Colleagues in the dental field, upon discovering I do pediatrics, always squeeze in the phrase “it takes a special kind of person” somewhere into the conversation. I have also heard the words “thank God for people like you” on more than one occasion. If you have read any of my previous posts, I almost never miss an opportunity to gloat about how lucky I am to do what I do. Sure, there are stressful moments mixed into each work day – the deafening loud screamers, the biters, the pukers, and my personal favorite, the parents that tell me how to do my job. However, I would not trade my profession for any other, ever, period.
I imagine that the “special kind of person” comment implies there is a certain degree of patience and compassion for these little patients that those individuals maybe do not have a want or willingness to exert. Mind you, I do not say that judgmentally. I recognize that everyone on Earth has different skills, talents, and abilities – and what suits me may not befit someone else. I already established in my last post that I certainly do not have what it takes to be a Chippendales dancer.
Nevertheless, this notion that I may somehow possess a special amount of patience is an interesting one. At work, I am proud to say, I always try and maintain the utmost professionalism. I treat children with low-functioning autism, with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and with various other medical and behavioral conditions. The truth is, throughout most of my brief appointment – whenever I have an unruly child in the chair – I think to myself how demanding and taxing it must be for the parent to take this on day in and day out. Really, kudos to them.
At home however, unfortunately, my parenting style does not always feature that same calmness and composure.
When I was younger, well before my children were born, I was driving down the street, stopped at a traffic light, with my window rolled down. At the same street corner, waiting to cross, was a father and his young boy (probably no more than around 7 or 8 years old). I caught only a brief portion of their altercation before I had to resume driving, but the dad was berating his son about his bike, either ruining it…not riding it properly, something to that effect. I remember thinking to myself, how could any material object be worth laying into your kid like that?
Little did I know back then that I would have progeny of my own one day. As recently as yesterday, I chastised my younger son for 20 minutes about being too distracted/not concentrating and doing ‘poor quality work’ on his Kumon (a math and reading tutoring program) assignments. (Ironically, he’s eight.) It is a lecture I have given to him time and time again. A few months ago, at a park, he left his tennis racket unattended somewhere and it was stolen. The drive home was filled with my reprimanding him about being more responsible with his things. I guess, so much for my ‘material objects’ memory huh?
For the record, I am not proud of these outbursts and punitive moments of mine. All too often, I ultimately regret the vehement way in which I handled the situation. My biggest fear is the emotional scar and substantiality of the memory it creates in their mind. Although for me, disciplinary moments like these seem infrequent and tend to occur far and few between; in the mind of a child, I imagine it carries immense weight and detracts from the many jocund times we share together. And that is sad to me; because I truly do make concerted efforts to play with them, talk with them, take them places, and provide them things that I was bereft of as a kid.
The reasons for (and root cause of) my overly aggressive outbursts are probably outside of the scope of this blog post. But like so many other things in my life, in an effort to right wrongs, I try and self-reflect on shortcomings and character flaws within myself. I need to work harder at managing my expectations for my kids. While (I think that) I am trying to instill a good work ethic in both of my boys; I feel I am also setting myself up for disappointment and frustration when they aren’t delivering on things I myself believe to be important. I have to learn to exercise more patience and tolerance to the simple fact that they are children; and mistakes, and messes, and imperfections in all forms will help them learn, cope, and even correct certain behavior in the future.
When I think about the miracle of childbirth; and how even from the point of conception, we need so so so many countless processes to go right before we’re given a beautiful, healthy baby – I almost feel ashamed of myself that I let petty things like messy handwriting or a stolen tennis racket ruin a moment and a memory in time I have with my two young boys. Don’t get me wrong, disciplining and punishments have their place. I am just going to make more of a conscious effort to handle their foibles and failures with a tad bit more of tranquility. Every child is a blessing; I have to work harder to appreciate that fact not only at work but within my own home.
Really, thanks for taking the time to visit this blog and read through some of these posts. I can always use help in the parenting space, so please feel free to send any comments and questions my way!