The Bible Tells Me So by Peter Enns

Author:Peter Enns [Enns, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Itzy, Kickass.to
ISBN: 9780062272058
Amazon: B00H7LXHJQ
Publisher: HarperOne
Published: 2014-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Why Doesn’t God Make Up His Mind?

* * *

Raising Kids by the Book

(FYI, It Doesn’t Work)

* * *

Daughter, age ten, to father (sobbing): Daddy (sniff), I’m sorry I broke your favorite mug (sniff). I know how much you like it. I’m such a klutz (sniff, sniff).

Father to daughter: Hey, it’s only a mug. Don’t you worry about it. You didn’t cut yourself, did you?

Son, age thirteen, to father (indignantly): Wait a minute. I broke your stupid staple gun last week and you made me pay for it.

Father to son: Your sister is having a rough time thinking she is dumb and clumsy, and she means more to me than a mug. You, on the other hand, have a habit of abusing my tools—such as last week’s gem where you used my staple gun to hammer nails. It’s time for you to learn some responsibility.

Father to mother concerning son, age three: HE’S GOT A KNIFE IN HIS HANDS!! GET IT!! GET IT!! HURRY!! BEFORE HE IMPALES HIMSELF!!

Father to son, age twelve: Hand me that circular saw, but be careful. Make sure it’s unplugged and the cover is over the blade.

Father to son, age twenty-five: Chain’s dull. You’ll want to replace it with a nice, new, sharp one before you cut down that oak.

Father to daughter, age eight: Okay, you can have one cup of soda, but no more.

Father to daughter, age fourteen: Okay, but just one sip of my wine.

Father to daughter, age twenty-one: I recommend the White Russian, but tell the barkeeper not to be skimpy on the vodka.

They never told us—the nurses, I mean, the ones who sent us home with our first child, with no plan, no adult supervision, not even a brochure on how to raise these things. They just shipped us off with a “romantic dinner for two” (a.k.a. last meal ever), two T-shirts sporting the hospital logo, a fruit basket, a baby cap knitted by elderly volunteers, and a hearty pat on the back.

I can still see them smirking as we left—that knowing smirk. I didn’t get it then. Now I do. I hate them so much.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one, but parenting is hard, unpredictable, and no script is available to guarantee results. Guidance and advice abound, but at the end of the day it’s just you and your offspring—no net, no sure sense you’re moving in the right direction and that things will turn out just fine if you stick to the plan.

Being “consistent” with your children day after day and year after year, and treating each child and each situation “the same” sounds nice on paper, and I’m sure you mean well, but in real life it flops more than the Brazilian soccer team in the penalty area. Life happens, children mature differently, and each situation is unique. Life mocks our puny attempts to nail down a sure set of parenting rules.

Parenting is winging it, and each time you do, you learn more so you can learn to wing it better and better.

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