A few months back, my 12-year-old son, Alex, decided to head to the park with some friends from school. They were neighborhood kids, just a short bike ride away. With baseball gloves and bats in tow, they set off, and I watched them pedal away, reminiscent of a scene from a classic movie.
However, about 20 minutes later, Alex returned home without his friends. I was taken aback; I had expected them to be out much longer. As he parked his black BMX bike in the garage, I asked why he was back so soon.
Removing his helmet to reveal his tousled brown hair, he placed his mitt on a garage shelf and said matter-of-factly, “Those kids were swearing, and it made me uncomfortable. I asked them to stop, but they wouldn’t. So, I left.”
In that moment, I stood quietly, taken aback by his composure and confidence. He looked straight at me, shoulders squared, as if to say, “I did what you taught me.” I had indeed encouraged him to speak up whenever he felt uneasy, whether it was with friends, teachers, or family. Like any parent, I was surprised to see my theoretical advice put into real-life practice and found myself thinking, “Wait, you actually listened?!”
But honestly, my shock stemmed more from my own experiences than his. I was genuinely proud of him and even high-fived him, telling him to grab some cookies from the pantry. It’s a bold move for a kid to confront peers about their language!
As he went inside, I lingered in the garage, pondering where this remarkable young man had come from. I mean, I was the kid who swore at the park and nearly got sent to an alternative school. I was the one who received disapproving looks from my friends’ parents for my inappropriate language. Not to mention, I was also the kid who might have reacted aggressively if someone had asked me to stop swearing.
To put it into perspective, by the time I reached 12, my dad was battling opioid addiction and had left a few years prior. Our communication was almost nonexistent, and he spent much of my high school years in and out of jail, eventually passing away from his struggles when I was 19. My mom worked multiple jobs to support us, and our relationship was fraught with tension. By 14, I had run away and started dabbling in drugs, eventually moving in with my grandmother.
Fast forward a couple of decades, and here I am, a father of three, reflecting on how I raised a son who can confidently tell others to stop swearing. I’m still uncertain how it all came together, but as I stood in the garage, watching him rummage through the pantry, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The fears I had about repeating my father’s mistakes began to dissipate like air escaping from a tire.
Sure, we still have a long journey ahead. At just 12, Alex has two younger sisters to look after, and life can change direction in an instant. However, for that brief moment, I felt immense pride—not just in my son for demonstrating the values I’ve instilled in him but also in myself, realizing I might just be breaking the cycle of dysfunction that plagued my own upbringing.
If you’re interested in exploring more on parenting challenges and insights, check out this blog post on breaking cycles for a deeper dive into the topic. And for authoritative guidance on home insemination and parenting, visit Make a Mom. Another excellent resource for information on pregnancy is IVF Babble.
In summary, witnessing my son stand up for himself was a pivotal moment that made me reflect on my own childhood and the changes I’ve made as a parent. It was a reminder that breaking the cycle of dysfunction is possible, even when the path is uncertain.
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