Friday, 19 April 2013

The lost art of parenting! Or...

I had parents growing up. I still have parents.
 
Now they do treat me more like a grown up but they parent me.
 
But it seems the word 'parents' is lost these days in a collage of nonsense.
 
I grew up with parents who loved me without a shadow of a doubt but they never let me forget I was a child. My first role in life, was to be their child. If I could handle confiding in my parents at the same time as been a child. (It was a dream come true for them) They believe in God and Jesus Christ and the sacred duty to bring up a child in the way of the Lord!
 
This included the fact that I got a whooping every now and then and sometimes laced with scripture(that folly is in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it out) lol
 
More importantly, my parents picked up signs over my attitude or lack of it.
 
I mean I was transferred from a particular school to another because they realised I had started behaving like a snob. Yes. They took their job seriously.
 
My dad gave me newspapers to read and asked my opinion while listening patiently to my analysis (sometimes weird) of an issue. There was no laughing, just intense listening, trying to make sense of the words I thought together.

My mum instilled in me the art of multitasking! And she watched over jealously from her rooftop view. lol
 

And now, even though I am married, my parents are always there for me in every way. (And I am not saying they were perfect) In fact I disliked them at some point.

But now, I want to be closer to them, I want to ask questions about how they raise 7 of us. I am especially in awe of my mum. Everything she taught, I use to run my own home.
 
But today, I see mothers who want to be best friends with their children (and there is nothing wrong with that) it is just that they want to exchange roles. Besto above parenthood.
 
On the flip side, some parents shouted and beat their children so much. There was no room for conversation or disagreements. Their word was law. (Resultant effect; The children cower and hide when they hear the sound of their parents footsteps.) Thanks a lot for raising passive children.



And...
 
Babies and kids are now a show of how wealthy you are. I find some of those pictures cute. But please let them grow up normally without having a camera shoved in their faces all the time. That was not done to you. See how you turned out!
 
And the worst of it, parents who do not have time for their children. Thank God for the electronic age. I believe it is a blessing. I do. But your kids spend more time with electronics than they do with those that gave them life. You justify your absence from their lives with more and more electronics. So they grow up with no idea of how to show warmth or tumble around with family. Why bother with that? An email will do.
 
I don't have children yet! And I am by no means an authority, I only write what I observe.

You may disagree.

 



Like I say, it is just through my eyes!
 
 
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6 comments:

  1. Interesting piece but a lot of parents will be quick to fire back at some of your assertions. Most parents even those of our parents generation will be quick to tell you to let them raise their kids in the best way they know how. I think the fundamental difference between how we raise our kids in this generation and how we were raised will boil down to the fact that we were raise in a community less isolated than we find ourselves today. Our physical community is shrinking as the virtual one grows.

    There's a yoruba adage that loosely tranlates to - "one person births a child but the community raises the child" This held true in our days as kids but today, one person births a child and the internet raises that child.

    I have resorted to fervent prayers and I implore every parent/intending parent reading this to do same.

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  2. Adevărul este dur , cele mai multe fete nu sunt
    nici măcar conștienți fac acest lucru . Acest parc mic și frumos este bine
    merita o vizita . O faci de împingând butoanele emotionale dreapta .


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