Executive session
published 2 Feb 2009, MST
It was a not-so-typical Sunday family lunch. I was with my older children Bea, 14 and Josh, 13, but instead of the usual light banter and storytelling among the three of us, I had an agenda. On that day I had 10 talking points on a page of my planner—and up to the last minute I was worried I may have missed an item or two. While the topics were listed in no particular order, I intended to cover every single one of them.
1. Observing curfew (7 p.m. school nights, 9 p.m. all others) and informing me of their whereabouts;
2. Assignment of specific household chores (we only had a stay-out maid who worked four days a week from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m.);
3. Time with their father;
4.Their behavior towards the younger ones (Sophie, 8 and Elmo, 6 whom they occasionally bullied);
5. Their behavior toward their Ninang Helen (my elderly single aunt who lived with us and who had been complaining of being talked back to);
6. Expectations in terms of grades, college courses and eventual career;
7. Nature of time spent with friends— experimentation, if any, with cigarettes, alcohol, drugs or (gasp!) sex;
8. Their resolutions for 2009;
9. Our schedule for going to church together; and
10. Avoiding the mistakes of my generation
Events of the past few days prompted me to call that meeting. I knew they were just growing pains—anecdotes we would perhaps laugh about someday. I also could not say I did not expect these. Still, I believed an occasional formal calling of attention was in order.
I have always prided myself in being a democratic parent, valuing empowerment instead of punishment. I have been trying to lead by example and to accord my children, in all their ages, respect by not dictating on them what to do. Instead I have been giving them ample breathing space to figure out a few things for themselves, to follow a rule because they know why it was made a rule in the first place and to be accountable for their words, actions, and omissions, big or small.
It’s all nice on paper but it doesn’t go that well every day. Believe me.
When I announced the meeting the day before it was to take place, the kids were eager to find out what we would be talking about.
Me: Papagalitan ko kayo (I will give you a scolding).
Bea: Why do it over lunch?
(She pointed out that punishing naughty children normally meant depriving them of food.)
Me: I’m doing reverse psychology.
Lunch was at Shakey’s. We each had a chicken-and-pasta combo meal plus a large thin crust pepperoni crrunch (note the two Rs) and a single serving of mojos. They had shakes; I settled for water. I took a gulp and then started with the Big Talk, taking extra care to avoid sounding pompous or preachy. I did not want to lose them at hello.
We must have spent a good hour-and-a-half talking and eating. Then we stood up to go to our respective destinations. I had work, so I crossed the street to get my ride. Josh said he was playing basketball with his friends; Bea said she might watch a chick flick with her classmates.
On my way to the office, I felt relieved and scared at the same time. I was glad to have communicated on that level—they knew I meant business and it’s not for my own good, either—but I was worried, too. They appeared receptive, but that was now. What about tomorrow? How can parents—single parents, especially, with half the resources (not necessarily financial) and twice the pressure—make sure children will be content to learn their lessons second hand and not get where they are meant to be the hard way?
I willed myself to be content with the environment of openness which was at least present. It does help to be a young mom here. I hoped they ingested more than the pizza. It would be a good idea to do this every once in a while, maybe on a quarterly basis.
I have a better answer for Bea now: These sessions are best done over meals, because like food, they are meant to nourish. And my, do I want to nourish them well.
