20th Century Dad Raising a 21st Century Kid
I’m old. While I look younger than my actual age (black don’t crack), and I’m getting my mid-30’s body back, and I see the majority of the world through a young lens—I feel myself sliding into that type of old where I’m in a race and the starting pistol went off while I was asleep. Bang! All of the other racers are a quarter of the way around the track and I just woke up, clearing my eyes, shaking the cobwebs out of my head, and seeing nothing but elbows and butts disappear in the distance. But instead of rushing to catch up, I lie back down, take out a newspaper, and read about the results of the race—comfortable with where I am and who I am. I am in no mood to compete. Ever. And it is my kid’s fault.
We were driving the other day, Spotify on shuffle, and the following songs came on in a row: Lauryn Hill’s “Lost Ones”, Black Sheep’s “The Choice is Yours”, and then Lenny Kravitz’s “Fields of Joy.” Being the music nerd that I am, my mind immediately went to when those songs were on were released: 1998 for Ms. Hill, and 1991 for the other two. My kid asks, “Can we listen to Hayley Williams?”
Was this a lightweight diss in regards to the music I loved? Kinda heartbroken, I put on what she wanted to listen to. This incident should not have registered on my life’s radar, but I was struck by my too-strong reaction to my high school senior not enjoying the music I loved. What triggered that feeling? I had to admit to myself that I was a twentieth-century father raising a twenty-first century child.
This isn’t to say that I am a relic, but the older my child becomes, the more nostalgia injects its useless behind into my parenting. Nostalgia is the enemy of progress. It acts as a leash, tethering me to moments in time that are difficult to get past, not unlike trauma. Nostalgia influences me to try and expose my daughter to things that I love under the guise of wanting her to have a healthy cultural diet. My rationale is that I am adamant that she eats healthy foods, why shouldn’t I be just as mindful of the (popular) culture she consumes? But the hard admission is that I’m doing it because I am trying to erect boundaries. I’m trying to control her environment, not expand it. Which is not fair to her because our upbringings are vastly different.
The year that my daughter was born, Barack Hussein Obama was voted into office. The next election, he won again. Despite the very legitimate concerns that I have about some of the actions he took during his time in office, every time my daughter thinks about the face of the most powerful nation on earth, she will envision a black man and his black family. She will envision a black mother and father who publicly show affection, and two young girls who are scandal free. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that.
She watched Gabby Douglas become the first black woman to win the all-around gold medal in gymnastics at the 2012 London Olympic Games. The Williams sisters are a regular (and dominating) factor in tennis, and she knows who Charles F. Bolden is. She was born into a world where she perceives no limits based on gender or skin color. Quite a bit of the apprehensions I have about limits and barriers are self-generated. They come from my baggage, and it is unfair and irresponsible to put all of that on her.
Of course I want to instill values in my daughter, along with wanting her to follow the rules and expectations that my wife and I deem important. We also role model how we want her to treat others, and how she should expect to be treated. But outside of this, I (cannot speak for my wife) need to allow my daughter to grow in her own way, at her own speed, within her own context.
Parenting is not a lead from the front kind of thing. I can’t show her the world when I’m out in front, blocking her view. It is my job to walk alongside her, pointing out the things that I find useful and amazing; guiding, but not dictating her life. My past should never interfere with her future. At this age, my primary job is to walk alongside her and have her guide me, show me what she finds interesting, what she’s curious about, and never judge when the invites me into her world.
That Hayley Williams is incredible.
