It is surprisingly hard for adults to remember what life feels like to a child. We have traveled so gradually from childhood to adulthood that we may not realize how different their world is from ours.
For example, we might not guess that prominent among some children’s concerns is the dread that they might wet their pants at school. That may seem silly to adults. We forget that at school children often must get permission to go to the restroom. They may remember times when they had accidents, along with the humiliation of being teased about them. Children often feel surprisingly powerless in their lives.
When we judge children’s behavior from an adult point of view, they can seem irrational, dramatic, or difficult. When we see the world from their point of view, their behavior often begins to make sense—and our irritation can give way to compassion.
Most of us have also forgotten many of the challenges of adolescence. Teens are learning to think about thinking. They are becoming increasingly aware of how other people may think about them. It can be a very confusing—albeit necessary—development.
Psychologists sometimes describe features of adolescent egocentrism. Teens may feel as if everyone is watching and evaluating them. They may also believe that their experiences are unique or that ordinary dangers do not quite apply to them. As a result, teens can be highly sensitive. They may spend what seems to us like an extraordinary amount of time getting ready for school. They may ruminate about things classmates say to them or about them. They may yearn to do something heroic while also feeling painfully vulnerable to embarrassment.
To adults, teens may seem irrational or oversensitive. Yet learning to understand their inner and social worlds is every bit as normal—and every bit as necessary—as a toddler learning to walk or talk.
Do you remember feeling painfully self-conscious as a child? Do you remember wondering what people thought of you? Do you remember blushing with embarrassment over something you said? Do you remember being made fun of by classmates?
If we can remember even a little of that vulnerability, we are less likely to dismiss our children’s worries as silly or exaggerated. We may have the humility to understand them.
Of course, our children are not miniature versions of us. Remembering our own childhood can give us humility, but it cannot tell us exactly what life feels like to them. So we study them. We notice what delights them, embarrasses them, worries them, and gives them hope. We listen for the things that seem enormous in their world even when they seem small in ours.
Our objective is not merely to remember our childhood but to enter theirs.
My wife, Nancy, and I used to go out to dinner occasionally to discuss each of our children. Nancy might ask how we could help one child make more friends or another deal with a difficult experience. I offered possibilities. She knew which ones fitted each child best. She saw things I did not because she spent so much time with them and because she is such a good listener.
Those conversations reminded me that understanding our children is not automatic. It is a discipline. We can study them, compare observations, revise our assumptions, and keep trying to see life through their eyes.
Anjelica Huston reports that when she was young, she made a negative comment at the dinner table about Vincent van Gogh. She said somewhat flippantly that she didn’t like his work. Her father, the famous movie director John Huston, exploded: “You don’t like van Gogh? Then name six of his paintings and tell me why you don’t like them.” When she couldn’t, he commanded her, “Leave the room, and until you know what you’re talking about, don’t come back with your opinions to the dinner table.”
John Huston was concerned about careless judgment, and there was wisdom in that concern. But harsh attacks do not humble and they do not inform. They often create resentment. He was not in a debate with an art critic. He was mentoring a child.
He might first have wondered what his daughter saw—or failed to see—in van Gogh’s work. Curiosity could have opened the door to teaching.
Haim Ginott describes a very different way of turning a child’s uninformed opinion into an opportunity for teaching.
When Clara, age fourteen, criticized modern painting, Mother did not dispute her opinion. Nor did she condemn her taste.
Mother: You don’t like abstract art?
Clara: I sure don’t. It’s ugly.
Mother: You prefer representational art?
Clara: What’s that?
Mother: You like it when a house looks like a house, and a tree like a tree and a person like a person.
Clara: Yes.
Mother: Then you like representational art.
Clara: Imagine that. All my life I liked representational art and didn’t know it.
Clara’s mother used her daughter’s statement to educate her. And in the process she showed both respect and affection.
Notice that Clara’s mother did not merely tolerate her daughter’s opinion. She entered her daughter’s world first—and then enlarged it.
Before we correct our children, we should try to understand what the world looks like from where they stand.
We cannot understand another person until, as the old saying goes, we have walked in their shoes. That is especially true of our children. When we begin to understand the landscape of their lives—their hopes, embarrassments, anxieties, dreams, and monsters—their behavior makes more sense.
What looked like defiance may be discouragement. What looked like vanity may be insecurity. What looked like overreaction may be genuine pain.
Understanding does not mean approving everything our children do. It means seeing clearly enough to respond with wisdom rather than irritation. When we walk in their shoes, we are far more likely to help them find their way to happy adulthoods.
Reflection
Think of a recent time when your child did something that irritated or puzzled you.
- What might the situation have looked like through your child’s eyes?
- What might your child have been feeling, fearing, hoping, or trying to accomplish?
- What would change in your response if you understood those feelings?
- The next time you feel irritated with your child, could you pause long enough to ask, “What is this like for you?”
Invitation:
I would love to have you tune into our podcast, Transformative Truths: Quotes for Learning, Growing, and Becoming.
Reference:
Haim Ginott, Between Parent and Teenager (New York: MacMillan, 1969), 53.
