It was about 1994. My two children, barely aged 5 and 2, were running around the church sanctuary as the worship team was practicing the songs. I let them run because nobody else was there yet for the service, but as people started to file in, I began to tighten the reins.
"People are coming in," I told them. "Time to stop running and play quietly."
They listened - for as long as small children's attention span lasts. Especially when one of them has undiagnosed ADHD.
So they started making noises and playing under the seat. Their giggles mingled with thumps their feet made on the underside of the pew as they lay on the floor. Occasionally one of them would run around and I would have to go and catch the offending one (usually the youngest) and cart them back.
I was getting more and more frustrated as more and more adults turned toward me and glared.
One of the greeters at the entryway was a large, jovial man named Blair. He watched the kids and saw my frustration. As I was carting my toddler back for the fourth time (it felt like the tenth), Blair touched my arm. I stopped, still holding the child under my arm like a football. By this time, the oldest was coming closer to investigate.
Blair smiled at me. "I'm going to tell you something that my kids' Ukranian grandmother said to me when our children were their age," he announced, jerking his head toward my children. He looked me straight in the eye and said slowly, "Kids kids."
I stared back at him quizzically, confused by his statement. "Kids kids?" I queried.
He chuckled. "She didn't speak English all that well. What she meant was that children are going to be children no matter where they are. And they are children for such a short time. So let them be children."
He grinned as I slowly grasped his meaning. He was encouraging me as a mother - saying that it wasn't so horrible of me to let my kids play - because after all, they were children! To let them be children was the best gift I could give them.
That statement helped form my (and our) parenting decisions from that time onward. If they wanted to play at church, I'd take them into the foyer (or outside if I could) and let them play themselves out, rather than subject a teacher to them fidgeting and their excess of energy.
If they wanted to go into Cubs instead of Brownies, into Cubs they went - and excelled! The oldest wanted to go into Scouts - so we supported her when the time came. And when she decided on her own that it wasn't for her, we supported that too.
We encouraged each of them to plunge into whatever they wanted and we didn't force them into activities they had no interest in. As a result, they decided to take swimming classes together - something their mom had never had the courage to do! The oldest was in her junior high school band for a little over three years, learned to play the flute, and dropped out of senior high school band when she got a "creepy teacher" (who eventually was discovered to be too "friendly" toward some of his girl pupils...) and the youngest discovered she had a gift (among the other gifts she had) for using her hands. She developed an interest in carpentry and welding before she passed away in 2013 in a car crash.
Each person has unique gifts and fills a special place in the world that only they can fill. And it all came into focus for me that day when a man named Blair took the time to encourage a young, harried mother.
He also had another saying, which he said quite often: "It's nice to be nice." And he lived by it. Thank you, Blair. Thank you.
"People are coming in," I told them. "Time to stop running and play quietly."
They listened - for as long as small children's attention span lasts. Especially when one of them has undiagnosed ADHD.
So they started making noises and playing under the seat. Their giggles mingled with thumps their feet made on the underside of the pew as they lay on the floor. Occasionally one of them would run around and I would have to go and catch the offending one (usually the youngest) and cart them back.
I was getting more and more frustrated as more and more adults turned toward me and glared.
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| Free Image courtesy of chriswolf at Pixabay.com |
Blair smiled at me. "I'm going to tell you something that my kids' Ukranian grandmother said to me when our children were their age," he announced, jerking his head toward my children. He looked me straight in the eye and said slowly, "Kids kids."
I stared back at him quizzically, confused by his statement. "Kids kids?" I queried.
He chuckled. "She didn't speak English all that well. What she meant was that children are going to be children no matter where they are. And they are children for such a short time. So let them be children."
He grinned as I slowly grasped his meaning. He was encouraging me as a mother - saying that it wasn't so horrible of me to let my kids play - because after all, they were children! To let them be children was the best gift I could give them.
That statement helped form my (and our) parenting decisions from that time onward. If they wanted to play at church, I'd take them into the foyer (or outside if I could) and let them play themselves out, rather than subject a teacher to them fidgeting and their excess of energy.
If they wanted to go into Cubs instead of Brownies, into Cubs they went - and excelled! The oldest wanted to go into Scouts - so we supported her when the time came. And when she decided on her own that it wasn't for her, we supported that too.
We encouraged each of them to plunge into whatever they wanted and we didn't force them into activities they had no interest in. As a result, they decided to take swimming classes together - something their mom had never had the courage to do! The oldest was in her junior high school band for a little over three years, learned to play the flute, and dropped out of senior high school band when she got a "creepy teacher" (who eventually was discovered to be too "friendly" toward some of his girl pupils...) and the youngest discovered she had a gift (among the other gifts she had) for using her hands. She developed an interest in carpentry and welding before she passed away in 2013 in a car crash.
Each person has unique gifts and fills a special place in the world that only they can fill. And it all came into focus for me that day when a man named Blair took the time to encourage a young, harried mother.
He also had another saying, which he said quite often: "It's nice to be nice." And he lived by it. Thank you, Blair. Thank you.
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