"...For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of."
-Matthew 12:34
"Talk Less. Ask More."
-Alfie Kohn
"Talk Less. Ask More."
-Alfie Kohn
Soaring thousands of feet above the deep, blue Pacific was when it happened. Of all places, of all times. Through the wooshing of forced air and the hum of hushed conversations and muffled coughs, we heard it. 10 month old Landon tipped his chin to the low ceiling of the 737 bound for Hawaii, pointed a teeny finger, and exclaimed, "i-ight!."
"Did you hear that?!" I exclaimed.
"He just said light!" My mom confirmed from the next seat over.
With all eyes on him, Landon beamed and (after witnessing the circus of Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa all over-enthusiastically pointing like monkies at their own over-head lights and chirping "Light!" "Light" "Light" over and over) he offered an encore.
"I-ight," he croaked matter-of-factly. And we all swooned.
Landon spoke his first word.
It was as if we could see a whole new world opening up to him; like a treasure map uncurling it's canvas secrets.
Maybe our elation stemmed from the fact that this was a first for Landon. First smile, first steps, first word. It seemed logical. But there was something more. Something of deeper value in our reaction; something that hinted at the promise of a growing, morphing, changing, and richer connection with Landon through the vehicle of language.
A whole new world indeed.
Now, at 19 months, Landon lives for his words. Stretching in a drowsy, lazy-morning fuzz, Landon begins his day talking. Even before those precious eyes can blink the sleep from them, the words spill out.
"Oh light! The pillow. Blanket! Sunshine!" Landon sings as he names everything in his itty-bitty world.
The joy of watching our son discover his voice was quickly matched with the sobering realization that he would repeat anything, yes anything, that we said while he was within earshot.
Landon, like all healthy kids, seems to have an innate gift for honing in on those special words that, to Mom and Dad (Mom more specifically in this case) seem innacuous enough to slip into an adult conversation for emphasis. Words that, while little ones scamper about 'playing independently', you assume they would never think to listen to, much less repeat. But those little ears, oh those little ears...they don't miss a thing.
"Ccccc-r-aaaa-pp!" Landon trumpeted proudly, after said adult conversation above.
Our heads whipped to quick attention, our mouths dropped open, and Landon smiled from ear to ear.
"Cccc-r-aaa-p!" "Ccc-r-aaa-p" "Ccc--r-aaa-pp" He annunciated as he marched around the lawn. Over and over and over.
And we just about died.
Lesson learned.
As comical (at least in hindsight) that the situation was, it was a humbling learning moment for us as parents. The obvious conclusion to be much more careful of what we said around Landon didn't seem to be all we were meant to learn. This only scratched the surface. Embedded deeper was more of a feeling, a hearfelt longing to make sure we are concious of the attitudes that drive how we use words spoken both around and to Landon.
You see, even though we are taught the contrary, words can be weapons. Especially in these tender, formative years. They can wound little hearts that look to us as the center of their world. They can deflate the spirit of wonder in a child simply by a snide comment or an impatient demand.
But, we realized, it's simply not enough to say the 'right' things.
Children are geniune and honest, down to their core. A nicety spoken out of obligation or a word of encouragement uttered in frustration just doesn't feel right. Even mounds of compliments from the most well-intentioned parent can feel a little hollow somehow.
Perhaps it stems from the fact that there is so much that is unsaid behind what we actually say.
I've been so guilty of presenting this false front of words before. It's happened in times that I've worried about what strangers in the grocery store might think of me as a parent, times when I've told a white-lie to Landon (sorry, the cookies are all gone) because it was easier for me, times when I've wanted to manipulate Landon's behavior so I've showered him with candy-coated 'positive reinforcement' rather than stating a simple, loving limit or allowing him to experience and internalize the joy of a task .
Me. Me. Me.
The problem is, parenting....good parenting....isn't about me.
And this conflict of interests between my words and my intentions; when I opt to say what's most convenient for me rather than set a good example...it's reflected in my son's face.
It's as if children, especially young children, live on a different wavelength where the words that are spoken to them are interpreted only second to the energy that they receive.
That unsaid 'stuff'...it's their primary language.
Innocent matter-of-fact honesty and pure, un-tamed wonder are the very fabric that children weave their words through.
And it's refeshing...so very refreshing.
To be a great parent is more a function of listening than of explaining.
-Alfie Kohn
As Landon's world continues to bloom and grow with language, we hope to be ever aware of the power our words and attitudes carry. We hope our words will carry encouragement, validation, and a spirit of understanding and love. Mostly, though, we hope to simply listen. And when letting go of focusing on the me of parenting, we hope to not only listen, but to learn in the process.
It was as if we could see a whole new world opening up to him; like a treasure map uncurling it's canvas secrets.
Maybe our elation stemmed from the fact that this was a first for Landon. First smile, first steps, first word. It seemed logical. But there was something more. Something of deeper value in our reaction; something that hinted at the promise of a growing, morphing, changing, and richer connection with Landon through the vehicle of language.
A whole new world indeed.
Now, at 19 months, Landon lives for his words. Stretching in a drowsy, lazy-morning fuzz, Landon begins his day talking. Even before those precious eyes can blink the sleep from them, the words spill out.
"Oh light! The pillow. Blanket! Sunshine!" Landon sings as he names everything in his itty-bitty world.
The joy of watching our son discover his voice was quickly matched with the sobering realization that he would repeat anything, yes anything, that we said while he was within earshot.
Landon, like all healthy kids, seems to have an innate gift for honing in on those special words that, to Mom and Dad (Mom more specifically in this case) seem innacuous enough to slip into an adult conversation for emphasis. Words that, while little ones scamper about 'playing independently', you assume they would never think to listen to, much less repeat. But those little ears, oh those little ears...they don't miss a thing.
"Ccccc-r-aaaa-pp!" Landon trumpeted proudly, after said adult conversation above.
Our heads whipped to quick attention, our mouths dropped open, and Landon smiled from ear to ear.
"Cccc-r-aaa-p!" "Ccc-r-aaa-p" "Ccc--r-aaa-pp" He annunciated as he marched around the lawn. Over and over and over.
And we just about died.
Lesson learned.
As comical (at least in hindsight) that the situation was, it was a humbling learning moment for us as parents. The obvious conclusion to be much more careful of what we said around Landon didn't seem to be all we were meant to learn. This only scratched the surface. Embedded deeper was more of a feeling, a hearfelt longing to make sure we are concious of the attitudes that drive how we use words spoken both around and to Landon.
You see, even though we are taught the contrary, words can be weapons. Especially in these tender, formative years. They can wound little hearts that look to us as the center of their world. They can deflate the spirit of wonder in a child simply by a snide comment or an impatient demand.
But, we realized, it's simply not enough to say the 'right' things.
Children are geniune and honest, down to their core. A nicety spoken out of obligation or a word of encouragement uttered in frustration just doesn't feel right. Even mounds of compliments from the most well-intentioned parent can feel a little hollow somehow.
Perhaps it stems from the fact that there is so much that is unsaid behind what we actually say.
I've been so guilty of presenting this false front of words before. It's happened in times that I've worried about what strangers in the grocery store might think of me as a parent, times when I've told a white-lie to Landon (sorry, the cookies are all gone) because it was easier for me, times when I've wanted to manipulate Landon's behavior so I've showered him with candy-coated 'positive reinforcement' rather than stating a simple, loving limit or allowing him to experience and internalize the joy of a task .
Me. Me. Me.
The problem is, parenting....good parenting....isn't about me.
And this conflict of interests between my words and my intentions; when I opt to say what's most convenient for me rather than set a good example...it's reflected in my son's face.
It's as if children, especially young children, live on a different wavelength where the words that are spoken to them are interpreted only second to the energy that they receive.
That unsaid 'stuff'...it's their primary language.
Innocent matter-of-fact honesty and pure, un-tamed wonder are the very fabric that children weave their words through.
And it's refeshing...so very refreshing.
To be a great parent is more a function of listening than of explaining.
-Alfie Kohn
As Landon's world continues to bloom and grow with language, we hope to be ever aware of the power our words and attitudes carry. We hope our words will carry encouragement, validation, and a spirit of understanding and love. Mostly, though, we hope to simply listen. And when letting go of focusing on the me of parenting, we hope to not only listen, but to learn in the process.
