Music and children.
A story about worry.
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“Dear Avery” by The Decemberists encapsulates my worst nightmares in only four stanzas and one chorus. At some point, Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, as the backing vocals, plead with Avery, “But don’t you shake alone”, and then Colin Meloy begs him “Please, Avery, come home”. My anguish makes me want to run out of the house, look for Avery, and make him come home, wherever that is.
Ten years ago, I could hear this song without giving it much of a second thought. Nearly nine years ago, my first child was born, and since then, that song always makes my chest hurt a little too uncomfortably. I almost always manage to keep my worries at bay, but imaginary troubles creep up occasionally. That is when I grab one of my children, whoever is most at hand, I hug them and whisper, “I love you, and there is nothing you can do, nothing that could happen that will change that”. What I really want to impress on them is “you can always come back home”, but it could be that they just think I am crazy since all my 8- and 6-year-olds say is “Hmm… ok?” My three-year-old, on the other hand, just says “bajskorv”, his favourite word at the moment, meaning “poop sausage” in Swedish.
This is what no one tells you about parenthood. The minute your children become a reality, you are forced to live the rest of your days roaming the earth on a wild goose chase, trying to figure out the formula to help you succeed in bringing them up. How can you help them become resilient, emotionally stable and auto-sufficient adults who ask for your help when in trouble (and come back home if needs be)? There is no book out there that will tell you the answer. I know because I have read them all.
Now I am screwed because, as a Spaniard married to an Italian and living in Sweden, the confusion about the parenting methods I should be applying is just too much to handle. Should I use the Swedish, Danish, Finnish, Dutch or French method? Why is there no Spanish one? did my parents fuck up that much? And how about Italians? Why don’t they have their own book? Actually, strike the last part. The fact that the median age of leaving the parents’ home in Italy is 30 is enough to make the book tank in the market. Let me also clarify that by “Please, Avery, come back home”, I do not mean “Please stay at home forever while I cook and do your laundry till you find someone else to do it for you”.
While humming the “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”, I looked up Amy Chua’s credentials to understand why she would be a leader in the child-rearing field. It turns out that she is a corporate lawyer. Yup! that’s it. I will not say anything more on the matter.
I did not stop there; I next needed to take down Elisabeth Pantley, who tormented me into thinking how inadequate I was not to master her “no-cry” sleep method (it turns out she has a complete “no-cry” “add any verb here” bibliography). Why Elisabeth Pantley has a WebMD dedicated page beats me, but get this: she is a parenting educator (whatever that is), a mum, a softball coach and a school PTA president. Somebody! give this woman a bigger, wider and louder platform! She KNOWS shit. If she ever comes up with “the no-cry method to get over your useless French boyfriend”, I want a signed copy.
I am beginning to suspect that people who have been able to churn out mildly functioning adults into society feel the need to tell the rest of the world how we should be doing it, too. I’m definitely jumping on this train if I can. Give me a few years, and if I find my children in their early twenties are able to repeat some Shakespearean poem without looking at the notes, I will be publishing my very own “How to Raise Children the Mediterranean Way whilst Surströmming”.
I think these books are so successful because they feed on our deepest fear of messing up our children but also because the current Western family unit is so isolated. Raising children used to be a “village affair” where teachers were respected authority figures and other adults could tell your child they were doing something wrong were that the case. People talked to each other, and there was “common knowledge” that if your child’s poop is slightly more green, you do not need to go to the ER at 3 in the morning. Nowadays, we google this crap (pun intended) and typically end on the least informative page diagnosing our children of a disease that will possibly need a hemicolectomy.
The last book I read on child upbringing was the best one by far. It was the only one that gave me permission to fuck up, and it was too hilarious to be taken seriously (unless you have a drinking problem). That book allowed me to come full circle and understand that there is no magic formula but that everything will probably be alright if we let our children play, listen to them when they tell us things, are patient, and are generally decent human beings.
When it comes to parenting, we are all lost, and yet, if there is something one learns by doing, this is it. So I am learning to forgive myself and ask my children to forgive me, because the fuck ups are inevitable, but I also get a lot of things right and that is a good reason to celebrate.
By all means, read these books if that is what you want, but I suggest you read at least one at each end of the spectrum and a couple in the middle to guarantee these authors' livelihood is assured across the board. People have to eat, you know?
N.B. The links to the books I added in the text are just for your reference, and because the scientist in me is a sucker for citations and documentation, not because I expect you to buy the books. In fact, I would avoid doing that. I didn’t and have lived to regret it.
Poop sausage🤣 I don’t think you will have any problems with your children. Love and laughter go such a long way!
Sometimes I feel like all parenthood is, is shit people don't tell you about.