiting in line?”
He just shook his head and said “no.”
Once I left the Post Office I sat in the parking lot and wondered what I was supposed to do. For fifteen years we’ve been hammered with “If you see something, say something.” and the dude was acting weird.
Had it been a black, white or Hispanic guy I would not have even considered calling the authorities. But he was Middle Eastern, it was a post office and I was worried.
But reporting that young man for being what I thought was “suspicious” could wreck his life. If he was investigated it could appear on job back ground checks, maybe it would keep him out of grad school or mess up his housing situation.
I was doing everything I try not to do. I was judging him, I was racially profiling him, I was thinking like a racist.
But I’m human…and that’s the problem. We are all flawed. Are our thoughts or actions more important? I don’t know.
I can only hope, someday, when God takes a look at my track record he doesn’t judge me by my actual thoughts. And I hope the youngman in the Post Office can forgive me. I hope you found your envelope.
Comments Off on Am I Racist?Tags: middle eastern, racism, terrorism
If you’re a mom or dad, you’ve dealt with it. You say “no” to a child and the meltdown begins. They cry, they beg, they fall on the ground and do the worm thing and that’s the worst. If you pick them up, they go limp and spongy…..so you leave them on the ground. The crying and screaming is not just embarrassing it’s infuriating and frustrating. But more than anything, they cry baby makes us all mad….really really mad.
My oldest daughter, Mary, was a cry baby. When she was little, every time we left a store and I didn’t buy her something, candy or a little toy she went “Three Mile Island” on me. The meltdown was epic. Kicking feet, waving arms, crying, screaming. People looked at me like I was a child abuser or kidnapper.
Here’s the reality. If you spank your kid for being a cry baby you are a moron. Spanking, hitting and smacking makes them cry more.
You have to find a way to be smarter……than a three year old. You have to be more clever than a four year old. You have to be wiser than a five year old.
Here’s what worked with Mary. When Mary started getting mad because she didn’t get her way she’d start slow with a pout face, then kicking feet. I would smile. Then she would start crying and I’d keep on smiling. Then the eruption would hit with hands and feet, tears, wailing and screaming…..And I would start laughing. Often times I would take pictures. And that made her really really really mad.
As we rolled across the parking lot I’d say something like, “Good job, Mary. Keep it up. Your’e doing good.” This made her so mad she went nuclear. After a couple of days she began to realize something was wrong. I wasn’t responding the right way. Kids do this because they want you to respond in a certain way. They want you to say, “Oh baby what’s wrong?”
After two weeks Mary was burned out. Throwing fits is exhausting…and futile if it doesn’t work. Her fury failed….she realized it and gave up. But it took two consistent eeks of smiling and laughing every time she melted down. And if you are in a house….you have to leave the room, as though it’s no big deal. Who wants to put on a show when nobody is watching.
Once, when Mary was three and Jack was four I walked out on her temper tantrum. She stopped crying instantly and said to Jack, “Do your like our mom?”
Here’s another idea that worked. If you are at somebody else’s house and your kiddo turns into a cry baby and throws a temper tantrum….every body hates that. It sucks. Pick that child up, take them to a different room, and walk out of the room. They don’t get to act like that in front of folks. It’ll work out.
A child finds no joy in melting down if nobody is watching. And following in order to melt down is no fun.
Not only was Mary a crybaby…..she was a bully. We spent 2 years telling jack not to “hurt the baby” so he’d never defend himself and she tortured him. It was awful.
Finally, we realized at age three, Mary was a total jerk and bully. It was time for a sit down.
“Mary, everything you do to other people, to bug them….we’re gonna do to you. So, if you turn off the lights and slam the door and leave Jack in the dark to scare him…you have to sit in a dark room for 30 seconds.”
It took a while. But finally Mary, The Boss Bully, realized if she took stuff away from Jack we were gonna take it away from her. If she turned off the tv, we turned it off for thirty minutes for her. If she pushed his plate or cup on the floor….we threw hers away. And if she pinched or pushed him….he had permission to pinch and push back.
It was pretty simple. It was fair, there was no yelling or shouting…just simple retribution. And it worked.
Bottom line…if you have a crybaby….if you have a baby bully. Stop being violent and loud. Instead…be smart and crafty.
Outsmart that kid and you’ll win. Spanking and screaming is for amateurs and losers.
Tags: bad kids, bullies, child rearing, cry babies, family, mom and dad
Rich people are different than you and me. And so are stupid, brilliant teenage boys. Their brains are different, waaaay different.
My fourteen year old son, makes great grades but still can’t remember to put on deodorant or brush his teeth in the morning before we leave for school. I’ll say “smell good?” a couple of times, he’ll say, “oh, yeah, right.” Ten minutes I’ll find him in his room studying sheet music or looking at a youtube video of a guy who strained out all the pulp from 65 dollars of orange juice……ate it.
“Sandor, you don’t have time to watch that. Teeth and arm pits, Buddy”
“Yes ma’am.” he says smiling and walking into the bathroom.
He never remembers to ask for lunch money or pack a lunch. Old schoolers tell me, “let him go hungry and he’ll start remembering.”
So I did that, two weeks in a row. He just walked around hungry for ten days.
He forgets to eat, literally forgets because he’s so caught up in playing the drums, writing music and talking to his buddies. Then, at three o’clock in the afternoon he’s suddenly so hungry he wants to eat his own arm. He devours everything he sees, first come first served, chips, cookies, noodles, post roast. It’s crazy how much he goes through and I say, “When was the last time you ate?”
“Last night at dinner I guess. I just forgot.”
But his brain is still functioning. He still remembers to hug me first thing every morning when he stumbles out of his room. He collapses into me as though his life depends on it. Then starts him morning ritual.
I’ll send two boys into the store with a twenty dollar bill. “I need ten in gas.”
They will appear, five minutes latter with a Gatorade. “How much gas do you need?”
But they can memorize an entire foot ball play book so I know something is going on in their heads.
Everyday when he gets out of the car he remembers to tell me he loves me first. He remembers our secret handshake and all the different handshakes with his buddies. He remembers to do his homework and exactly how to mix the dog food for the puppy dogs.
He remembers when I touch my nose it means “say thank you”, when one of his sisters extends an open palm, he’s supposed to tap it with his fingers and say “happy chickens!” And he remembers to say grace in Hungarian at every family meal.
He remembers the language of family. He never forgets the words and gestures that make us…..us.
Sandor can always make up for a stinky day because he forgot to take a shower. He can always gorge after he forgets to eat. But the families precious orbit and loving satellite system is different. When we need each other, we all have to remember. We all have to be there. His stupid boy brain will settle down some day and he’ll remember to brush his teeth seven days in a row. Until then what’s important is he remembers “Happy Chickens and the “Sexy Dolphin Dance.”
Comments Off on Teen Age Boy Brain Goes MIATags:
Huum. I know we are supposed be, but I keep running into folks who are devout Christians but they just aren’t very nice and that really throws me for a loop.
Nice sounds like such a wimpy,soft word, vacuous and lame but it’s a very important quality.
We all know what “nice” means but I looked it up just to be sure. Nice means “giving pleasure or joy.Kind, polite and friendly.”
We as Christians are supposed to be nice to everyone, not just people who are just like us. I keep running into Christians who are not kind, friendly or polite to the boy at Sonic who is Goth and wears mascara. They are not nice to the very effeminate, over weight boy who works at the Smoothie place. They are not friendly or kind to the woman in line at Walmart wearing the head scarf or the Hispanic man cutting their neighbors grass.
Parents and preachers, I think, need to teach the talented jocks, the beautiful mean girls and the cool kids that they are not acting like a Christian when they bully, taunt, tease and harass.
But some of the people, kids and adults, who are not kind, are still very quick to tell everyone they are Christians.
Here’s the thing. I believe God loves all those people previously mentioned, the Goth kid, the fat kid, the immigrant, the guy who just got out of prison, just as much as he loves you are me. And I think it breaks God’s heart when we are not “nice” to all of his children. Thankfully, God is not as picky about who he loves or we would all be in trouble.
Last week at WalMart the cashier was a 40 year old black man with a speech impediment. He was slow and the lane was backing up because of his disability. The woman in front of me, wearing a big silver cross, had to repeat something several times because he didn’t understand. Then she looked at me, obviously annoyed, and rolled her eyes. I wanted to punch her in the face.
Maybe she was a Christian but she was not a nice person.
But I think I have an idea. Preachers, pastors and parents need to teach their children to be Christians and be nice. We need to stop assuming kids instantly understand being Christian means you are supposed to be nice, kind, friendly and polite….to everyone. We need to teach our children, from a very young age, that it is their duty, as a Christian, to be kind to teachers and hobos and waitresses, to those who serve the public and those of other races and beliefs, to be kind to everyone, not just to people who are like us or we agree with. And we should do that because Jesus asked us to.
I know I fall short every day. I get mad at myself sometimes when I act ugly. There’s a guy who works in a store I frequent. He drives me CRAZY, I mean really really bugs me. I just want him to stop talking and stay out of my space. But that’s my problem, not his fault and I have to remind myself that God loves him just as much as he loves me.
And when you see the goth kid, with the giant gauges in his ears, holes big enough to put a shot glass in, the big gold ring in his eyebrow and tattoos all over his body…..God loves that boy too, just as much as he love you.
When you see the kid with the tank top and jeans sagging down so low you can see his red checked boxers, running across the street, against the light. You might not agree with his fashion decisions but God loves that guy a whole lot too, just as much as he loves you.
Christians are supposed to be “Christ Like” and Jesus was nice.
But I will try every day to teach my kids to be nice to their family, to those they love and those they don’t understand. Because we are all God’s children. So teach it and be it….Be Nice.
Tags: bullies, Christianity, Christians, mean girls, preachers
Imagine for a moment that my son, Sandor, who is about to turn 14, his adorable girlfriend and his best friend, Sam are walking down Central Avenue in Hot Springs, Arkansas. It’s Saturday and they are going to see a 2 pm movie. They laugh and push each other as they walk toward the movie theater.
A police officer pulls up next to them and gets out of the car.
“Hold up a second. I need to talk to you guys.”
Sandor looks at his phone, he doesn’t want to miss the movie. His girlfriend suddenly looks pale nervous. She squeezes his hand. He squeezes back.
“I need to see some ID.”
They all shake their heads. “We’re only 14, we don’t have any ID. We’re just going to a movie.”
The officer smiles, but it’s not friendly.”Well, I guess you’re gonna be a little late late. We got a call about some kids spay painting a building just a few blocks from here. One of them is a blond. Where are you guys coming from?”
“Our house, right up the street.”
The questions go on and on an on.
“What’s the address?”
“Where are you going?”
“Who are your parents? Do they know where you are?”
“Where were you an hour ago?”
“Is that paint on your jeans?”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Sandor isn’t as nervous now, but he’s starting to get angry. “It wasn’t us, we’re going to the movie. Seriously. You can’t do this. We weren’t doing anything wrong.” He’s wondering, why is this cop hassling them?
“Yes sir,” the Officer says. ” I can do this. I need both you to put your hands on the back of my car.”
“Why?” Sandor asks and his girl friend starts to cry a little.
“Just do what your told, kid,” the cop says and pushes both boys against his car. He kicks their legs apart, really wide.
The girl friend pulls out her phone and starts to call her dad but the police officer says, “Please put you phone away.” The girl does what she’s told.
The officer runs his hand up and down their legs, inside and out, around the waist band of their jeans. He reaches inside Sam’s boots, then checks the front pockets of their jeans and the pockets of their hoodies.
A car load of teenagers honk and holler as they pass by.
Then the officer gets a call on his radio. He says, “Don’t move” to the boys. Sandor is so mad and humiliated, he wills himself not to cry in frustration. He wants to hug his girlfriend and tell her it’ll be ok.
He can read the words on the side of the police car “Protect and Serve.”He looks at Sam, he wants him to see those words too. But Sam is gone. His face is ashen blank, absolutely empty. His eyes look as though he’s shut down. Sandor knows that look. It’s how Sam looks when he’s beyond angry, when he’s thinking about revenge and getting even. It’s his game face. Sam never lets anyone see his real emotions. But he never forgets.
The officer returns, “Alright guys, your good to go. They picked up the kids working on another building. Stay out of trouble.” And then he’s back in his squad car and gone.
Sam and Sandor don’t know what to say. But now, at the age of 14, they both hate and fear cops. The officer humiliated, embarrassed and violated them. He made them feel weak and powerless in front of the entire town, in front of the girl, and for no reason. This feeling will never leave the boys.
That’s what the “Stop and Frisk” policy does to young men. I understand it might lead to a lot of arrests. But “Stop and Frisk” will to turn an entire generation of African Americans, Muslims, Hispanics and whites kids against law enforcement. The officers will never be trusted or respected. Just feared and hated. And that’s not what cops want.
“Stop and Frisk” is a lazy and easy way to make arrests. But it will destroy any hope of having minority communities work with the police.
Our Law Enforcement Officers deserve better and our young people will demand better, or seek their revenge for being humiliated.
Comments Off on “Stop and Frisk” is for Idiots! or how to make kids hate cops foreverTags: boys, community policing, cops, donald trump, frisk, innocent kids, police, racism, stop and frisk, teens, the war on terror, Trump
I have a problem with hobos. First, let me say I like the word “hobo” way better than “homeless” or “less fortunate” because it sounds like they are choosing to be a hobo. They want to “ride the rails” and travel the country in a box car with a jaunty bandanna, cute dog and a hobo sack tied to a stick.
I know the truth is most “hobos” have mental problems, drug problems, many are vets and it totally sucks.
Here’s my problem. When I see a guy standing on the side of the road with a sign that says “Homeless Vet Need Food God Bless” I feel I really really need to give him a dollar, or five or ten because I’m afraid he might be Jesus. I constantly think God might be testing me, sending His son down to test me.
If I was God, that’s what I would do. It’s the perfect way to find out what’s in a person’s heart. Do you really want to help or do you want to look away, ignore or judge?
Some times I see guys on the side or the road with a sign, asking for help and I reach into my pocket quickly. Sometimes, I’m kind of slow or hesitant, because I don’t believe the people are actually poor, looking for a job, hungry or needy.
But what if I’m wrong? What if my judgment is off, what if it is Jesus? That’s what drives me crazy and makes me worry for my own soul. I look at people, their signs, their clothes, their expression and I judge.
Judging is wrong. I don’t know what they’ve been through, I don’t know what’s in their heart. How could I presume to think I know anything about their heart. Deep in my heart I know I shouldn’t judge. That’s God’s job. My job is to help.
Tags: God, hobo, homeless, judging
Everyone has wounds, unique emotional scrapes and scars. Childhood and growing up, family and friends can sometimes beat you up and leave sore spots that we try to ignore or cover up.
I have a running joke that I cheerfully keep all my emotional skeletons locked in a closest and that’s where I want them to stay.
If we are lucky in life, we find salves and ointments, activities, places and people who make us feel better as humans. There are things that can smooth the rough corners and edges of life.
This year I discovered a place, right down the road, whose sole mission is exactly that. The Loco Bonita Ranch has some horses, a lot of them: and these animals have magical gifts. They make people feel better.
Seven years ago John and Sonja McCaleb opened their ranch and their hearts to folks who need them. Kids who have to live in “children’s homes” , stroke victims, students with emotional struggles and adults with unnamed, but very real pain have a place and some horses who understand. It’s one of the craziest most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Sonja, John and their horses are quiet and kind, patient and encouraging. I watched as ten year old girls, twenty year old men and middle age ladies suddenly found peace as they brushed a 2,000 pound horse and talked. Years of physical and emotional pain dissolved as the horses nuzzled on them and tried to nibble the buttons on their shirts.
A lovely woman I know had a stroke a few years ago. She hadn’t been near a horse in forty years and all she wanted to do was ride, one more time. Sonja and John made that happen and it was beautiful. There were tears and laughter and horse poop and the world was right for an hour. Despite her disability she left empowered, knowing she could still do anything she set her mind to.
High strung, anxious, angry teens slow down as they figure out how to brush a horse. The look into those big dark eyes and breath in the peace of Loco Bonita. Sometimes as John or Sonja shows them how to take care of a horse they tell their stories….for the first time.
Kids who have been abandoned at home and bullied at school discover they have the ability to brush, saddle, bridle and lead an enormous, beautiful horse. And they can ride that huge animal without threats or abuse but with understanding and strength.
John and Sonja refuse to charge for any of their services. They just won’t do it.
The eighteen horses at Loco Bonita along with the Llama, goats, pigs and dogs do wondrous good in the world. The ranch is a place of peace and power, of grace and beauty.
Over the past 7 years Sonja estimated they’ve had at least 5,000 folks come through Loco Bonita and every one has been touched and helped by a horse. Both John and Sonja work full time. They help people because it is their passion and God’s plan. If you would like to visit or make a donation to help feed a horse (they eat a lot) let me know and we’ll make it happen.
Peace be with you,
Comments Off on Horsey HealingTags: anxiety, Arkansas, bullies, emotional abuse, healing, horses, Hot Springs, Loco Bonita, physical abuse, public service, theraby
A few weeks ago a young man came over to go to the lake with us and spend the night. He’s a nice kid, has good manners and was fun. But Alex and I were both horrified, yes, that’s the word I’m going with, when dinner time rolled around.
The menu was pretty simple. Roasted chicken, green beans with bacon and baked sweet potato fries with ketchup. Sandor was excited but our 14 year old guest, who’s a big ol football player, looked concerned. He sheepishly said, “I don’t really eat that kind of stuff.”
“You don’t eat chicken?”
“No ma’am, well, only fried chicken, like chicken strips.”
“Will you try one bite?”
Reluctantly, he nodded his head yes. I cut off a piece of white mean with some crispy skin.He stuck it in his mouth and swallowed but was shaking his head no the entire time. The texture of actual chicken was so foreign and strange he had a hard time swallowing it.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I brought some food from my house, though.”
Let me go on record, my husband Alex, makes awesome roasted chicken. I could tell he was about to get pretty angry, so I rubbed his back, until the boy disappeared into Sandor’s bed room. “It’s not his fault and he’s obviously really embarrassed. If you want to be mad at somebody be mad at his folks. This is their doing.”
Sandor came out, sensing there was “an issue”.
“When you go to Hunter’s house, what do you eat?”
“Junk mostly I guess. Cereal, pizza, fast food, soda.”
“So nobody makes any real food?”
“No ma’am. Hunter’s really embarrassed. He brought a pizza and some bagel bites with him though.”
I told Sandor to have him come out and eat with us. We were all gonna watch a movie and eat dinner. I offered to put Hunter’s food on a plate but I promise, this is true. He sat at the far end of the couch, eating his pizza out of his back pack. And he looked like a beaten dog. I felt so sorry for the kid.
Parents, make your children eat real food! Don’t put them in this situation! Don’t wait till they are seven or eight years old or you will have an epic battle on your hands. Make them eat normal, healthy food when they are babies. Good Lord, I know you love your child but don’t let them grow up on a diet of processed junk food.
What would happen if you put pancake syrup in your gas tank all the time instead of gas. Well that’s what feeding your child junk food all the time is like. Sure everyone eats a Happy Meal, Nacho Dorito Tacos and stuffed crust pizza some times. Don’t cheer for your kid when they eat an entire bag of chips. Being overweight in school can be really hard. Kids are mean.. Just stop it, ok?
Your kids will learn to eat and like what you teach them to eat and like. You have all the power. Use it responsibly, Spider-Man.
Tags: healthy food, junk food, nutrition, overweight children, roasted chicken, teenage boy
“Mom, we’re gonna go jump on the trampoline.”
“But it’s raining.”
“That’s why we’re going.”
The three thirteen year old boys thundered out the door in tee shirts and basketball shorts.
I made a fresh cup of coffee. When I heard Aries, our German Sheppard, barking, I looked out the window. She was on the trampoline with the boys in the rain. They were all laughing and she barked deliriously.
I opened the door. “Hey, get the dog off. She’s got claws and will shred the mat.”
Two of the boys said “yes ma’am” as they all coaxed the dog off the trampoline. But she jumped back up with them instantly, refusing to be cut out of the fun. Drops of water flew from the trampoline mat and off their soggy heads, every time they jumped.
I called the dog and told her to go under the porch.
For almost an hour the three boys wrestled and bounced in the rain. They peeled off their wet tee-shirts and threw them into the grass.
The tallest boy is a redheaded football player. He loves to tell us extraordinary facts about “gingers”. He’s very proud of his hair. The muscular boy with dark hair is a musician and vice president of the 8th grade Beta club. The smallest of the boys has bright blond hair. He’s very quiet but he’s the daredevil of the three.
They start playing a complicated game called Dead Man. It involves a blindfold, counting and body slams.
Listening to them laugh and talk trash, I realize this moment is Boyhood’s Last Stand. This is the golden moment and will be gone very soon.
Right now, in the rain, they do not have a single dark thought or worry. Two of the boys have girlfriends. They hold hands and hug on the middle school play ground. The boys sneak up behind the girls and pick them up, an act of affection and a show of strength.
The girls laugh and squeal and demand the boys put them down.
The boys do the same thing to each other, but there are choke holds and punching too.
Soon, very soon, there will be kissing and holding on desperately. There will be emotions, passion, love, anger, joy and frustration. They will still
have fun but will not play as much. And thoughtless joy will fade.
I should tell them to come inside and dry off. There is thunder in the distance. But I can’t do it. It will end too quickly on its own.
Please leave a comment or email me. I’d love to hear from you. And if your interested having advertising on the page let me know. I’m pretty cheap. firstname.lastname@example.org
Comments Off on The Beauty of BoyhoodTags: boyhood, boys, girlfriends, growing up, the end of innocence
There are three things wait, four things, parents have to teach their children before they are five, six or at the latest, seven years old. Otherwise…it’s too late. And if you don’t teach your child these three things consider yourself a mediocre parent. I should know.
#1 Teach your kid how to ride a bike. It’s not easy, it takes a lot of patience and running around. Your child is going to cry and get mad at you. They will want to give up, but don’t let them. Take the time to hold the back of the bike seat and run up and down the parking lot or side walk.
Learning to ride a bike when you are young is easy and not nearly as scary because you’re a short person on a short bike, you are close to the ground and you don’t look like a complete doooof if you are wearing all kinds of elbow and knee pads, extra underwear and a football helmet.
Little kids fall down all the time, it’s not that big a deal. But when grownups fall down it’s a monumental embarrassment. Kids fall down then pop back up. Adults fall down then miss work for a week.
I failed to teach Mary how to ride a bike. We rode with training wheels, then took one wheel off but that’s as far as we got and I didn’t force the issue. So my beautiful, brilliant adult daughter still needs one training wheel.
#2. Teach your child to swim, or let somebody else do it. First there’s the safety side of the equation. Unless you live in the Middle East your child will spend time around water, lakes and pools, he’ll end up on a boat.
When grown ups try to learn to swim they are terrified because they know the reality of the situation. If they go under they will die. The adult brain also interferes with the learning process. A two hundred pound man may know he can float but he doesn’t’ believe his great big fat body will stay on top of the water. So he thrashes around, sinks, gets water up his nose and gives up. The end.
Teach your child to swim to the edge of the pool and to hold on before they are one year old. The kid doesn’t have to be an Olympic swimmer, they don’t need to know all the strokes including the butterfly, but they better know how to float and how to get to the shallow end of the pool.
And think about this, the planet Earth is 71 percent water. You don’t want your child to be afraid of 71% of this place.
When a child learns to swim it’s cute, when an adult tries to learn to swim it’s embarrassing and traumatic.
#3. Finally, please teach your child how to shake hands. Little boys and girls. All you have to remember is “firm grip and eye contact”. Their lives will be better with this one simple skill.
When Jack was 13 or 14 he decided he wanted to look like an absolute freak, bright red mohawk, suspenders, plaid golf pants. Still, he had a great handshake, he knew how to look an adult in the eye and act like a man so coaches, teachers and ministers cut him some slack and still loved him. Grown men let him date their beautiful daughters in part, I believe, because he had an excellent hand shake.
If a kid has a pathetic handshake I generally think they are weak or sneaky. I can’t help it. And yes, I know lots of scummy, slimy people have great handshakes. But do your child a favor. Start shaking hands with them when they are two years old. Shake hands all the time at home. Role play, shake hands in the morning and say “nice to meet you, sir.” Kids will think it’s fun and remember, when they are little, remind them to shake hands with new people in private before you introduce them. After a while, it will become automatic.
And the best part, when they are little but shake hands like a grown man, people will say, “wow, great hand shake buddy!” The child will be really proud and keep doing it.
When Sandor’s thirteen year old buddies come over I shake hands with them. If it’s gooey we work on it. It’s that easy. Young men need to know how to shake hands but if you don’t teach them they won’t get it.
If I were to add one more thing to teach your kid, it would be how to make a phone call, if they aren’t calling their friends. They need to know how to say, “Hi, this is Morgan, can I talk to Heather.” At least once a week a kid calls my phone, looking for Sandor. They just say, “Uh, where Sandor?” I tell them what they need to do (sweetly) then tell them to hang up and try again. 98 percent of them do it and get it right.
We all want to make our children’s lives better. You can teach them the skills that will absolutely help. And it’s actually fun!
Comments Off on Do Your Kid A Favor….Four ThingsTags: children, excel parents, good manners, kids, life skills, ride a bike, swim