A Parenting Mistake My Father Made That You Should Try To Avoid

This is another somewhat autobiographical article with, hopefully, a point to it, and the story begins with the drug thalidomide.

Shortly before I was born, in 1959, thalidomide was introduced to the world, and one of its uses was to treat morning sickness in pregnant women.

It wasn’t long before the stereotypical birth defects that this drug caused – limbs that were far from fully formed, which is a condition known as phocomelia – became apparent, and in most countries use of the drug during pregnancy was withdrawn.

Surprisingly, perhaps, thalidomide is still given to some pregnant women in some parts of South America (and cases of phocomelia still occur there), and it is also used in the treatment of some cases of cancer, leprosy, and tuberculosis.

The existence of these birth defects were responsible for my parents not having a child sooner than they did, because, in the words of my father, “I might be born with two heads.”

His choice of words was rarely appropriate, but I look back now and wonder whether this was nothing more than an indirect way of saying he didn’t really want children. (On the other hand, he really claimed to have this thing about continuing the family tree, which is ironic given that I never wanted or had children of my own.)

Anyway, born I was, and it was clear from the outset (or so I was told later, of course), that my father had no idea what it meant to be a father.

For example, by the time my mother and I returned home from the hospital, he’d already built a model plane, out of balsa wood complete with one of those tiny working engines, for me to play with.

I think most people would realize that a baby who is just a few days old is not capable of playing with very much, but my father was certainly not one of them.

Fast forward a few years, to the point where I was a young child of maybe four or five who could walk and talk, and my father tried to introduce me to the things that he had done with his own father, back in the early 1930s.

For example, here are some of the activities that he wanted me to take up:

• Chess
• Coin collecting
• Fell walking
• Cricket
• Golf
• Model plane building
• Stamp collecting

Some of these activities are, I think, clearly not the type of things that most young children enjoy.

And after a year or so of attempting to bond with me over these hobbies, he discovered that none of them really interested me.

Actually, to be fair, I was about average at chess (for my age), but never really enjoyed it. The rest, though, were just not me.

So, what did my father do at that point?

He gave up.

I think he genuinely had no idea what to do with me – he’d exhausted all of the things that he and his father had done when he was young, and when they didn’t work for me like they had for him, that was it.

I get that it may be natural to start with the things you enjoy, but when they don’t work, you have to keep trying something else.

It became clear, as I grew up, that my father had just assumed, with no basis other than his own childhood, that because he was (or at least thought he was) a chip off his father’s block, that I would be too.

He apparently had no concept that even young children have their own personalities, likes, and dislikes, and are not miniature versions of either parent.

As an adult, having been around friends with their young children, I truly find it difficult to believe that this is not obvious from a very early age.

It almost felt like he was trying to live his life through me, which does not seem like a good reason to have children.

Over the years, I’ve come across plenty of children who were pushed into activities, not because it’s what they wanted to do, but because it’s what their parents wanted them to do. You could tell the children either were just going through the motions, to please their parents, or, in some cases, just plain hated it.

So, what’s the point here?

Well, where my father gave up, a sensible one would try to find out what his child does actually enjoy, and then encourage that.

My mother, on the other hand, taught me to read at a very early age, read to me a lot, and did other activities with me that engaged my brain.

She soon found that it worked, and did more of it.

(It should go without saying that when I talk about my father, it could equally well apply to either or both parents.)

There are so many things that a child might be interested in, including creative activities (e.g. writing, different forms of art, dance), all sorts of sports, or other outdoor things (e.g. hiking), that it seems improbable that you cannot find at least one activity that your child wants to pursue. Especially as there are far more options available these days than there were when I was a boy.

And I get that some activities may be out of reach to some families, largely because of inaccessibility or cost, but there are still plenty of others that are free or, at least, affordable.

So, ask your child what they would like to do, or pick something if they don’t know, give it a try for a while, and see whether your child likes it or not.

If they do, great. Keep doing more of it until they say they’ve lost interest and would rather try something else.

Remember though that children can have multiple interests at the same time. If, at a later date, they really want to focus on just one, then that’s fine too – but it should be their choice, not anybody else’s.

And if not, then move to something else, because there is no point putting your kid through hell when it’s unnecessary.

It’s also worth bearing in mind that children’s interests change over time too, for various reasons – some valid (e.g. they’ve outgrown them) and some less so (e.g. fads).

Conclusion

Forcing a child to do something they don’t want to do (and I’m talking about hobbies and activities here, not stuff like having to take a bath or brush their teeth or do their homework), or not allowing them to do something they want to do, is a great way to end up with a child who resents you.

To be fair, there are many reasons why my father and I were never close (and I’m using this euphemism to spare you more of the gory details), and his unwillingness to see me as anything other than a puppet through which to live his own life, is definitely one of them.

I know that being a parent is probably the most difficult job in the world, and that it’s almost impossible to do it 100% correctly, but if you remember what your role as a parent is, then the sort of behaviour I’ve described above should be unnecessary. In my father’s case, I’m guessing he had no clue what his role was meant to be, and it showed.

Additional Resources

These are suggestions for those who wish to delve deeper into any of the above:

1. Giving Your Children Control