The infamous one-word sentence

“I tried to raise my children with patience, honesty and good manners, but they still ended up being like me.”

— Author unknown but the concept understood. ----- Sharing child-rearing experience is a generational responsibility. We owe the next generation fair warning.

Sharing with those who carry on the family tradition, is not only what we learned to do, but often more about what we shouldn’t have done.

That responsibility came to mind at a recent family gathering when a young soon-to-be father approached me seeking some pointers. “You’ve raised children, and you have grandchildren,” the expectant parent noted as we sat down to eat, “So at your age, what do you consider the most important part of child rearing.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to tell him to teach kids to avoid seeking advice prefaced with “at your age.” It’s bad enough, “at this age,” that the words always precede conversations with doctors. You’d think family would be more respectful to their elders.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I replied nicely instead. “Mom always said a parent is never through raising their children. Could be, however, she was just talking about me.”

Chit chat with the younger set is usually more manageable. What was it like way back when the Beatles came to America? Did they have airplanes when you were a kid? Uncle what’s-hisname, over there sitting alone. Does he always drink coffee from his saucer and talk to himself like that?

Parenting, however, that was cause for reflection. Pondering my parenting style to that of my parents in the 50s and 60s. And to my children in their current generation efforts to bring up children. Three different philosophies for sure. Four when remembering my grandmother’s words.

“Your father didn’t have those bad habits until he went in the Army,” Granny always said with a shake of her head when referring to his smoking or drinking an occasional beer when he was younger. “I trained him better than that.”

“Training,” I said. “Raising a child requires dedication. But your training can make the difference.”

“That sounded good,” I thought to myself. Feeling I had fulfilled my obligation, I reached for another helping of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

“What sort of training do you consider most important,” he shot back.

Stopping the chicken short of my open mouth, I offered, “Maintaining that elusive balance of teaching life skills without being counterproductive. For instance, we devote the first two years to teaching children to walk and talk. Then the next four, five, or six, to teaching them to sit still and be quiet.

“There is no greater joy,” I continued, “than coaxing your offspring into uttering infantile noises that only a parent would recognize, things like ‘ma-ma’ or ‘da-da.’ On the other hand, nothing equals the agony, a couple of years later, when your sweet little boy announces at the top of his lungs immediately following the dismissal prayer at church, “’Boy, I thought he was never gonna quit. Can we go eat!’

“Inquisitive little faces will reflect deep wonder as you explain the mysteries of life. But,” I said, changing my tone of voice, “the day will come when they ask things like, ‘Daddy, where does the fire go when the log is burned up?’” “Hopefully,” I added, “you will be better versed in science than I was.

Then I hit the inquisitive youngster with my best shot. “Just remember the one word that should never be taught to children under the age of 37.”

“And that is …,” he asked. “The infamous one-word sentence. ‘Why?’ Once a little one discovers the power of what can be accomplished with it, life is never the same for you.”

“It’s a 15-minute delay for going to bed, taking a bath, or eating green vegetables,” I added, “Sadly, weary parents are sometimes slow to learn that explaining why is not an answer to young minds. It’s simply fodder for follow-ups.

“Try telling a four-year-old he needs to let go of the cat’s tail.” “Why, daddy?” “So he doesn’t shred the curtains.” “Why?” “So there is something left to mend and cover the windows.” “Why?” “So the neighbors can’t see frustrated parents trying to explain their way out of endless ‘why’ questions from preschoolers. That’s why.”

“Then the tyke will ask, ‘Why is Kitty hiding from me?’” “Kitty is tired of playing. Maybe he will be back.” “When?” “In a year or two.’” “I see ….,” my listener said. “In fact,” I concluded, reaching for the chicken one more time, then pausing. Just to inflict the full force of silence.

“Uncle what’s-his-name over there? Sipping coffee out of the saucer and talking to himself? And my dad, smoking and drinking when he was younger?

“Both, because their kids learned the one-word sentence … why.”

------ —Contact Leon Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail.com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com