Good boy or good job?

My wife and I are currently finding great humour in a general societal trend we’ve just noticed.

Our little two-month old, for whatever reason, seems to be a very happy baby. If he’s not sleeping, he’s happily gurgling away, either to himself, or to a doting parent or grand-parent. More than once, when we’ve been out in public—at a movie or a restaurant—we’ve had people come up to us and say, “Oh, what a good baby! He hasn’t made a peep.”

It makes us wonder, if he’d been crying the whole time would people say, “For heaven’s sake, what a bad baby you have!”?

This leads me to think about good and bad. I have never uttered the words “good boy” to my sons, and I never will. Why?

Well, let’s say my son does something positive—picks up his coat, takes his plate back to the kitchen, or even hits a baseball. If I say, “Good boy” then what is implied when he refuses to pick up his coat, doesn’t clear his plate, or strikes out? Surely, if doing those aforementioned things makes him a good boy, not doing them makes him a bad boy. I think we teach kids about good and bad early enough that they can easily make that interpretation.

Early childhood educators will tell you to praise or condemn the behavior, not the child. One study I came across aptly illustrates why that is sage advice. In the study, kids were divided into two groups, divided as equally as possible across academic, cultural and socio-economic lines. Each group was given a test. As you would expect, the averages panned out to be more or less the same. Then, for two weeks, one group was told, “Wow, you guys are so smart” with the emphasis being on intelligence. The other group was told, “Wow, you kids must have worked so hard for that test.” For them, the emphasis was on effort. After a few weeks of this pattern, the kids were given the same test again. The group that had been praised for effort saw their average mark go up. In the group where intelligence was lauded, the marks went down.

The researchers came up with two hypotheses. The first was that the praise for smarts made the first group complacent. The second was that, while children could not control how smart they are, they can control how much effort they put out. Praising effort, in other words, was an act of empowering these children.

We all want our kids to succeed. As I’ve mentioned in the last couple of posts, we dads sometimes push our kids hard to achieve, particularly in the hyper competitive world of sports. If you are one of these dads, try to adopt terms like, “great work,” “good job” and “super effort.”

Calling your child a “good boy” when he hits a baseball, by default, means he is a “bad boy” 70% of the time.

Connor vs. the Zamboni

My three year old has been taking skating lessons since just before Christmas. He loves it and he seems very proud of his progress, from learning how to get up from a fall on his own, to gently stepping across the rink, to now taking three or four giant strides before getting scared by his own speed and hurling himself down on the ice. Although my wife and I joke about kissing our future Saturdays goodbye, we have taken such pleasure in his pleasure.

And then something happened.

The other day, at his lesson, his instructor suddenly plucked him from the ice, and skated him over to the boards. He had tears streaming down his face and he kept crying that he didn’t want to skate anymore.

“What is it, sweetheart?” I asked. Did he hurt himself? Were his skates too tight? Did he suddenly have visions of playing for the Toronto Maple Leafs?

I got nothing from him other than, “I don’t want to skate anymore.”

I gave him a minute or two to regain his composure before I tried to send him back onto the ice. He went into ‘limp’ mode, and recommenced with the sobbing. He started screaming that he wanted to go home.

I began with a speech about commitment—about finishing what you’ve started. I reminded him that, after we finished his first set of six lessons, we asked him if he wanted to take another six lessons. He had wanted to take more lessons, so we were going to finish them. If, I went on, he wanted to stop taking lessons after we finished those to which he’s committed, that was fine by me. But, by golly, we weren’t going to quit before then.

Nothing doing! He was having none of it, and I was powerless.

Over the next few days, as I looked back at his behavior, it bothered me. Not that he was crying—I’ve never laid the “boys don’t cry” bullshit on him—but that he just quit. I don’t care if I raise a son who isn’t good at anything; I just want to teach him about trying your hardest and having fun in the process. On the other hand, I told myself, my son is only three, and maybe I need to just let it go.

Shortly after, we discovered that my son was terrified of the zamboni. I had forgotten that the last time he was on the ice prior to the meltdown, he freaked out when the loud buzzer sounded. He thought the zamboni was coming, not only to flood the ice, but to swallow us whole.

There is often more to our children’s emotions and subsequent actions than we know. My son wasn’t even able to really vocalize his own fears though, in his eyes, they were very real. He still won’t step out on the ice, so we’ve decided to hang up the skates until next fall. If he’s going to become an Olympian, a few missed lessons at this age aren’t going to make a difference.

My son’s three year old reasoning and intuition were telling him it wasn’t safe to go out onto the ice, even if he was incapable of articulating that. If you have young children, try to keep in mind that the emotions behind their actions are very real and logical to them -- even if they seem silly or irrational to you. It is really important, especially for us dads who tend to push our children more, to let them come to trust their own instincts. My son was visibly shaken at the prospect of going back onto the ice, though I was hell bent on “teaching him a lesson.” The only thing he would have learned had I thrown him back out there is not to trust his intuition when it comes to his own personal safety.

Take a time out!

I was reading a great post from Jeremy Adam Smith over at his blog, Daddy Dialectic. It had to do with dads, their sons and the sometimes painful dance that they do around playing sports---in this case, hockey.

It got me to thinking about my own relationship between sports, my father and me. I played just about every game under the sun (ironically for a Canadian kid) other than hockey. I excelled at some, floundered at others, and mainly just tried to have fun playing the rest. My father rarely got to see me play anything. I lived primarily with my mother, and dad lived too far away to come to games. Like many fathers and sons, sports became a talking point, and it was my dad who took me to my first professional baseball, football and basketball games.

When I was ten, our little league team went undefeated. I had been a steady-if-not-flashy important part of the team, and had at least one hit in every game we played. My dad drove the seven hours to see our semi-final, and hopefully, final game. This was the first time he’d ever seen me play.

Well, we won both the semi-final and the championship, but I didn’t get one hit. I think I had more strike outs in those two games than I had all season. After each one I looked to my dad. To this day, I am still grateful to my coach who recognized how desperately I was trying to please my father, and who, in front of me, told my dad how I was a real leader and contributor on the team.

My dad was never a boisterous or pushy sports parent. He never drove me to succeed nor did he ever seem disappointed by any failures on the field. Yet I was still so desperate to impress him—to make him proud. 

I once asked retired Major Leaguer, JT Snow, if he pushed his son harder because he himself had played professional baseball. “No,” he said immediately. He said if anything, he pushed his son less because he knows how much pressure a kid can be under if he shows major league potential. “After the game, give him a hug, tell him you love him and take him for ice cream.”

Keep that in mind if your children play sports. They care more about impressing you than anyone else: team mates, coaches, even scouts. Conversely, they will agonize if they feel they have let you down (which, statistically, will happen more times than not.) If they are going to defy the odds and make it to the pros, it isn’t going to be because you barked at them all game long. By having no vested interest in the outcome of the game, and by loving them just for being them, you will be helping to create an environment where your child can thrive—whether they ever win a game or not.

No boys allowed

I was at a conference on Friday put on by the Father Involvement Network of British Columbia. It was called “Focus on Fathering” and it brought together all sorts of professionals who work with Dads at many different levels. We had some terrific speakers and took part in some great discussions.


It was both inspiring and saddening.

I was inspired by the men and women who are dedicated to making families stronger, and doing everything in their power to help men be better, more involved fathers.

I was saddened that we even need such a conference. As one presenter put it, “can you imagine anyone holding a ‘Mother Involvement Conference?”

At first, it’s easy to default to the idea that uninvolved dads are alcoholic welfare bums, but that is wrong on two fundamental levels. Firstly, that assumption carries the subtext that we should just write off that portion of society that is mired in poverty and many of the complex problems that go with it. Secondly, it overlooks the fact that under the tragic umbrella of uninvolved dads, you will find doctors, lawyers, politicians, and businessmen earning 8 figure salaries.

At any rate, that night my wife told me a dear friend who is expecting was having a baby shower.

“When is it?” I asked.

"Next weekend, but you’re not invited.”

I’m not invited. The grandfather-to-be is not invited (though he’s expected to help make sandwiches) and the father is not invited.

Now, for all I know, maybe the dad doesn’t want to be there. I can imagine the conversation that happened might have involved the wife telling her husband her girlfriends wanted to throw a shower. Maybe he rolls his eyes and mumbles something about wanting to watch hockey, and she tells him he’s off the hook because it’s for the ladies only.

There is so much wrong with my little imagined scenario. Husband should have said, “Great, when is it so I can clear my calendar? Wife should have said to her girlfriends, “My husband is coming or we’re not having it.”

I seem to recall with our baby shower, me rolling my eyes and my wife flipping out on me for not wanting to go. Frankly, she was right to do so, and I am ashamed that I didn’t dive in willingly.

Perhaps I’m being over sensitive, but if we want men to be involved with their children, we can’t default to the old stereotypes. If we want men to be involved fathers, we need to invite them to be a part of every aspect of their child’s life. Not only do we need to invite them, we need to expect them.

As our keynote at the conference pointed out, we condition little boys to grow up to be good men and little girls to be good women. Why aren’t we teaching our children to be good people?

I will always say that men have to be responsible for their own actions when it comes to being a good father. But women and society as a whole can do their part to smash some damaging stereotypes which can automatically push the men to the outside.

Tough Love?

This photo is from a day trip we took over Christmas up a local ski hill (which is currently alarmingly devoid of snow with the Olympics less than a month away.) At one point, while my son was feeding “Dancer” and “Vixen,” I noticed a dad and another small boy. I’m guessing the boy was around 2. His dad kept telling him not to go to this little precipice where the big kids were sliding, warning him that he could slip down the hill and hurt himself.

Sure enough, the self fulfilling prophecy came to be, and the little guy took a ten foot slide. He lay, not hurt physically, at the bottom of the hill, wailing his head off. His dad stomped down the hill, and yanked him up. As he stomped back up the hill, the little boy was seeking comfort from his dad. Dad, however, was holding his son at arms length and sternly barking, “Don’t hug me…do not hug me!”

Now, I don’t want to judge. Who knows what was going on in this guy’s day or life. However, I wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove by not comforting his small son. Was he trying to teach him to be a “man” and not cry? Was trying to impart the idea, “If you defy me, I’ll deny you love”?

I still think to some degree men are expected to teach life’s tough lessons. I think society still generally expects us to mete out the punishment and deliver discipline.

I would have liked to see this dad scoop up and comfort his little boy, wait until he calmed down, and then say, “Do you see why daddy was telling you not to do that?” On some levels, no words were even needed—by tumbling down, this child learned his lesson.

Don’t fall into the tough-guy trap when it comes to giving your child the love and comfort they need. You aren’t going to turn them soft, and there is plenty of time to discuss life’s lessons afterward.

Time? What time?

My 3 year old has been taking skating lessons for the past few weeks. Each Thursday, before he sets off to preschool, I dress him in his “cozy pants.” They are just fleece lined jeans but they are ideal for keeping him warm and dry during the inevitable countless slips to the ice.


When I picked him up at pre-school today, he was wearing his “back up” pair of pants, as the “cozy pants” were mud-soaked from the outside playtime earlier in the day. We now had to frantically race home and change into an older pair of cozy pants and still hope to make it to the rink on time.

In the car home, I already started prepping my son. “Alright, we’re going to have to cooperate and change quickly if we are going to make it on time. Can we do that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

What it turned out he really meant was, “Ha ha ha…are you kidding me?”

The dallying began the second we got in the door. First we struggled over getting the old pants off. Then I realized the underpants and socks were drenched, too, so they’d have to come off. Then we had to get dressed again and out the door. He was dawdling at his own pace as he is wont to do, so I would try and help. Every step of the way, my attempts to “cooperate” in getting his pants or socks on were met with independence and struggle.

“We are going to be late,” I kept repeating with a rising intensity in my voice.

I found myself loosing my cool. As my frustration mounted so did his. By the end I was huffing and stomping around like a three year-old myself. Finally as we were about to head out the door, I was trying to wrestle his shoes on and he was resisting. Then, under his breath, he muttered in a frustrated voice, “I’m tired of this crap up!”

It took every ounce of me not to fall apart laughing.

On the drive to the rink, I realized that time is an artificial concept. Kids don’t care about time. Sure, they have to learn it like the rest of us, but it is hardly in their nature to worry about being on time. My son wasn’t trying to be difficult, he was being three.

If you are a dad who has limited time with your child, try to avoid falling into the same trap I did. To some degree, men are still required to play the role of disciplinarian and “bad cop.” Don’t add “Mr. Grumpy” to the list. If your limited time with your child is spent barking and chiding, he’ll eventually tune you out.

When time is going to be an issue, try to budget a little more room so you don’t wind up getting bent out of shape when your kid is just being a kid.

Beer and Braids Redux

My CBC Radio documentary, "Beer and Braids" is being given an "encore presentation" on a program called, "In the Field."

If you missed it, my documentary took a look at the 14th Annual Stay At Home Dads Convention in Omaha back in October. All the dads that were there are the primary care givers for their children, while mom brings home the bacon. These men are doing what they are doing by choice--and I didn't meet one who would do it any other way.

In my opinion, these men are broadening the definition of what it means to be a man. These men are loving, caring nurturers, capable of tending to scraped knees and hurt feelings. They also like beer and football.

To the best of my knowledge, none of them has lost their penis as a result of being a stay at home dad.

In short, it is a documetary about men and balance.

If you want to have a listen, click here. You'll want to listen to 'part 2.'

I dedicate this to all the amazing men I met in Omaha.