Framing
I’ve been slowly reading Lakoff’s “Don’t Think of An Elephant”, a book about political framing. I haven’t finished the book, and probably won’t, and so I am unprepared to discuss whether the book makes valid arguments about politics or… well, about arguing. What I’ve read so far is interesting. Discussing the idea of the nation as a metaphorical family (sending our sons and daughters to war, Founding Fathers, etc), Lakoff posits two broad family models as a prism from which to approach politics: the strict father model and the nurturant parent model. He then argues that in reality, the two models complement each other, most families employing a blend of both behaviors. I can attest to that: there are times when I have to be a bear and demand obedience, and then there’s the other 98% of the time. Lakoff uses these two frames as a stepping off point for a more comprehensive book on how progressives need to learn how to approach political speech and debate.
For me however, this introductory chapter was an epiphany with regard to my troubles over Sam and parenthood. I gotta say, I’m dealing with a serious case of cognitive dissonance.
When it comes to being a parent, I am working toward being a nurturant parent. It’s difficult for me sometimes: as I’ve written previously, I never saw myself as a parent, and because Sam isn’t always here I’m not always caught up in the flow of that life. During some of his earlier visits, I think I was too much the strict father: lately I’ve been much more flexible with his moods and peculiarities. It’s a lot easier in the end and it sure feels a lot better: I don’t want my kid to be scared of me, but I do want him to respect my authority. Often, I can avoid a clash by giving him a choice, even if it’s a Hobbes choice. “Sam. If you don’t go upstairs and get ready for bed, you will get a time out. And guess what? ‘Time out’ is going to turn into ‘bedtime’ anyway, except without the stories and songs. I don’t think that sounds fun, do you? Or, you can go upstairs, we’ll have songs and stories and some fun before bed!” And yet, sometimes the strict father is not only required, but effective. When Sam was two and shit in the bathtub, knowing full well that was unacceptable, his mom pulled him out and let him stand there cold and wet while she cleaned up the mess, made him smell the poop, and flush it down the toilet. Balancing those same two models was also really great vehicle for finishing his toilet training, from stern words and an immediate washdown in the shower when he went in his pants, to emphasizing the “accident” side of wetting himself, and the necessity of avoiding a shower. Every successful parent is a little bit of both. On the whole, I prefer the nurturant parent even if I sometimes don’t meet my ideal.
On the other hand, my concept of parenting leans much more toward following the rules and the strict father construct: that is to say, except in very particular instances, I believe that as adults responsible for a helpless infant, you are obliged to try to stick it out. I can’t say I was perfect during Sam’s earliest years: I was laid off from my job three months earlier than expected, and for the next two years I was sending out applications and taking any temp job I could. I went on a short tour during this period, a long weekend to Boston and back. But the whole time I traveled to Montreal whenever I could to see my girl and my kid, sent as much money as a temp worker could. When I was finally permanently hired at my current job, my child support payments increased and arrived every month, sometimes more than was wise for me to send.
The point is, I wasn’t looking for parenthood, and when it came I resisted at first. But even before Sam was born I had accepted my responsibility: I was preparing and getting excited for him and his mother to move in. That’s what you do when you’re a parent: your immediate desires and general preferences get set aside, sometimes temporarily, while you take responsibility for the little person that can’t take care of him or herself. I deeply believe that part of that is being, if at all possible, a two-parent family, especially for a baby or young toddler. It is an integral part of my concept of parenting, backed up not only by my personal preferences, but by three years at my first job in Philadelphia, reading professional literature on fathering and the impact of father absence on children. There are other measures of positive outcomes for children, but one of the best predictors is family structure: the only family structure that fares worse than a single-mother headed family with an absent father is a two-parent family with high conflict (ie, domestic violence), and that’s not my bag.
None of this, by the way, is to put down different family structures: I have no doubt that with proper social supports, single-parent families led by either sex would do much better (Sam’s mom gets a lot more help in Canada than single mothers do down here in the US and she’s doing fairly well). Furthermore, many two-parent families work schedules that make for virtual single-parenthood anyway, and often total parental absence, which leads to the kind of truancy, disrespect for adults and crime rates you see here in Philadelphia. I’m just talking about the way my internalized conception of what a parent is has evolved: it may or may not be flawed, and it’s certainly not a social prescription or dictate.
Our two-year separation wasn’t based on choice, but by bureaucracy. and I had always expected them to move in. I wasn’t head over heels for her, but I’m learning that that’s not the kind of person I am anyway, not with anyone. I have only a few people I really consider my close friends: I can count them on one hand. That’s just the kind of guy I am: lots of casual acquaintances, but very few close friends. Maybe one in all of Philadelphia. I think I’ve always kind of been this way: I’m just not very attach-y. I can go days being alone. I’m only now sort of getting used to my girlfriend living with me. After Sam was born however, I put that inclination aside. Because that’s what parents do.
I think the basis for that conception is in my own parents, who stuck together and seem to have weathered extremely adverse circumstances. I’ve written before about my mother’s alcoholism. At one point, I don’t recall when, it had gotten really bad and my folks called us to the living room to tell us they were considering getting a divorce. My sister and I went into hysterics: I don’t know how old Ray was, or if he’d even been born. He was still just a baby. I was wearing my pajamas. There was crying and yelling and all sorts of awfulness: anyone who’s been through divorce has seen this and much worse.
But my parents didn’t divorce. They stuck it out. A few years later, my mom either quit drinking entirely or at least got it under control: from about 1984 until 1991, I didn’t see her touch a drop. She took up the bottle again in New Jersey, and went through some bad times, but at this point things seem… well, as normal as they can be in any family. And a good thing they stuck it out too: they provide a vital space for my brother’s older son. They help out with childcare for his kids and mine. The bonds are really tight. I can depend on them and they can depend on us. My parents really and truly love each other too: they go fishing together all summer long, take three or four vacations a year together, two that include my nephew. They’re active in local politics together. I’m not saying the situation is perfect, or that their decision is for everyone, but my parents’ sticking together has had a significantly positive impact on my life.
So when things went *POOF*, it created a significant cognitive dissonance for me. Not good enough. Not sure I can trust you. My dad’s a good father figure too. Not what I want versus I am following the rules. I am doing what the man is supposed to do. I am stepping up and being a father to my son. I want to do this.
My concept has not only… not only what? Has it been taken away? Has it been shattered? Whatever: the concept I had of parenting, imperfect as it was, no longer exists. I’m having trouble replacing it.
My brain hurts.
