photo by Benimoto
I did it. I got out on the ice myself. I stood beside my son (well, I wobbled beside him) and we tried our best, together, to get around the rink.
The last time I took my children ice skating I watched from the side lines. Not being an athletically inclined family my son and daughter both took their fair share of spills as they fought the pull of gravity. My daughter kept at it. My son gave up in frustration because his proficiency wasn’t happening quickly enough for him.
His frustration became my frustration, only mine was focused on his lack of perseverance and bad attitude. It finally dawned on me that if I had joined him on the ice instead of cheering - or goading - from the side lines, he’d of had an easier time of learning the character traits I was demanding he display.
So, here it was, two months later and I had a chance to rectify my parenting ineptness. I laced up, gingerly stepped out on the ice, and hoped that my never having ice skated before wouldn’t be too obvious as I hugged the wall.
Around the rink my son and I went, both of us sharing goofy grins and making faces at each other. I commented that he looked like he had remembered much of what he learned the first time on the ice. He answered, “I gave it a lot of thought. I don’t have to be like those guys who are whizzing around. I’m okay with keeping on trying until I get better at it on my own.” And with that he left me clinging to the wall as he worked on his agility and speed all by himself.
Oh. I really wish my kids would give me a heads up when they’ve learned something I tried teaching them before I risk my life for the sake of conquering this parental sacrifice stuff.
I couldn’t get the boy off the ice. Although he never got up to the same speed as many of the other kids who were there, at the end of our rink time he had a pretty good handle on gliding. And a smile that lit up the arena.
I had a hard time keeping up with him. I attempted putting one foot in front of the other for several laps, shouting encouragement to my son each time he lapped me. I fell at one point, and determined to demonstrate the ol’ get-back-up-on-the-horse mentality, I told everyone I was fine and kept going. I went one more round and called it a day. My version of taking one for the team doesn’t include any more than three bruises at a time.
It’s a continuous learning process, this parenting stuff. My children are always surprising me with how much they learn in between those teachable moments. I’m reminded constantly, however, that my willingness to invest in them will never come back empty, especially if God is in the center of my teaching.
The last time I took my children ice skating I watched from the side lines. Not being an athletically inclined family my son and daughter both took their fair share of spills as they fought the pull of gravity. My daughter kept at it. My son gave up in frustration because his proficiency wasn’t happening quickly enough for him.
His frustration became my frustration, only mine was focused on his lack of perseverance and bad attitude. It finally dawned on me that if I had joined him on the ice instead of cheering - or goading - from the side lines, he’d of had an easier time of learning the character traits I was demanding he display.
So, here it was, two months later and I had a chance to rectify my parenting ineptness. I laced up, gingerly stepped out on the ice, and hoped that my never having ice skated before wouldn’t be too obvious as I hugged the wall.
Around the rink my son and I went, both of us sharing goofy grins and making faces at each other. I commented that he looked like he had remembered much of what he learned the first time on the ice. He answered, “I gave it a lot of thought. I don’t have to be like those guys who are whizzing around. I’m okay with keeping on trying until I get better at it on my own.” And with that he left me clinging to the wall as he worked on his agility and speed all by himself.
Oh. I really wish my kids would give me a heads up when they’ve learned something I tried teaching them before I risk my life for the sake of conquering this parental sacrifice stuff.
I couldn’t get the boy off the ice. Although he never got up to the same speed as many of the other kids who were there, at the end of our rink time he had a pretty good handle on gliding. And a smile that lit up the arena.
I had a hard time keeping up with him. I attempted putting one foot in front of the other for several laps, shouting encouragement to my son each time he lapped me. I fell at one point, and determined to demonstrate the ol’ get-back-up-on-the-horse mentality, I told everyone I was fine and kept going. I went one more round and called it a day. My version of taking one for the team doesn’t include any more than three bruises at a time.
It’s a continuous learning process, this parenting stuff. My children are always surprising me with how much they learn in between those teachable moments. I’m reminded constantly, however, that my willingness to invest in them will never come back empty, especially if God is in the center of my teaching.
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