I often encountered skepticism from other parents. “Aren’t you concerned about what she might be bringing in?” one mom would inquire, while she pulled out her industrial-sized hand sanitizer from her bag.
“No, not really.”
When it comes to germs, I feel secure in my approach. In nearly six years, my daughter Lily has been sick just twice and has only missed one day of school. However, what she has introduced into our home is something that a simple wipe can’t clean away.
I am acutely aware of the impact of language. Growing up, I witnessed friends who were never directly criticized for their looks, yet their mothers’ relentless dieting and the ongoing messages about being “good” or “bad” left deep, lasting marks. Hence, I’ve made it a point to eat alongside Lily—whether it’s carrots or cake—without ever discussing my body. Neither Lily nor I have ever uttered the word “fat,” nor have we criticized anyone’s appearance. When Lily began questioning why some people appeared overweight, I responded with compassion, suggesting we send them love, as they might be feeling uncomfortable. My goal is to nurture her understanding of empathy.
Yet, I learned that I can’t simply adopt a charming parenting technique and expect it to take root, even in our cozy Brooklyn neighborhood.
One evening, when Lily was just three, she pushed her plate away, her cherry tomatoes untouched, and declared, “I don’t want to get fat.” Her best friend’s mom is immersed in the world of fashion—the high-end, exclusive type, where names like Anna Wintour are dropped casually. This environment influences her daughter, who then influences Lily, who is now repeating phrases I never wanted to hear.
As this little girl walks through our home, she makes comments about her looks, food choices, and shares her dislikes with fervor. “I hate purple shoes, I hate cats, I hate broccoli.”
“We don’t say ‘hate,’” I interject. “It’s not a kind word.” Lily glances back, caught between my gentle guidance and her friend’s boldness, already so much more sophisticated in her eyes.
I stand there, puzzled, as I realize words like “fat” and “hate” have somehow entered my home, where kindness is meant to reign.
The evening took a more alarming turn when, while I was tucking her in with her favorite stuffed animals, she whispered, “Goodnight, n____.”
“What?” I exclaimed, bewildered. She repeated it clearly, prompting my husband and I to confirm we were not imagining things. We lowered our voices to a whisper only the whales could hear and said, “You must NEVER use that word again.”
After shutting her door, we stood in the hallway, surrounded by her colorful handprint collages. How did these words infiltrate my sanctuary of kindness? My husband was ready to call her headmistress, but I quickly interjected, “No, she didn’t hear it at school.”
“And how do you know?” he asked, concerned I had inadvertently exposed her to inappropriate content. Her school, a small parochial preschool, is located in a bustling area of Brooklyn, where teens often gather, shouting words that should never reach her ears.
Sitting on the floor, I was at a loss. I understood that while I could curate Lily’s environment to a degree, such influences were far-reaching and faster than I anticipated. I realized I needed to explain to her why certain words carry weight, in a way that suited her understanding.
The following evening, I sat her down after dinner and said, “We don’t say ‘hate’ because we don’t truly hate anything. What we feel is dislike for how something makes us feel—maybe powerless or scared. What we don’t like is the emotion, but that feeling is ours to transform.” She absorbed that, pondering. “And we don’t say the other word because it’s hurtful.”
She processed this too and then asked, “Why do the kids laugh when they say it?”
It was a valid question, and I tried my best to explain. In the process, I had to confront my discomfort and guilt. This is one of the significant lessons of parenthood: having someone challenge your beliefs and make you articulate and defend them. Ultimately, I know it will prevent me from becoming stagnant and hopefully strengthen our relationship as she matures. Meanwhile, I plan to have positive messages playing in the background when her friend’s mother comes to pick her up.
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In summary, parenting is an unpredictable journey filled with lessons learned through unexpected moments. It requires a balance of guidance and openness, as children navigate a world that often contradicts our teachings.