Teach Your Children Well

When I was young, I recall being frequently asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I'm sure my response changed a lot over the years. But the last response I can ever recall giving to that question was, "I want to be a mother."

As an aside, I am fortunate to have an amazing mother. My mother is smart, well-educated, well-read, very witty and clever. She is beautiful -- as a little girl, I often wished people would stop telling me I looked just like my father (here's a hint folks...most little girls don't want to hear that they look like a man, even if he's handsome.) My mother had dark, almost black hair and has gorgeous round chestnut eyes. She is lovely inside and out. My mom is never demanding of me, supports my decisions, embraced my husband as if he had been her own son. She comes to see me when I ask her to, she is ever an example to me of faithful service and devotion to her God, family, and country. My mom is my hero, in so many wonderful ways. But, my greatest admiration of her stems from the fact that she raised four daughters and most importantly, taught and trained each child.

Teaching and training: it's really the essence of what good mothers do. I have been a mother for eleven years. In the early years of mothering, so much of the mechanical side to that life seemed to dominate my attitudes toward my chosen career path. It can be daunting to service all the needs of little children: diapers, laundry, meals, bathing, shopping, etc. There were times when I would wonder why I'd bothered to get a college degree, serve a mission, travel, and gain other experiences, just to waste away as a slave to the needs of demanding little children. As my children grew, so did my perspective. I began to see how my preparations and experiences would help me teach and train my children to be citizens of the world, not just usurpers in my home. My mother and father went to great lengths to make sure that their children had experiences outside their comfort zone, so that perhaps their children might have greater perspective than they otherwise would if they lived in a sheltered environment where everyone looked and believed the same.

Besides traveling with their children, my parents, Mom especially, made sure we were exposed to people with varying abilities and challenges. I remember my mom sitting with me in the car on our way over to "pattern" a quadriplegic man in our church congregation. She explained to me that it was believed that by exercising this man's appendages, his body would atrophy less over time as he sat in his wheelchair. I was concerned about the smell and the fact that the man drooled prolifically. My mom made the necessary explanations and took the time to comfort me in my concerns. After that, I went with her often to help pattern Tom. Each time, I enjoyed helping him more. But the key was exposure and teaching and training.

My own introduction to motherhood was not what I anticipated. It was rocky at best. Not because the baby was unwanted or a surprise, more because Emma was born at 23 weeks gestation, and at such an early stage in pregnancy that I was simply unprepared. Teaching and training her the finer, more important lessons was quickly overwhelmed by helping her get enough oxygen, making sure she could see, and then as she grew, overcoming the other challenges that hyper prematurity brings. Because Emma is such a rarity -- babies born at 23 weeks are still not routinely resuscitated and those that are almost always suffer from cerebral palsy among other disabilities, there is no history or pattern for us to fall back on. Emma is the history; she is the one to watch. Which makes it even more important that I take the time to teach and train her. But it's not easy. Sometimes, my kids do and say things that make me think nothing I have ever said or done has or will make any difference. Some days, I want to call my mom and have her come take over. She's the seasoned professional, right? But no, these are my challenges, my opportunities, my responsibilities -- given to me by a Father in Heaven who believes I am the mom for the job.

Just the other day, Emma came to me. "Mom," she said. "Do I have ADD?"

"Why do you ask, honey?" I answered.

"Well, I got distracted by a cool stick I found during gym today. We were playing soccer on the outside fields and I found a stick that I thought would make a cool art project. One of the girls in my class got bugged at me because I wasn't paying attention to the game and asked me if I have ADD. So do I?"

"Hmmm. Yes Emma, you do. Your brain did not get the chance to develop in utero the way it should have. So, in the frontal lobe, you have a mild amount of 'damage.' This affects your ability to stay focused. But it won't keep you from doing all the things you want to do in this life. We just need to be aware of it."

"Oh. So there's something wrong with me?" Emma concluded.

"Well, yes and no. There's something wrong with all of us. We just have to learn to overcome our challenges and move on." I explained.

Then Daniel interceded, explaining that some people just throw the term ADD around and use it to describe anyone who is easily distracted, as might have been the case with the girl in her class. He explained that perhaps she had heard an adult say, "Do you have ADD?" to someone who was distracted.

Emma thought about her father's words of explanation and my honesty about her condition for several days. Later, she came to me. "Mom, if I have ADD because I have some slight brain damage, why would anyone ever use the phrase, 'Do you have ADD?' jokingly? Isn't that like making fun of someone with a disability?"

I paused...my thoughts were so mixed: exultant that I've trained my child to be sensitive to those with disabilities! Crushed: my daughter just realized that someone was not being very kind to her. "Yes," I told her. "We should always watch what we say."

I'm trying to teach them. Please, please teach yours too.