On parent-child interactions, translated…
My son, as he entered into puberty, started paying attention to he way he looked, especially his hairstyle, in order to give him a shave that he liked, I’d added the electronic shavers to the household appliances, and I’d become, his specialty hairstylist.
I’m am amateur, and, so, slipping up would be normal, in the moment’s time, I can see my son’s face changing color, but in the very next minute, he’d consoled me, “hey, it’s okay, it takes practice to perfect the skills, plus, my hair grows fast!”
One day, he’d told me, that a classmate of his had a really cool looking hairstyle, that he’d wanted a haircut just like it. Although, I’d worried, that his hairstyle may be against the rules of the school, I’d still started making his brand new do, with him, affirming, that the style is fitted to the rules of the school.
Two days later, early in the morning, I’d gotten a call from his homeroom instructor, she’d asked angrily about my son’s hair, I’d though, uh-oh!, and naturally, his hair did NOT comply with the school rules, and what’s worse—I was the one, who’d made his hairstyle possible!
As he’d returned home, the emotions that my son had held in the whole day finally busted out, “My teacher always does this, waited for me, to fault, or that he’d find something wrong with me, he’d told me, to call you to school right away, in front of the whole class, and said, that my hairdo was weird……this, was from you, how could he, kept, passing judgments………” my son’s voice got smaller and smaller, and, he’d become, red in the eyes too.
I can understand how my son felt, and knew, that he’d not pushed the responsibilities of his hairstyle to me, to save his own ass, but he’d just, taken the punishments from his teacher. Since he was young, he’d been, emotionally kept in—he’d rarely played coy with me, shared his sorrows, or told me anything that happened to him at school. Since he got into high school, the ten-minute drive with him to the bus station slowly became a time that we’d cherished with each other.
I’d tapped my son on his shoulders, “Thanks, for not ‘selling me out’ in front of your teacher, don’t allow this to affect your study. You still recall how positive thinking is powerful, right? Think of better things, and better things will, happen to you, the opposite also works, if you think often about the bad things, then, bad things will happen, one, by one. Winning an argument is not winning at all, in the end, it’d become like a boomerang, coming back at you.” As I was telling him this, a glow of being understood shone from his eyes.
My son was born, and in a blink of an eye, he is in puberty; and I’d reminded myself constantly, during the time of rebellion for the children, we the parents must also grow with them. Because I know how important it is, for the kids, to gain approval from the parents, and, showing the kids empathy, and respect at all times, is the surest way, to establish a good relationship with your children.
And so, this guy is in his puberty years, and, he’d rebelled by having a different do, and, when the school saw, the officials started telling him how he was bad, to have that hair style, and, in order to save his butt, he’d told them, that it was his mother who’d given him the haircut, and, the mother understood the son’s need to rebel against the authorities too.
Life, the Obstacle Course 