One chilly Sunday morning, my children got word of football player Jim Harbaugh’s impending vacation from the NFL. For those who may not know him, Harbaugh is the mouth-agape-arms-outstretched-clipboard-throwing man-child football fans love to hate. Type his name into your search engine and try to find him smiling.
You won’t. Because he doesn’t.
It was around that time my once-charming children (then 10 and 12) seemed to be turning whiny entitlement into an art form, so I was clinging desperately to the frayed edges of a very thin maturity rope when this discussion happened:
Kids: Mom, why is Jim Harbaugh leaving San Francisco?
Me: The announcer said it is because his contract expired but, most likely, it’s because he’s an asshole.
Kids: Why would that get him fired?
Me: Because, at the end of the day, nobody wants to be around someone who behaves that way.
Kids: But he has money!
Me: Well, that just makes him an asshole with money. You’ve seen how he acts. Would YOU want to hang around him?
Kids: NO!
Me: Well, there you go. Neither does San Francisco, apparently.
Enter the perfect teaching moment, courtesy of none other than the man-child himself. I explained to the littles that, when we whine, cajole, berate, humiliate, or manipulate, others must make a decision to either placate us, which ultimately yields resentment, or withdraw out of self-preservation. Harbaugh is great at winning football games, but he lacks social skills, which is likely why he doesn’t last more than three years at any organization.
Social support is a reliable predictor of later-life adjustment; relationships give life its richness and depth. Since nobody wants to spend time with an asshole, I owed it to my kids to teach them how not to be one. I wasted no time in declaring before my children a “No Assholes Manifesto.”
The Manifesto was simple: whenever any one of us started to behave like Jim Harbaugh, the others were allowed to simply say, “That’s asshole behavior!” and the discussion would be over. There would be no reasons or excuses; asshole behavior is inexcusable. To my surprise, the kids seemed to like this idea, mostly because I was giving them a hall pass to say the a-word.
But, hey, a win was a win.
This may seem ironic coming from a psychologist, but parents assign way too much importance to the reasons and feelings behind inappropriate behavior, instead of simply telling their children to cut the crap and play nicely with others. When a lion cub steps out of line, mama lion doesn’t inquire about feelings. She waggles her offspring by the scruff and gently tosses him from the pride. The errant cub eventually rejoins the pack, having learned a little something about how good little lions are supposed to behave.
Social feedback, even when uncomfortable, is a necessary part of learning how to thrive in a world full of human beings, yet parents nowadays twist themselves into pretzels to ensure their children never have to experience any discomfort whatsoever. Consequently, we are producing a legion of dependent, fearful, self-involved young adults who think virtually every thought, feeling, or behavior deserves a sympathetic audience (read: social media), while mightily struggling to make even the most basic decisions for themselves. True story: a colleague recently told me her twenty-five-year-old client (and mother of a small infant, I might add) showed up thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment time. In lieu of figuring out what to do with herself for exactly one half-hour, the client texted her doctor to say, “I’m here early. What should I do?”
I will be shocked if her infant makes it to kindergarten.
The months immediately following the declaration saw some notable changes around the house. The Manifesto was a light-hearted way for all of us to keep one another in check. The lectures (i.e., the grownup version of whining–also asshole behavior) got shorter and the laughter grew heartier. Basically, we started enjoying each other a little more.
The Manifesto even gathered momentum beyond the immediate family. At the house where we gathered for Sunday football games, I began to hear choruses of “That’s asshole behavior!” from other villagers, in reference to each other and to football players and coaches engaging in unsportsmanlike conduct. One village parent, also a fourth grade teacher, is using a G-rated version of The Manifesto in her classroom, with promising results.
The intervention is effective because it quickly redistributes the burden of bad behavior to the actor, where it belongs. With three simple words, parents can show children the behavioral guardrails on the social highway of life, making the journey smoother for all passengers.
So, parents, I implore you to put down Dr. Spock, stop probing the innermost thoughts and feelings of the ill-mannered, and teach your children how to act like someone others want to be around! Your kids will eventually be glad you did, as will others who, by choice or circumstance, are saddled with the task of spending time with them long after you’ve turned their childhood bedrooms into shrines. And, when you adopt The Manifesto for yourself, don’t concern yourself with what other people think. The next time the perfectly ponytailed yoga mommy looks up from her non-fat soy latte to give you the stink eye for using the a-word in front of your children, simply smile and tell her you’re just doing your part to keep your little corner of the world asshole-free. She’ll thank you later.
Dr. Jill Gross is licensed psychologist, dating coach, writer, and single mother of two reasonably well-mannered children. She is a regular contributor to TinyBuddha.com and lives in Seattle, WA. For more information, please visit her website at www.drjillgross.com or on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/drjillgrossdotcom).
1 Comment
Amen Sistah!