“Children learn to smile from their parents.” ~ Shinichi Suzuki (Japanese violinist and teacher, 1898-1998)
The title of this blog is Love and Fear for two reasons. The first, which has already been touched on in some detail, is that these emotions are the strongest and most prevalent in a father's repertoire, though they are by no means the only emotions present in his heart. The second reason is connected to the first. In the first post in this series, there is a quote (incidentally the source of the title) that states that everything a father of a family says must inspire one or the other of these emotions. With this in mind, then, I would like to discuss something that strikes very close to home for me: the emotion of a father.
A father who knows, loves, and tries his best to raise his children is constantly aware of a draining and damning responsibility that has been laid on his shoulders. It has been said that "duty is weightier than a mountain," and none know this more than a father who has attempted to become the Atlas for his children's world. This responsibility is, as mentioned, accompanied by a joy that makes the weight a bit lighter, but it remains the greatest thing a father has to carry.
A portion of this weight is made up of the fact that a father is, as surprising as it may be to some, an ever-flowing wellspring of deep emotion, often coming in a torrent that is nearly impossible to even comprehend, much less control. Love, fear, pride, anger, joy, silliness, exasperation, awe, depression, and mania are in the usual range for the daily emotions of a father, and it is not unusual to run the full gamut in several cycles throughout the course of a single day or less.
From the day a child is born, the father of that child is hesitant, tentative, and ginger about showing his emotions. He's told to be careful, to be gentle, to avoid hurting his child, and he instinctively knows that it would be incredibly easy to accidentally bring harm to this tiny life he holds in his arms. It becomes natural, then, for him to mute his emotional responses as much as he's muting his physical ones. A large portion of a father's wonder and awe that is often evident as he observes his child stems from the fact that this small person begins to display emotions and personality traits similar to his own, and as he watches this happen more and more often, he begins to unbottle his emotions and display them proudly, learning the ways that he and his offspring are alike.
I remember the first time I consciously became aware of this phenomenon with Tahiri. A month or two ago I was watching her attempt to put her shoes on herself, and since she didn't have the motor skills required for the task, success was unfortunately not an option for her at the time. Up until that point, I don't remember her displaying this level of perseverance and, in truth, stubbornness. Until then, I had seen her attempt to do many things she deemed herself incapable of accomplishing. This time, however, it was like watching myself in a miniaturized mirror, as she set her jaw, stuck her tongue partially out of her mouth, and proceeded to take a step-by-step, deliberate, and calculating approach. She mimicked from memory, as best she could, the steps which her mother and I take to put on her shoes, using two hands where we could use one, but carefully proceeding onward according to the plan formed in her ever-developing tiny brain. This slowly unfolding intense drama culminated in tragedy, however, when she had tried this approach six or seven times and simply could not muster the required coordination to render her shoe "on." Then, with a growl of frustration, she tossed the shoe a short distance away, growling with a ferocity I thought limited to feral animals, and said a phrase which I can best display in text as "Croo-it. Eye-pay."
For several moments, I pondered what this phrase might have meant, as she had never said anything remotely similar to the first word. The second sound I recognized as her lazy way to say "I play." Then it struck me. Earlier that day, I had gone through the exact same mental processes, while looking for a quote from a book. Eventually I had tossed the book aside, and said "Screw it. I'll use a different quote." Imagine my chagrin to realize that my daughter had been listening closely enough to repeat this phrase nearly perfectly, and then my pride, amusement, and happiness that she had begun to mimic not only my actions, but my sentiments and emotions.
Since then, there has been an increasingly torrential outpouring of personality from this youngling, as she mimics and grows and develops. As this has been brought to my attention, I have of course been observing her actions in this regard more closely, and I've learned that she looks to both of us for indications and clues to what her emotional reactions should be, and she takes these examples to heart, learning them and repeating them as if they are a magical formula that will help her relate to the world around her.
It is both sobering and enrapturing to realize that these examples truly are how she'll learn to relate to the world around her. These examples set by parents are what teach children to feel, to understand, to react. It is a well-known fact that young children and animals learn by imitation, by mimicry, and it is the parents that have the most bearing on this particular learning path.
Someone recently brought up in an unrelated conversation the idea that men are not prone to higher, deeper emotion. I did not respond, but I thought about this idea for a long time, and in my pondering I came to the conclusion that by looking at a daughter's emotional outpourings, one may determine the depth, strength, and variety of her father's emotion. From how she bottles things inside, to the most vehement or exuberant expression, a child's emotion is a mirror image of the emotional framework provided by her father, built on the foundation that underlies all of a father's emotion - that ever-present and incomprehensible mixture of love and fear.
A father who knows, loves, and tries his best to raise his children is constantly aware of a draining and damning responsibility that has been laid on his shoulders. It has been said that "duty is weightier than a mountain," and none know this more than a father who has attempted to become the Atlas for his children's world. This responsibility is, as mentioned, accompanied by a joy that makes the weight a bit lighter, but it remains the greatest thing a father has to carry.
A portion of this weight is made up of the fact that a father is, as surprising as it may be to some, an ever-flowing wellspring of deep emotion, often coming in a torrent that is nearly impossible to even comprehend, much less control. Love, fear, pride, anger, joy, silliness, exasperation, awe, depression, and mania are in the usual range for the daily emotions of a father, and it is not unusual to run the full gamut in several cycles throughout the course of a single day or less.
From the day a child is born, the father of that child is hesitant, tentative, and ginger about showing his emotions. He's told to be careful, to be gentle, to avoid hurting his child, and he instinctively knows that it would be incredibly easy to accidentally bring harm to this tiny life he holds in his arms. It becomes natural, then, for him to mute his emotional responses as much as he's muting his physical ones. A large portion of a father's wonder and awe that is often evident as he observes his child stems from the fact that this small person begins to display emotions and personality traits similar to his own, and as he watches this happen more and more often, he begins to unbottle his emotions and display them proudly, learning the ways that he and his offspring are alike.
I remember the first time I consciously became aware of this phenomenon with Tahiri. A month or two ago I was watching her attempt to put her shoes on herself, and since she didn't have the motor skills required for the task, success was unfortunately not an option for her at the time. Up until that point, I don't remember her displaying this level of perseverance and, in truth, stubbornness. Until then, I had seen her attempt to do many things she deemed herself incapable of accomplishing. This time, however, it was like watching myself in a miniaturized mirror, as she set her jaw, stuck her tongue partially out of her mouth, and proceeded to take a step-by-step, deliberate, and calculating approach. She mimicked from memory, as best she could, the steps which her mother and I take to put on her shoes, using two hands where we could use one, but carefully proceeding onward according to the plan formed in her ever-developing tiny brain. This slowly unfolding intense drama culminated in tragedy, however, when she had tried this approach six or seven times and simply could not muster the required coordination to render her shoe "on." Then, with a growl of frustration, she tossed the shoe a short distance away, growling with a ferocity I thought limited to feral animals, and said a phrase which I can best display in text as "Croo-it. Eye-pay."
For several moments, I pondered what this phrase might have meant, as she had never said anything remotely similar to the first word. The second sound I recognized as her lazy way to say "I play." Then it struck me. Earlier that day, I had gone through the exact same mental processes, while looking for a quote from a book. Eventually I had tossed the book aside, and said "Screw it. I'll use a different quote." Imagine my chagrin to realize that my daughter had been listening closely enough to repeat this phrase nearly perfectly, and then my pride, amusement, and happiness that she had begun to mimic not only my actions, but my sentiments and emotions.
Since then, there has been an increasingly torrential outpouring of personality from this youngling, as she mimics and grows and develops. As this has been brought to my attention, I have of course been observing her actions in this regard more closely, and I've learned that she looks to both of us for indications and clues to what her emotional reactions should be, and she takes these examples to heart, learning them and repeating them as if they are a magical formula that will help her relate to the world around her.
It is both sobering and enrapturing to realize that these examples truly are how she'll learn to relate to the world around her. These examples set by parents are what teach children to feel, to understand, to react. It is a well-known fact that young children and animals learn by imitation, by mimicry, and it is the parents that have the most bearing on this particular learning path.
Someone recently brought up in an unrelated conversation the idea that men are not prone to higher, deeper emotion. I did not respond, but I thought about this idea for a long time, and in my pondering I came to the conclusion that by looking at a daughter's emotional outpourings, one may determine the depth, strength, and variety of her father's emotion. From how she bottles things inside, to the most vehement or exuberant expression, a child's emotion is a mirror image of the emotional framework provided by her father, built on the foundation that underlies all of a father's emotion - that ever-present and incomprehensible mixture of love and fear.
LOL...Just lovely Joe! I do look forward to reading your wonderful posts...I can't help but reminisce of simpler times watching my own toddlers with their daddyn :-)
ReplyDelete