Kids are not inherently mediocre, but many will accept mediocrity, given a chance to do so, because the line of least resistance will lead them there. Parents’ standards for them will do much to determine how much of a class act they will become. What we say, how we say it, what we eat, what we wear, are all a reflection of this.
They are kids, though, and we mustn’t ever forget this. They need to be able to wear torn jeans and get dirty when they’re playing or working. They have their own tastes in music. Their choices of reading material differ. They are, in innumerable cases, more technologically literate. They are not clones of their parents.
But there are times when loftier standards prevail, and they need to know what those times are. I would not pretend to suggest standards to you, nor would I be so arrogant as to suggest that you raise them. Your standards are your own.
Perhaps you permit tank tops or baseball caps at the dining table. I never did. But that’s just you, and it’s just me. If your family’s rituals don’t include civilized dining each night around a table, or your kids grab a power bar on their way out the door in the morning, or they take their snacks to their room, the only sit-down meal they will ever experience is in the school cafeteria.
You may have to exercise patience as you work to overcome this deficit if your efforts are perceived by your kids as “small stuff.” This was particularly true during my 11 years as a foster parent. Once a week, we dressed for dinner, replaced the placemats with a tablecloth, put candles on the table, soft music on the stereo and we “dined.”
My foster kids felt welcome wherever we went because they behaved well, they looked good and they talked softly. (I’m not talking fast food here; we actually went out to nice restaurants now and then.) It was a source of pride when people told me what wonderful, placid kids they were. And once in a while we returned from one of those nights out with two or three of them indignant that one of the group was an embarrassment to them.
The line of least resistance in the first paragraph above may lead your child to demand (or at least express a preference for) macaroni and cheese in a classy French restaurant. This is an issue most appropriately discussed at home before you go, rather than at the table once you get there.
I believe we have a responsibility to help kids develop a palate. Each meal does not have to be an epiphany, but if you’re a foodie, as I am, you will grow very tired of their universal favorites. There are only so many ways you can prepare Ramen noodles. If this is standard fare at your house, you are cooking down to them. The mentality we all seek was best expressed by Christopher Morley many years ago:
Animal crackers and cocoa to drink.
That is the finest of suppers, I think.
When I am grown and can have what I please,
I think I shall always insist upon these.
Your kids did not have ratatouille and braised rabbit in the school cafeteria this week, so you have a chance to shine at lunch preparation on weekends. And for breakfast, you can introduce them to eggs benedict. (Good luck with that.)
When I had kids in the house, I made a point of subscribing to some upscale magazines, and I tried to always have a few avant garde books around the living room. Make no mistake, Martha Stewart I was not, but I tried to have “Architectural Digest” or “Bon Appétit” on the coffee table. Kids will leaf idly through such a magazine and become absorbed in it. (Yeah, when giraffes fly, but it’s worth a shot.)
Their own interests need to be addressed, as well, so good balance is important. Providing really nice books on race cars, skateboarding, motorcycles, electronic gaming — virtually all subjects popular with kids — may inspire interest where a magazine might not.
To rise above mediocrity, don’t forget the value of “please” and “thank you.” My cousin, who was a wonderful mother to her three sons, was very big on “please” and “thank you.” Now in their 50s, they are fine gentlemen, and fun. The eldest related recently that when he returned home from a teenage party and told her that he was offered pot, she responded, “Well, I hope you said, ‘No thank you.’”
Robin C. Harris, an 18-year resident of Lake County, is the author of “Journeys out of Darkness, Adventures in Foster Care.” A retired educator, he is a substitute teacher for Lake County schools and has recently completed two works of fiction for children and teens. He is available for tutoring in first through eighth grades. Harris can be contacted at harris.tke@att.net.
