| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 19, 2013 | Chapters: |
...14 15 -16- 17... 
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The learning experience goes both ways.
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
Who's the Teacher Here?
by BethShelby
To say that Evan and I were unprepared to be parents was an understatement. As an only child growing up among adults, I knew absolutely nothing about children. Evan was the oldest boy and a middle child with four siblings, but he was grown when his baby sister came along. We had never discussed having children and weren't sure parenting was for us until we were faced with the fact one was on the way.
After losing our first baby to the DPT injection, we knew we could make babies. and having another one became a number one priority. By the time we had three, our fear of parenting had dissipated, but the learning experience was far from over.
It's too bad kids don't come into the world with individual instruction books dealing with the task of turning them into functional beings. Child rearing is a tricky undertaking, and sometimes the parents have as much to learn as their offspring. Every child is different and bent on going off in his or her own unique direction. Other than their last name, none of the four children we raised seemed to have much in common. In the sixties, there were only three of them. Ten years later, we would add the fourth.
The last child, Connie, would be the most challenging of all. This was particularly true as she approached her teen years. By the time she came along you would think we would had mastered the art of child rearing. Not so. About all we had learned was to try to take one day at a time and not be shocked by anything. Since Connie's birth was ten years in the future, I'll have more to say about her personality later.
From the beginning, we were convinced Carol was brilliant. She retained facts quickly, but she was born with a stubborn streak. If you approached her in the right way, she was cooperative, but you had to tread on thin ice in order to get the reaction you wanted. Invariably every morning, she got out of bed in a foul mood. She'd march into the room without uttering a word and plop herself down on her dad's lap. One of us would dare to say, "Good Morning, Carol."
"Whhhaa....I din't want you to say goo' mornin' to me." The lips would poke out and tears would form.
She enjoyed playing with other children, but when she was three, I gave her a birthday party with the neighborhood children in attendance. All went well until we began to sing Happy Birthday. Then came the tears. She ran from the table and locked herself into her room. There is where she remained until every child went home.
The first time she got a haircut, she looked in the mirror and hated the new look. As soon as we got home, she locked herself into her room and informed us she was never coming out again. The locked door became the norm. In order to retrieve our child, we had to keep a set of tools handy for breaking in.
Once I made the mistake of insisting she not leave the table until she finished her meal. She might have sat there for days, with big tears running from her eyes, if I had not relented. After that, I decided not to make an issue out of food.
Once at an amusement park, I asked if she'd like to ride the little kiddy boats that went round and round on a small track filled with water. She said yes, so I paid her way. Happily, she got into one of the boats. As soon as the ride started, she changed her mind. I saw the look and knew she was not happy. Realizing the ride would not stop to let her off, she faked a faint. Evan and I watched knowing she was all right and just pulling one of her stubborn acts. She didn't mind humiliating us. People began to point.
"Look at that child. She's passed out. I wonder what's wrong with her. Why don't her parents do something?"
The ride went round and round without her moving. At last, it stopped and she sat up and got off. It was a long time before I asked her if she wanted to ride anything again.
Christi was a petite and pretty child. She had a sweet and lovable disposition. Everyone wanted to hold her. Right away, she claimed the role of the baby in the family. Christi would sleep for hours seemingly needing twice as much rest as the others. She was my quietest child. We had no way of knowing this, but it was a temporary condition. In later life, she would become the most vocal, making sure that everyone was aware of anything amiss in her life.
During her first ten years, nothing made her happier than being held and cuddled. If one of us was too busy to hold her, we would often find her sitting alone playing with a doll while her siblings engaged in more active activities. Christi was in no hurry to do anything, including walking. There was no rushing her. We could count on her making sure we would be late for wherever we were planning to go. To this day, she refuses to be on time for anything.
Don walked early and couldn't be still for a second. He had a two-minute attention span and a short fuse when it came to temper. His busy fingers were always fiddling with something. He was usually in the process of taking apart whatever he had in his hands and destroying it. Later in life, working with his hands became is best asset.
Climbing on something and falling off was another favorite activity. It wasn't unusual having to rush him to the emergency room for whatever injury his latest escapade caused. Foreign objects had to be taste-tested and often swallowed.
In spite of the fact he seemed to have no fear of physical obstacles, he had an irrational fear of change or anything he didn't understand. New situations or bad thunderstorms traumatized him. He ignored his quieter twin but loved to follow his older sister around. He called her Ca-uh rather than Carol.
"Ca-uh, Ca-uh, cum' here Ca-uh. Ca-uh cum' play wid' me." Carol didn't seem to mind the attention. They got along well, except when we traveled. Then what we heard was, "Mama, Don's bothering us. Make him stop."
You might assume these early personality traits would be an indication of the direction their lives would take. Not so. This was only the beginning. As the months passed, a few traits remained but new quirks and challenges met us at every turn.
No wonder parents get gray hair. Child rearing is definitely a learning experience. The question is are we teaching them, or are they doing their share to teach us what it means to be a parent?
To say that Evan and I were unprepared to be parents was an understatement. As an only child growing up among adults, I knew absolutely nothing about children. Evan was the oldest boy and a middle child with four siblings, but he was grown when his baby sister came along. We had never discussed having children and weren't sure parenting was for us until we were faced with the fact one was on the way.
After losing our first baby to the DPT injection, we knew we could make babies. and having another one became a number one priority. By the time we had three, our fear of parenting had dissipated, but the learning experience was far from over.
It's too bad kids don't come into the world with individual instruction books dealing with the task of turning them into functional beings. Child rearing is a tricky undertaking, and sometimes the parents have as much to learn as their offspring. Every child is different and bent on going off in his or her own unique direction. Other than their last name, none of the four children we raised seemed to have much in common. In the sixties, there were only three of them. Ten years later, we would add the fourth.
The last child, Connie, would be the most challenging of all. This was particularly true as she approached her teen years. By the time she came along you would think we would had mastered the art of child rearing. Not so. About all we had learned was to try to take one day at a time and not be shocked by anything. Since Connie's birth was ten years in the future, I'll have more to say about her personality later.
From the beginning, we were convinced Carol was brilliant. She retained facts quickly, but she was born with a stubborn streak. If you approached her in the right way, she was cooperative, but you had to tread on thin ice in order to get the reaction you wanted. Invariably every morning, she got out of bed in a foul mood. She'd march into the room without uttering a word and plop herself down on her dad's lap. One of us would dare to say, "Good Morning, Carol."
"Whhhaa....I din't want you to say goo' mornin' to me." The lips would poke out and tears would form.
She enjoyed playing with other children, but when she was three, I gave her a birthday party with the neighborhood children in attendance. All went well until we began to sing Happy Birthday. Then came the tears. She ran from the table and locked herself into her room. There is where she remained until every child went home.
The first time she got a haircut, she looked in the mirror and hated the new look. As soon as we got home, she locked herself into her room and informed us she was never coming out again. The locked door became the norm. In order to retrieve our child, we had to keep a set of tools handy for breaking in.
Once I made the mistake of insisting she not leave the table until she finished her meal. She might have sat there for days, with big tears running from her eyes, if I had not relented. After that, I decided not to make an issue out of food.
Once at an amusement park, I asked if she'd like to ride the little kiddy boats that went round and round on a small track filled with water. She said yes, so I paid her way. Happily, she got into one of the boats. As soon as the ride started, she changed her mind. I saw the look and knew she was not happy. Realizing the ride would not stop to let her off, she faked a faint. Evan and I watched knowing she was all right and just pulling one of her stubborn acts. She didn't mind humiliating us. People began to point.
"Look at that child. She's passed out. I wonder what's wrong with her. Why don't her parents do something?"
The ride went round and round without her moving. At last, it stopped and she sat up and got off. It was a long time before I asked her if she wanted to ride anything again.
Christi was a petite and pretty child. She had a sweet and lovable disposition. Everyone wanted to hold her. Right away, she claimed the role of the baby in the family. Christi would sleep for hours seemingly needing twice as much rest as the others. She was my quietest child. We had no way of knowing this, but it was a temporary condition. In later life, she would become the most vocal, making sure that everyone was aware of anything amiss in her life.
During her first ten years, nothing made her happier than being held and cuddled. If one of us was too busy to hold her, we would often find her sitting alone playing with a doll while her siblings engaged in more active activities. Christi was in no hurry to do anything, including walking. There was no rushing her. We could count on her making sure we would be late for wherever we were planning to go. To this day, she refuses to be on time for anything.
Don walked early and couldn't be still for a second. He had a two-minute attention span and a short fuse when it came to temper. His busy fingers were always fiddling with something. He was usually in the process of taking apart whatever he had in his hands and destroying it. Later in life, working with his hands became is best asset.
Climbing on something and falling off was another favorite activity. It wasn't unusual having to rush him to the emergency room for whatever injury his latest escapade caused. Foreign objects had to be taste-tested and often swallowed.
In spite of the fact he seemed to have no fear of physical obstacles, he had an irrational fear of change or anything he didn't understand. New situations or bad thunderstorms traumatized him. He ignored his quieter twin but loved to follow his older sister around. He called her Ca-uh rather than Carol.
"Ca-uh, Ca-uh, cum' here Ca-uh. Ca-uh cum' play wid' me." Carol didn't seem to mind the attention. They got along well, except when we traveled. Then what we heard was, "Mama, Don's bothering us. Make him stop."
You might assume these early personality traits would be an indication of the direction their lives would take. Not so. This was only the beginning. As the months passed, a few traits remained but new quirks and challenges met us at every turn.
No wonder parents get gray hair. Child rearing is definitely a learning experience. The question is are we teaching them, or are they doing their share to teach us what it means to be a parent?
After losing our first baby to the DPT injection, we knew we could make babies. and having another one became a number one priority. By the time we had three, our fear of parenting had dissipated, but the learning experience was far from over.
It's too bad kids don't come into the world with individual instruction books dealing with the task of turning them into functional beings. Child rearing is a tricky undertaking, and sometimes the parents have as much to learn as their offspring. Every child is different and bent on going off in his or her own unique direction. Other than their last name, none of the four children we raised seemed to have much in common. In the sixties, there were only three of them. Ten years later, we would add the fourth.
The last child, Connie, would be the most challenging of all. This was particularly true as she approached her teen years. By the time she came along you would think we would had mastered the art of child rearing. Not so. About all we had learned was to try to take one day at a time and not be shocked by anything. Since Connie's birth was ten years in the future, I'll have more to say about her personality later.
From the beginning, we were convinced Carol was brilliant. She retained facts quickly, but she was born with a stubborn streak. If you approached her in the right way, she was cooperative, but you had to tread on thin ice in order to get the reaction you wanted. Invariably every morning, she got out of bed in a foul mood. She'd march into the room without uttering a word and plop herself down on her dad's lap. One of us would dare to say, "Good Morning, Carol."
"Whhhaa....I din't want you to say goo' mornin' to me." The lips would poke out and tears would form.
She enjoyed playing with other children, but when she was three, I gave her a birthday party with the neighborhood children in attendance. All went well until we began to sing Happy Birthday. Then came the tears. She ran from the table and locked herself into her room. There is where she remained until every child went home.
The first time she got a haircut, she looked in the mirror and hated the new look. As soon as we got home, she locked herself into her room and informed us she was never coming out again. The locked door became the norm. In order to retrieve our child, we had to keep a set of tools handy for breaking in.
Once I made the mistake of insisting she not leave the table until she finished her meal. She might have sat there for days, with big tears running from her eyes, if I had not relented. After that, I decided not to make an issue out of food.
Once at an amusement park, I asked if she'd like to ride the little kiddy boats that went round and round on a small track filled with water. She said yes, so I paid her way. Happily, she got into one of the boats. As soon as the ride started, she changed her mind. I saw the look and knew she was not happy. Realizing the ride would not stop to let her off, she faked a faint. Evan and I watched knowing she was all right and just pulling one of her stubborn acts. She didn't mind humiliating us. People began to point.
"Look at that child. She's passed out. I wonder what's wrong with her. Why don't her parents do something?"
The ride went round and round without her moving. At last, it stopped and she sat up and got off. It was a long time before I asked her if she wanted to ride anything again.
Christi was a petite and pretty child. She had a sweet and lovable disposition. Everyone wanted to hold her. Right away, she claimed the role of the baby in the family. Christi would sleep for hours seemingly needing twice as much rest as the others. She was my quietest child. We had no way of knowing this, but it was a temporary condition. In later life, she would become the most vocal, making sure that everyone was aware of anything amiss in her life.
During her first ten years, nothing made her happier than being held and cuddled. If one of us was too busy to hold her, we would often find her sitting alone playing with a doll while her siblings engaged in more active activities. Christi was in no hurry to do anything, including walking. There was no rushing her. We could count on her making sure we would be late for wherever we were planning to go. To this day, she refuses to be on time for anything.
Don walked early and couldn't be still for a second. He had a two-minute attention span and a short fuse when it came to temper. His busy fingers were always fiddling with something. He was usually in the process of taking apart whatever he had in his hands and destroying it. Later in life, working with his hands became is best asset.
Climbing on something and falling off was another favorite activity. It wasn't unusual having to rush him to the emergency room for whatever injury his latest escapade caused. Foreign objects had to be taste-tested and often swallowed.
In spite of the fact he seemed to have no fear of physical obstacles, he had an irrational fear of change or anything he didn't understand. New situations or bad thunderstorms traumatized him. He ignored his quieter twin but loved to follow his older sister around. He called her Ca-uh rather than Carol.
"Ca-uh, Ca-uh, cum' here Ca-uh. Ca-uh cum' play wid' me." Carol didn't seem to mind the attention. They got along well, except when we traveled. Then what we heard was, "Mama, Don's bothering us. Make him stop."
You might assume these early personality traits would be an indication of the direction their lives would take. Not so. This was only the beginning. As the months passed, a few traits remained but new quirks and challenges met us at every turn.
No wonder parents get gray hair. Child rearing is definitely a learning experience. The question is are we teaching them, or are they doing their share to teach us what it means to be a parent?
 Recognized |
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In the picture,Carol is five and the twins are three.
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