There’s often a moment of surprise when I share my parenting approach. “Aren’t you concerned about what she might track in?” a fellow mom would inquire, brandishing a large bottle of hand sanitizer from her bag. “Not at all,” I’d reply with confidence.
When it comes to germs, I feel pretty secure in my philosophy. In nearly six years, my daughter Lily has been sick only twice and has missed just one day of school. However, what she has brought into our home is another matter entirely—there’s no disinfectant for that.
Words have tremendous power, and I’m acutely aware of their impact. Growing up, I was surrounded by girls who were never overtly criticized about their looks, yet their mothers’ relentless dieting and constant chatter about being “good” or “bad” left lasting marks. I’ve made it a point to eat alongside Lily, whether it’s snap peas or ice cream, without discussing my body. She has never heard either her father or me utter the word “fat,” nor do we criticize anyone’s appearance. When Lily inquired about individuals who appeared overweight, I responded by suggesting we send them love, as they might be feeling uncomfortable. My goal has been to instill a sense of empathy in her.
However, I’ve come to realize that I can’t simply adopt a charming parenting strategy and expect it to prevail. Even in our Brooklyn neighborhood, that’s just not how it works.
One evening, when Lily was three, she pushed her plate away, untouched cherry tomatoes glaring at me, and declared, “I don’t want to get fat.” This was influenced by her best friend’s mother, who is entrenched in the high-fashion scene—think Fashion Week and first-name basis with Anna Wintour. This mother’s language permeates her daughter, and inevitably, Lily picked up on it as well.
Her little friend walks through our home offering a running critique of her appearance, food choices, and everything she dislikes. “I hate pink hats, I hate Doc McStuffins, I hate dogs.”
“We don’t say ‘hate,’” I gently interject. “It’s not a nice word.”
Lily glances back, visibly torn between my message and her friend’s influence, who, let’s face it, is already cooler than I’ll ever be. Standing in our living room, I’m baffled that concepts like “fat” and “hate” have found their way into my home.
But that was just the prelude to the night I was tucking her in with her stuffed animals when she whispered, “Goodnight, n______.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
She repeated it, allowing my husband and me to confirm we weren’t imagining things. We lowered our voices to a whisper only whales could hear and firmly stated, “You may NEVER use that word again.”
After shutting her door, we stood outside in the hallway, surrounded by her construction paper collages. How had such words infiltrated my sanctuary of kindness? My husband was ready to call her headmistress, but I quickly caught up to him. “No, no, no, she didn’t hear it at school.”
“How do you know?” he asked, concerned I might reveal that I expose her to gangsta rap at bedtime or let her view inappropriate shows. After all, her quaint preschool is nestled in downtown Brooklyn, caught between fast food joints and a multiplex, where teens congregate and casually toss around that word as we wait for the light to change.
Sitting on the floor, I felt utterly perplexed. I realized that while I can curate Lily’s environment to an extent, the pace at which these influences are entering her life was overwhelming. I recognized the need to provide her with a deeper understanding of why certain words are unacceptable, appropriate for her age.
The next night, I sat her down after dinner and explained, “We don’t say ‘hate’ because we don’t truly hate anything. What we dislike is how certain things or people make us feel—perhaps powerless or scared. It’s our feelings, and we can change them.” She absorbed my words, pondering them deeply. “And we don’t use that other word because it’s hurtful.”
She considered this and then posed a thoughtful question: “But why do the kids laugh when they say it?”
It was a valid inquiry about a complex matter, and I did my best to address it. Throughout this dialogue, I grappled with my own discomfort and guilt. This is the essence of parenting—having someone challenge your beliefs and compel you to articulate and defend them. Ultimately, it will prevent me from becoming stagnant and, hopefully, strengthen our bond as she matures. For now, I’ll ensure that Dove ads play in the background during her friend’s pick-up times.
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In summary, parenting presents a myriad of unexpected challenges, particularly when it comes to navigating the language our children adopt and the societal influences they encounter. By fostering open dialogue and encouraging empathy, we can guide them through these complexities while remaining true to our values.
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