Raising teenage daughters is not for the faint of heart.
One alone would be a handful. But two at the same time? These are the days that try a dad’s soul.
And we’re not even at the ages yet of driving cars or (gulp) boys calling the phone. Calling their phone. But, for a litany of reasons, they don’t have their own phones yet. And I didn’t need to read Jonathan Haidt’s book to know the importance of keeping our daughters’ minds free from crippling anxiety (though I do have a copy on hold at the library).
So we don’t deal with certain teenage issues (yet), but there is the occasional attitude. The sarcasm. The eyeroll. The disobedience. Things I never did as a teen (LOL).
There are fights over what they wear (that’s another post for another time). There are arguments over schoolwork, housework, attitudes, apathy, and more.
Some days it’s all non-existent. Some days it comes in waves.
It makes me think back a few years to when our youngest was 10. I don’t recall what the problem was at the time. (Who even remembers yesterday, much less three years ago?) But I will not forget the note she gave me sometime after a tense moment of discipline.
I realized (as my heart melted) that our daughter was beginning to understand one of the most basic but also most essential skills any person can have: the skill of apology.
Kids are going to mess up. They’re going to have bad attitudes. They’ll have the habit of not doing what they’re told to do. They’ll push back, even in the most passive-aggressive of ways, to let you know their displeasure with certain requests. Cleaning their room, doing the dishes, folding laundry, whatever.
Too many parents fail here. I have too. It’s a fear of pushing too hard. We don’t want our kids to be mad at us. Worse still, not pushing enough and raising a bunch of youngsters who think the world owes them everything and they don’t have to lift a finger.
So what do we teach our kids when they show disrespect/disobey/roll their eyes/yell/throw a tantrum/cross their arms/slam doors/say they hate you?
Teach them to say two words: I’m sorry.
When we can gently guide them into not only recognizing their wrongness but to a place where they can admit it and apologize, we’ve imparted a priceless skill on our children. The skill of apologizing marks us as teachable, as humble, and is one we can carry the rest of our lives.
Apologizing helps us understand ourselves. Our children do good things. But when they say they’re sorry, they recognize there are times they’re selfish, defiant, and lazy. This provides an opportunity for reflection and correction.
Apologizing humbles us. Have you ever had that one friend that thinks everything they do is better than everyone else? Ever sat in a meeting with a co-worker that knew how to drive sales better than everyone else? Ever sat under a boss who refused to listen to input because he/she was set in their ways, refusing to budge? Apologizing causes us to see that the world is much, much bigger than we could imagine. The sooner our children see that, the better they’ll be in future relationships, both personal and professional.
But why is saying “I’m sorry” so difficult? As a husband who’s been in that situation more times than I can count, I can attest to a strong mountain of pride that stands in my way. Apologizing not only forces us to admit we were wrong but prompts us to reach out to the offended party in hopes that they might forgive us. Because pride blinds us from seeing the worst in ourselves, we often latch on to it to self-protect. Whenever we can overcome that innate desire, we connect better with others. Pride is no longer a roadblock that keeps us from being authentic and empathetic.
Maybe what’s even harder for us as parents is modeling apologies.
I’m an almost 43-year-old husband and dad of daughters. My house is full of women. Even our dog that I love and cat that I tolerate are females. This home gets a bit emotional at times.
I’ve certainly had moments of being too harsh. I’ve gotten angry with my wife. I’ve yelled at my daughters. I’ve seen my dog tuck her tail and saunter off to a quiet room after a good tongue-lashing for eating food from the cat’s bowl.
I’m not always great at it, but I’m learning more and more the importance of apologizing in those moments. I don’t want my girls to leave this house and think back on their dad as some domineering, arrogant jackass.
So teach your kids. Teach your kids to ride a bike. Teach them how to use a socket wrench. Teach them how to convert decimals to percentages (and teach mine because they still don’t get it). But no skill you teach them will be as important as the skill of apology.
It’s a skill that has to start with us, the parents. When we, in our busyness, ignore our children, we need to apologize. If we raise our voices in anger when it’s uncalled for, we need to apologize. When we make sarcastic jokes that offend our children, we need to apologize.
Help teach your kids a skill that too few others have. One that will guide them in relationships for the rest of their lives. It will make them better spouses one day. It will make them better co-workers. It will make them better CEOs. And if they ever enter the world of politics, it will make them better leaders. (Imagine a world where politicians not only admit what they’ve done wrong but also apologize for it.)
There’s a lot wrong with the world. There are a lot (a LOT) of people around the world doing wrong things and defending people doing wrong things. Our sons and daughters are watching. And waiting. For someone, somewhere, to apologize for what’s going on. Not just apologize, but really mean it. Whether it’s an “I’m sorry” scribbled on a scrap piece of paper or in a press release or in a text message.
They’re watching you too. What are you teaching them?
(Oh, and if you’re wondering whether or not I ever apologize to the dog, I do. It comes in the form of a treat, typically. But not the cat. Never apologize to a cat. It only reinforces their power over us.)