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There’s this song by Ben Folds that brings me to tears whenever I hear it. “Still Fighting It” is essentially a love song to his son, and the line that hits a little too close to home for me is, “You’re so much like me… I’m sorry.”

I’m not shy about tooting my own horn when it comes to my strengths, and I’m always proud when I think I see them in my son.  His love of books and puzzles, his problem-solving skills, his fairly early grasp of phonics – I’m proud to have helped laid the groundwork for this sort of thing, both through nature and nurture.  Like any 3-year-old, of course, he has his moments – the temper tantrums, the irrationality, the occasional laser-like focus on certain elements to the exclusion of everything and everyone else around him – and we roll with the punches.  I try to keep my cool and engage in all that positive behavior support that I learned about in grad school (and really, that many teachers learn simply from years of experience dealing with people). But there are some times when it’s even harder than usual to maintain that detachment – when I see him grunt or tic, when I see him whine incessantly about nothing, and when I see him terrified of the most benign things (e.g., soap bubbles). Those times, I feel like it’s 1980 and I’m looking at a 3-year-old version of myself.

Let me be clear: I know these things are perfectly normal behaviors for 3-year-olds to display, which is why I regard my emotional response to them as problematic.  I’m not sure if it’s more a sense of self-loathing or overprotection that makes me feel this way; moreover, I’m not sure which is worse.  Maybe it’s the uncertainty of it all – for example, I had a variety of physical tics (including grunting and twitching) when I was young; and truth be told, I have never managed to completely kick them (I’ve just become an expert at masking them).  When I see my son grunt for no apparent reason, it scares me.  I start to question myself – is he going to have to endure the teasing that I had to because of this?  Is this my fault?  Is he learning by watching me, or is this genetic?  What have I done? And I just go down the rabbit hole of anxiety and neuroses typically reserved for brand-new parents of infants.

I’d be lying if I said this doesn’t impact how I react to these behaviors.  Yes, I’ll typically react more harshly when I see these than when he does something that wasn’t problematic for me as a kid. Intellectually, I know that’s no good, but I’m so emotionally scarred by invested in what I believe people’s reactions to those behaviors will be that I sometimes find it hard to treat the situation with the cool head and clinical perspective that befits someone in my profession.

Looking up the road for my son sometimes feels like looking back down my own well-trod path.  In looking into his future, my greatest fear is that I’ll see the same pitfalls and traps I went through being painfully socially awkward and withdrawn for much of adolescence, and the resultant bullying and teasing (or should that cause-effect relationship work the other way around?).  I’m not here to say my childhood was significantly worse than anyone else’s (hell, I probably got off easy compared to what could have been), but to look at the larger significance of my concerns, I guess I kind of want him to learn from my mistakes before he gets a chance to make them himself.  Not too unreasonable, right?

Makes me wonder if I’m more concerned about protecting him from having to experience them, or protecting myself from having to watch him experience them.

The post in question raises another matter in my mind, though, one that I don’t think was part of Wes’s agenda (well, there is the issue of showing ten full-length films in a semester, but I’d need more information to determine if that’s rant-worthy or not).  What guidelines does one follow with regard to blogging about one’s child’s school?  I’ve blogged about the schools at which I’ve worked and I’ve commented on issues of national relevance, but my kids haven’t yet hit the K-12 stretch of their educations.  It hasn’t been an issue in the two and a half years I’ve been blogging, but Dylan starts kindergarten this coming September.

Should that change things?

Much like Wes, I don’t want to be seen as a troublemaking parent, but at the same time, I’d like to think I reserve some right to use this space to comment on what my kids experience, both good and bad.  So what’s fair game (if anything) when it comes to blogging about your kids’ educational experiences, and what’s off-limits?  What have you decided was just too touchy or hit too close to home to blog about with regards to your child’s school experiences?

I…release any photos taken of my child in class to be used for <company name> media outlets.

I didn’t see an opt-out checkbox for parents who don’t want their kids’ pictures being taken and put on flyers, pamphlets, or worse – THE INTERNET.  It was just, “if you want to participate, this is how we do”.

I understand that’s a slippery slope to head down, but my question is less legal than philosophical in nature – what happens between the pre-K level, where this is an accepted practice (and presumably unchallenged, though I can’t be sure) and the K-12 level, where most of us are dealing with hysteria regarding publishing student work (including pictures) online?  It’s OK for our kids to unwittingly advertise for corporations but not to promote their own work & interests?

I vehemently disagree with those who wish to disarm Taylor and others of their F-bombs (it’s the Internet, people; get a grip), but if I can’t censor myself appropriately around my son, he’ll soon be picking up more than just his broken toys.

Status update: After lots of false starts (hey, the holidays were stressful), I’m three consecutive days “clean”. Oh, and my son? I sat him down and we talked about how when we get frustrated, we should say “Oh, pants!” (first silly-sounding word that came to mind) We practiced it a few times, and he got the giggles so hard he couldn’t say anything for a while. I’ll keep it up with him; I hope it takes like that other word did.

“I love you the bestest ever.”

Can you believe there was a time I thought fatherhood wasn’t for me?

Talk about going out on a high note, 2007.  Happy New Year, everybody.

Congratulations, gents! I’ll be re-joining the ranks of “fathers of infants” in under three months – keep a changing pad warm for a brother.

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I can’t help but wonder – who would pay $20 (bid + shipping) for what amounts to about $5 worth of candy?

Thanks to Miz Mercer for the eBay link.

In fact, I can probably count the number of times I’ve cried in my adult life on one hand (OK, maybe two). That’s not meant to be some macho boast, but rather to give you some context for what I’m about to say:

In the week since I discovered this song by Ben Folds, I don’t think I’ve managed to get through it once without at least shedding a tear (today on the ride home from grad school), or at most, breaking down into full-body sobs (last Sunday night). In a good way.

[kml_flashembed movie="http://www.youtube.com/v/mRlgq59dsFQ" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]

I’ll leave the cinematographic analysis to those far better qualified, because for me, that’s way beside the point right now. Every once in a while, a song comes along that connects with you on an emotional level so deep that it just floors you. This song has humbled me in a way I’m having trouble articulating. If you’re a parent, though, I bet you know exactly what I’m talking about.