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February
Parenting Secrets of the Zen Masters
Like nature, I abhor a vacuum. Especially when it's
time to clean the house.
But when you have children crawling around, it's
very important to keep the house free of harmful
dirt, dust, and Barney videos. I don't mind a
little clutter--having a few hundred smiling
anthropomorphic train engines strewn about is the
natural result of creative play. But I also know
that every particle of grime that I sweep up is one
that would otherwise probably end up in my kids'
mouths. I'm motivated, but after completing all the
other essential daily tasks, like making dinner,
playing with the kids, putting them to bed, reading
the paper, playing the guitar, surfing the
internet, and watching Conan O'Brien, it seems like
there's just no time to clean. Not enough hours in
the day, am I right?
And cleaning a house where children live is like
the old saying about painting the Golden Gate
Bridge: as soon as you're done, you feel like
jumping over the rail. Wait, that's not it. It's
time to start all over again. You pick up the
clutter, sweep, dust, mop, and vacuum. Then you go
to the kitchen for two seconds to get a glass of
water, and when you come back, it's like you were
never there. You're ankle-deep in Cheerios,
applesauce is dripping from the ceiling, and you
start again. I just wanted to tidy up a bit, and
all of a sudden I'm starring in the Myth of
Sisyphus.
Remember Sisyphus? He's the guy in Greek
mythology who had to spend eternity pushing a big
rock up a steep hill. Then, when he finally got it
to the top, he went to answer the phone and one of
his kids ran in and pushed it back down to the
bottom.
Are our children punishing us like the gods
punished Sisyphus? Is a messy house, as Camus
described pushing the rock, the "price that must be
paid for the passions of this earth"? We all feel
that way sometimes.
But don't let these frustrations drive you to
negative behaviors like getting angry at the kids
or reading French existentialists. Let's look at
the bright side. You know how you try to make
everything into a learning experience for your
children? Well, did you know that your kids are
graciously doing the same thing for you? It may
seem like they are wreaking random havoc in the
house, but actually your children are teaching you
important lessons in subjects like science and
philosophy every single day! Here's just a sample
of the curriculum:
Science
To the untrained eye, your children are simply
running around trashing your house. But in fact
they are giving you a highly educational
demonstration of the important scientific concept
known as entropy. Entropy is nature's tendency
toward chaos and disorder. My older son Henry is
such a pioneer in this field that scientists have
coined a special term--hentropy--to describe the
mysterious force that continually moves every
object in my house to a different, randomly
selected location. To give just one example, the
other night, while I was sitting on the bed playing
with baby Daniel, Henry came running up the stairs
and into the room. He handed me the plastic latch
that is supposed to keep him from opening the
kitchen cabinet where we keep the toxic cleaning
substances. He said "Here, Dad", turned, and ran
back out of the room. What a useful lesson in the
futility of trying to impose order on my
environment! There I was getting annoyed about the
messy house, when I should be grateful to my
children for such valuable learning
experiences.
Philosophy
The endlessly repetitive process of maintaining
a clean and safe environment for our children
despite their determined efforts to the contrary
can bring about negative emotions like frustration,
anger, and carpal-tunnel. But recently I had an
experience that put it all in perspective. I
watched two Zen Buddhist monks create a "mandala"
sand painting. Over several days, they meticulously
placed grains of sand on a table to form a
beautiful geometric pattern. When the painstaking
work was finally done, everybody admired it for a
little while, and then the sand was swept up and
dumped into a nearby stream.
As I watched, it occurred to me that being a
parent is like being a Zen monk. What, you may ask,
does living in a house with small children have in
common with the teachings of Buddhism? The
realization that life is suffering? Au contraire!
The long periods of quiet contemplation? Yeah,
right. I am referring to the joy of creating
something beautiful--a representation of the divine
in their case, a nice tidy home in mine--that is
destined to be destroyed almost immediately.
The monks don't mind this, and neither should
we. In fact, they believe the mandala is beautiful
because it is temporary. It is so precious
precisely because it must end, just like life
itself, or, even more poignantly, like the pure joy
of walking across a room without twisting your
ankle on a power ranger.
So try to think of housework as a form of
meditation. And check this out: the monks believe
everyone who participates in the mandala process is
purified and blessed. The very act of picking up
that lego piece for the millionth time can take you
one step closer to enlightenment!
Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. But if
you ever visit the Bay Area, you should probably
stay off the Golden Gate Bridge.
© 2012 John
Hershey
Other Father Issues,
Books
* * *
Parents are the bones on which children sharpen
their teeth. - Peter Ustinov
John Hershey
is a dad, a writer, and a lawyer (in that order).
He writes a syndicated biweekly humor column about
parenting and family life.. His columns have been
published or accepted for publication on websites
and in magazines around the world, from Maine to
Oregon, Colorado down to Texas, and down under in
Australia.
Blood, Phlegm & Bile:
Parenting with Humor appears monthly on
menstuff.org. But, why the gross title? Well, for
one thing these are three substances with which
every parent becomes quite familiar. They were also
called the "humors" by medieval scientists who
believed that the proportion of these bodily fluids
determined a person's health and temperament. So
it's a pun! A pun requiring a lengthy explanation,
but a pun nonetheless. E-Mail
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