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While chatting with my mom, I find myself pondering the nature of parenting. “Every generation of parents thinks their kids are spoiled,” I tell her. This thought strikes me because my daughter has no real concept of what it means to be truly yelled at—her interpretation of yelling is a stern tone or a brief reprimand. She doesn’t realize how fortunate she is, and I share this sentiment with my mother. We both chuckle.
My mom recalls vividly how she used to chase me around with a wooden spoon, and I would often try to preemptively hide it. There’s something almost comedic about seeing your furious mother storm to the kitchen, only to find that you’ve outsmarted her. That satisfaction was unbeatable. I can distinctly remember the burning sensation of Tabasco sauce on my tongue as punishment, while my daughter’s version of a dire threat is me saying I might change the Wi-Fi password. I told her, “Adjust that attitude, or you can kiss the internet goodbye.” She immediately complied.
Reflecting on the repercussions my parents faced from their own parents—my grandparents—I realize I was raised by a couple of peaceful souls. But honestly, I sometimes feel like I had a dictator and a highly emotional health fanatic for parents. My father, one of seven in an Irish Catholic household, once found himself chained to a tree as a lesson in discipline. Can you imagine? The other day, someone was upset about a parent leaving their child alone at a playground, and I thought, “Well, at least I wasn’t chained to a tree!”
My mom had her own struggles; she was made to lift weights daily because her father thought she was getting too heavy. I, on the other hand, spent entire summers devouring dry Rice Krispies Treats cereal while glued to the TV watching soap operas. My daughter, in contrast, has a multitude of devices at her fingertips, often watching a combination of shows on a tablet, a Chromebook, and even a TV. I hope that all this screen time somehow leads her to become a brilliant director or comedian instead of just another couch potato with no ambitions.
I’m not advocating for chasing my child with a wooden spoon; rather, I’m grappling with the less glamorous aspects of parenting. The cycle of breaking generational patterns isn’t as rewarding as it seems, especially when your children think you’re a monster for enforcing rules. You’d think books like What to Expect When You’re Expecting would mention that you should prepare for zero validation.
The best parent, it seems, is one who remains childless. People don’t enter parenthood for altruism; they do so thinking they possess all the wisdom their own parents lacked—or they simply find themselves in the situation unexpectedly. It’s hard to tell which collapses first: the hormones or the arrogance of knowing better.
If your parents showered you with love and you can’t relate to any of this, consider yourself fortunate. But are you human or some extraterrestrial being?
As my mom and I laugh until we can barely breathe, we both come to the realization that maybe I was, in fact, a bit spoiled. After all, I wasn’t chained to a tree, nor did I have to endure extreme workout regimens. My parents, despite their quirks and faults, had a way of expressing disappointment that was more rewarding than punishing. In contrast, my daughter perceives my disappointment as a harsh blow, equivalent to a thousand wooden spoons. She, like me, remains blissfully unaware of just how good she has it—perhaps that’s the whole point.
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Summary
The article humorously reflects on the differences in parenting styles across generations, highlighting how children today often have no idea how fortunate they are compared to previous generations. It explores the dynamics of parental discipline and the evolution of parenting standards, ultimately revealing a bittersweet acknowledgment of generational shifts.