Parent, you’re not always right! – part 1

 

Things were going really well for us on the night in question—some great family time followed by a timely purchase of a new microwave (which Dad went down and sneakily bought!—the old one had been broken for months).  We had spent quality time beforehand and now we were setting up this new item in the kitchen.

Isn’t it strange how we hardly anticipate when things are about to go pear-shaped?

As I was packing everything up, having set it up, it was decided I’d put the old microwave outside onto the back patio and place the new box inside another room (so it can be played with at a later time—as a family, we really enjoy boxes ).

To get the microwave outside required carrying it through our small living room area, and floor is usually filled with toys and other items, and on this occasion, there was a game, a favourite (though fragile) toy of our son’s, and an iPad(!) on the floor.

In my traditional bull-at-a-gate fashion, I warned my son to quickly pick up the items as I was coming through.  (I gave him all of about 8.5 seconds to do this!)  In my typical over-confident manner, I picked up the old microwave and carried it over him and as I moved toward the door, my left foot trod on the fragile favourite toy of my son’s and it went ‘CRACK’ under my foot.  This toy is no bigger than the palm of your hand and it transforms from a number four to an aeroplane.

Immediately there were tears, and almost as immediately I felt that mixed up sense of guilt with self-righteousness—“I’m so sorry” with, “son, you should’ve picked it up beforehand!”

The next few minutes involved our son crying and avoiding me and my gentle lecturing, like, “there’s a good lesson in this,” and because it was his bedtime, I continued the routine.

Being an ‘investigator’ investigating some of the more serious fire and emergency services safety incidents, I felt perfectly ‘qualified’ to adjudicate here—but I wasn’t being heard.

My point was those toys and items should not have been left there to be stood on.

By now, my son had burrowed his head into the corner of his bed, and I had a proper view of his butt!  He was hearing none of my wisdom.  He wasn’t saying, “Thanks, but no thanks,” he was actually saying, “Go away.”

I kept trying to resolve it and I liked to think I was making some headway, before my wife poked me discretely and gently in the side, beckoning me to another room.  She simply whispered to me, “Should you have been carrying that big heavy thing over him where you couldn’t see where you were going?” That’s all she said.  It was all that was needed.  My heart responded.

Immediately I knew she had a point, and I’ve come to recognise that when Sarah speaks, it’s often the circuit-breaker we’ve been needing.

“And one more thing,” she said, seeing my response to correct the situation, “Use your quieter voice.”

Knowing I was wrong, AND being the committed peacemaker, I went straight up to my son’s room and said, now with a softer, calmer voice, “Okay darling, I need to apologise.”  Pausing for him to respond, I continued: “I should not have carried something heavy like that over you—that was unsafe—and in doing so, I couldn’t see where I was going, which was irresponsible of me.  I also didn’t give you any time to clean up.  What I could have done is helped you clean up quickly and got you to hold the door for me.  I am really sorry for doing that and breaking your transforming toy.  Would you forgive me?”

Immediately I said this, owning my responsibility with all my heart, he moved toward me and whispered that he was sorry, too.  Immediately, he took full responsibility for not having kept the area tidier.  “It wasn’t all your fault, Dad.  I forgive you.”

Our son is eight.  I learned when my daughters were growing up that those who are least powerful appreciate it all the more when bigger, grown-up people accept responsibility for their errors; not only does it model how they should live, it brings into being the wisdom that comes from justice—all humans are sensitive to justice and injustice.  The principle works throughout life.

I guess the point is, as parents we are power players in our households.  We might even lord it over our kids at times—come on, let’s be honest.  The main point is, when a parent apologises there is great power for change in the heart of the child—because they’ve experienced justice, and because they’ve seen that heart change in someone more powerful.

Power in relationships is best displayed in weakness.  When relational dynamics of the more powerful are depowered, those with less power are empowered to make good choices.  There is no better way to dignify another person than take away barriers to their making good choices.  When we parents (and power players in life) behave in ways that “do justice” we remove these barriers to good decision-making in others.  Justice is the way life should be; indeed, it’s the upside-down kingdom of Jesus!

Humility is best seen through the person with power as they honestly own their error.  It lifts the less powerful up, and ANY bad moment can be reconciled.

I’ve got more to say on the power relationship and the power of apology in the context of leadership in part 2, and I will also focus on the dynamic of the bystander (Sarah) in what is a most pivotal role.