Am I Spoiling Him?

Ivan asks if I might be spoiling my sonny boy, and has even suggested that my parenting may in some way make my son weak. Don’t worry, I am fond enough of Ivan to not be offended by his questions about my mothering. But for Ivan, and the rest of you who think I’m spoiling the sonny boy, here is my official response.

The very worst of America is that the greedy, grasping, me-first individualism which used to be frowned upon by people with good sense is what is advertised, packaged and fed to us by just about everything in our culture now. It is, I think, capitalism untempered by human sympathy. It’s hard knocks and me-first gone terribly awry. Individualism isn’t an approachable ideal without a learned respect for the thoughts and feelings of others, and a democracy cannot flourish without individualism. Having spent some time abroad, I have had opportunity to think about what it means and what it should mean to be an American, a good American, the best American. To have some idea of what this is, I had to think about what it means to be a good citizen and a good person, to rear a child who will be these things at home and abroad.

I parent my son with two ideas in mind. One: Like every human he has needs which if not met in childhood will manifest themselves as unhealthy appetites and anti-social behaviors in his adulthood. (This is a part of attachment parenting). Two: The best way to teach him a respect for others is to show respect for him. And so far, it seems to be working. Though he has a tendency to ‘get his Irish up” in the presence of any perceived injustice (he has after all, quite a lot of Irish blood in him), he is almost unfailingly polite, thoughtful and considerate of others. From his first experience in preschool, we have gotten regular reports from teachers and other parents about his sympathetic nature, his willingness to share what he has, to protect the weak, to do the right thing. Will he grow up to be a ruthless lawyer, politician or businessman or greedy someone about whom people will say, “he wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire”? I doubt it.
So, often enough, and in the estimation of some folk, I am rather indulgent with him: a little Pat a Mat on a tired morning, singing him awake on his birthday, a trip to the candy store from time to time, listening to him complain about his problems, hugging and holding him when he seems overwhelmed by his troubles. And in return, he tells us that he loves us, will put a blanket on his father or me if we are napping, will offer to hug and hold us when we need it, and he will share his last piece of candy with anyone who hasn’t any.
As for whether I am making him tough enough to go away from home or to fight when necessary, I don’t think I need to worry. I know my boy. He has enough Irish in him that I don’t need to give that part of his nature any nurturing, only a bit of discipline. I hope I am helping him to live up to what we have told him since he was very young: Be the better man.