(I know that I have over four months of blogging to catch up on, which I will do at some point, but for the day, this will be it.)
The best thing I have ever done, and will ever do, is have a family. Because of the income John brings home, we do a lot of very cool, awesome activities, so I don't make that statement with tongue in cheek.
I feel extremely honored when women tell me that they think of me at times when they have a parenting conundrum. I have been told that they ask themselves, "What would Larisa do?" I always laugh it off when they say this, but in all honesty, it means a great deal. The problem comes when I'm asked what I would do in a specific situation. I'm never quite sure how to respond, either because I'm not sure what I would do, or because I don't know how to present the solution in a teeny tiny package of sage advice.
Another form of this compliment is when mothers and fathers tell John and me that they hope their boys can grow up "like Ethan and Mark". This isn't a slam on my girls--it's just that they haven't grown up yet, and in all honesty, I think it's easier for girls to be good. Good boys on the other hand are not a dime a dozen. We know that mothers have expressed this desire to our bishop, as well as parents saying it directly to us. Again, it's an honor to hear something like that, because John and I take very little credit for whom the boys have become. We feel blessed that the Lord has helped us.
In all fairness to my children, it's not easy being one of our kids. I look back on how John and I blindly parented. We were never sure of what we were doing, and quite honestly, we just did what seemed right at the time and hoped for the best. I think about some of our different techniques, and I cringe now, knowing that they were pretty harsh for kids. Making the boys run three miles every day? I didn't see any other way to help them burn off energy and sleep better. Making the kids walk home the last mile of any journey because they were fighting in the car? Did I not worry about them being kidnapped? And the dried tears that I would scrub off of violins, knowing that I was the cause of them? Yep, the more they cried, the more I yelled, just causing more tears. Too, we worked them hard, expecting them to do as much around the house if not more than John and I did. We didn't ever expect them to support themselves with their own jobs--we just expected them to work at home and we would pay for what they needed and wanted. And while the kids now say that they wouldn't have had it any other way, it was not easy for them.
So you can imagine that it's difficult when people ask me what I would do in any situation. I have given my answers at times, and I can see on the people's faces that they were hoping for me to say something else. They were hoping for an easier way out, and in the end, they don't do what I suggested.
Last spring, I was called to be one of the two seminary teachers for our large seminary class in State College. I had a lot of reservations about accepting the calling, because in the past, I have received complaints when I teach teenagers. Surprise, surprise, I don't allow them to be on their cell phones in class, and if they break rules or are disrespectful, I call them out on it. Not in a harsh way, but in a serious way. In other words, I will look them in the eye, tell them what they are doing is inappropriate, and ask them to not do it again. Done. No more than that. As it turns out, the kids don't like that, and the parents dislike it even more. There is no discussion about the good times in class: when kids are participating, we have a fabulous time. Laughing, conversation, bouncing ideas around. It's really terrific. Nope. Just complaints to the bishop about me personally, and my teaching techniques.
So, I was very hesitant to accept this calling. I wasn't sure that I could ignore the disrespect and the breaking of the rules. I happened to know a few of the boys that would be in the class, and I knew that I would have no support in dealing with the attitudes--no support from our bishop, or their parents--so I would be walking on eggshells most of the time.
I feel the need to paint the picture of what I expect from kids. I expect kids to show me the consideration of listening and participating and in return, I will give them a really great lesson. There is no room in my class to be bored--I won't teach that way, and I won't lecture. It will get loud at times, because we will be talking and laughing and sharing stories, but when it's time to be spiritual, or to listen to me or another classmate, we will be quiet and reverent. These seem like basic expectations in my mind, but I have discovered that others do not feel the same.
I would like to describe the first of my worries. We shall call him "Seek". He's a 14-year-old boy, but he's the size of Michael Phelps. His mother labels him as "sensitive", but I can't think of any sensitive child who would choose to torture other kids and adults as he does. Every rule that is set for a class, Seek purposefully breaks. He likes to speak louder than the teacher throughout an entire class, and he never actually speaks to the teacher, or participates in the class, but speaks about any other topic, at full voice, with anyone who will listen. Too, he cheats. He has no qualms about asking anyone else for answers on a quiz. This is prompted by the fact that he's spent so much time talking in class, that he hasn't listened and knows nothing. The kids from whom he asks the answers are scared of him so they give him what they want. If he doesn't get what he wants at any moment from the teacher, he has no problem standing up in class and verbally attacking her. And finally, on those rare days when Seek is tired, he will choose to lay across three chairs and sleep.
The crazy thing about Seek? His father believes, as he has told us, that Seek will grow up to be just "like Ethan and Mark".
Right, because John and I allowed Ethan and Mark to act like that around adults....said nobody EVER.
The other boy is a bit older, and we shall call him "Destroy". He has a more subtle method to his disrespect of adults. On the outside, he looks pretty good, but he wields more power through his quiet methods than Seek does through his abuse. Destroy refuses to participate in anything, simply because he knows that you hope he will. He won't play in any games, he won't open his scriptures, he won't do anything....except talk to Seek throughout the lesson. When called out, he adopts a chagrined smile and apologizes, but you know it's not for real. Deep down, he hates you if you don't think he's the best, and if you don't allow him to control the class.
I can't tell you the anxiety I felt about teaching Seek and Destroy. I knew that the other kids were afraid of them, and because I'm no fading violet when it comes to disciplining kids, I knew we were going to have problems. However, I prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more about it, and after talking with several people, I felt that I could keep myself in check and have a really great class.
The first month was the honeymoon stage. They thought I was entertaining and were semi-well behaved, especially when I laughed at their tactics. However, they pushed too hard and I pushed back.
In all honesty, I had the best of intentions in mind. If Seek's father wanted him to be like Ethan and Mark, some things would need to change. Too, I saw these boys as missionaries in just a few years. If something didn't change, they either won't serve missions, or they will have some very hard lessons to learn on their missions. As I've said before, I believe it takes a village to raise a child, and I was happy to be one of the village members.
Little did I know that Seek and Destroy's parents would not like me doing anything of the sort. I was not to encourage their sons to follow the class rules. I was not to speak back to Seek when he was standing in class and yelling at me. I was not to tell either of them to take their feet off the table during the prayer. I was certainly supposed to allow both of them to be on their phones during class when nobody else was allowed to be, and if I asked them about it, of course I was supposed to accept their lies about not having phones. I wish somebody had told me about this in the beginning.
Again, knowing that our bishop didn't have my back, and I was just one infraction away from being released (in other words, perfection in teaching was expected), I sought advice. Not ever having children who behaved this way, I didn't know what to do, and I especially didn't know that I was just supposed to ignore it and accept it.
Well, I didn't, the parents complained, and this past Sunday, I was released.
The parents weren't willing to pay the price. They weren't willing to allow me to help their kids.
The next day, after the bishop showed up to seminary, told them simply and without explanation that I was released, and taught the class (while I sat at home, feeling like I wanted to kill myself), I received this email:
Sister Kennedy,
That email and the sentiment that accompanies it is what makes me the saddest: I counted most of the kids in that class as my closest friends at church. In fact, it was wonderful going to church on Sundays, knowing that there were people there (young people, no doubt, but still people) who were my friends and whom I loved.
One other lesson that John and I have taught our kids. You don't "tattle" on people in the church, or really in any other setting.
Years ago, when John and I were living in Germany, there was a man who was using unrighteous dominion over our family. We endured it for three long years, and at the time, John had had it. Our family was suffering because of this evil man. John was about to go to one of the counselors in the stake presidency and lay it all out for him, and he even left a message on his phone to have the counselor call him. When he did call back, John realized that it would do nothing to complain, except make John look really, really bad, so he made up some other reason for the call.
The next week, John was called as the bishop, and we believe that if he had complained, things might have been very different.
In fact, that experience has left us with the feeling that we should never complain. Nobody in the church is perfect, but when we expect others to be perfect, it leaves everyone feeling badly. As Mormon wrote near the end of his life, "And if there be faults they be the faults of a man. But behold, we know no fault; nevertheless God knoweth all things; therefore, he that condemneth, let him be aware lest he shall be in danger of hell fire."
As John says, I "took the hit" for everyone. I took the hit from my fellow teacher who wouldn't help me even though, when I signed on, I asked her to watch out for me and help me with these kids. I took the hit from the seminary director who never once visited my class. The same with my bishop. And I took the hit from the parents who don't like me.
The worst part about all of this is that nothing was said to Seek and Destroy. Not one word. And in the end, they have learned that they can be rude and disrespectful and it's okay. I know this as a parent: it will not serve them well in the end.
The best thing I have ever done, and will ever do, is have a family. Because of the income John brings home, we do a lot of very cool, awesome activities, so I don't make that statement with tongue in cheek.
I feel extremely honored when women tell me that they think of me at times when they have a parenting conundrum. I have been told that they ask themselves, "What would Larisa do?" I always laugh it off when they say this, but in all honesty, it means a great deal. The problem comes when I'm asked what I would do in a specific situation. I'm never quite sure how to respond, either because I'm not sure what I would do, or because I don't know how to present the solution in a teeny tiny package of sage advice.
Another form of this compliment is when mothers and fathers tell John and me that they hope their boys can grow up "like Ethan and Mark". This isn't a slam on my girls--it's just that they haven't grown up yet, and in all honesty, I think it's easier for girls to be good. Good boys on the other hand are not a dime a dozen. We know that mothers have expressed this desire to our bishop, as well as parents saying it directly to us. Again, it's an honor to hear something like that, because John and I take very little credit for whom the boys have become. We feel blessed that the Lord has helped us.
In all fairness to my children, it's not easy being one of our kids. I look back on how John and I blindly parented. We were never sure of what we were doing, and quite honestly, we just did what seemed right at the time and hoped for the best. I think about some of our different techniques, and I cringe now, knowing that they were pretty harsh for kids. Making the boys run three miles every day? I didn't see any other way to help them burn off energy and sleep better. Making the kids walk home the last mile of any journey because they were fighting in the car? Did I not worry about them being kidnapped? And the dried tears that I would scrub off of violins, knowing that I was the cause of them? Yep, the more they cried, the more I yelled, just causing more tears. Too, we worked them hard, expecting them to do as much around the house if not more than John and I did. We didn't ever expect them to support themselves with their own jobs--we just expected them to work at home and we would pay for what they needed and wanted. And while the kids now say that they wouldn't have had it any other way, it was not easy for them.
So you can imagine that it's difficult when people ask me what I would do in any situation. I have given my answers at times, and I can see on the people's faces that they were hoping for me to say something else. They were hoping for an easier way out, and in the end, they don't do what I suggested.
Last spring, I was called to be one of the two seminary teachers for our large seminary class in State College. I had a lot of reservations about accepting the calling, because in the past, I have received complaints when I teach teenagers. Surprise, surprise, I don't allow them to be on their cell phones in class, and if they break rules or are disrespectful, I call them out on it. Not in a harsh way, but in a serious way. In other words, I will look them in the eye, tell them what they are doing is inappropriate, and ask them to not do it again. Done. No more than that. As it turns out, the kids don't like that, and the parents dislike it even more. There is no discussion about the good times in class: when kids are participating, we have a fabulous time. Laughing, conversation, bouncing ideas around. It's really terrific. Nope. Just complaints to the bishop about me personally, and my teaching techniques.
So, I was very hesitant to accept this calling. I wasn't sure that I could ignore the disrespect and the breaking of the rules. I happened to know a few of the boys that would be in the class, and I knew that I would have no support in dealing with the attitudes--no support from our bishop, or their parents--so I would be walking on eggshells most of the time.
I feel the need to paint the picture of what I expect from kids. I expect kids to show me the consideration of listening and participating and in return, I will give them a really great lesson. There is no room in my class to be bored--I won't teach that way, and I won't lecture. It will get loud at times, because we will be talking and laughing and sharing stories, but when it's time to be spiritual, or to listen to me or another classmate, we will be quiet and reverent. These seem like basic expectations in my mind, but I have discovered that others do not feel the same.
I would like to describe the first of my worries. We shall call him "Seek". He's a 14-year-old boy, but he's the size of Michael Phelps. His mother labels him as "sensitive", but I can't think of any sensitive child who would choose to torture other kids and adults as he does. Every rule that is set for a class, Seek purposefully breaks. He likes to speak louder than the teacher throughout an entire class, and he never actually speaks to the teacher, or participates in the class, but speaks about any other topic, at full voice, with anyone who will listen. Too, he cheats. He has no qualms about asking anyone else for answers on a quiz. This is prompted by the fact that he's spent so much time talking in class, that he hasn't listened and knows nothing. The kids from whom he asks the answers are scared of him so they give him what they want. If he doesn't get what he wants at any moment from the teacher, he has no problem standing up in class and verbally attacking her. And finally, on those rare days when Seek is tired, he will choose to lay across three chairs and sleep.
The crazy thing about Seek? His father believes, as he has told us, that Seek will grow up to be just "like Ethan and Mark".
Right, because John and I allowed Ethan and Mark to act like that around adults....said nobody EVER.
The other boy is a bit older, and we shall call him "Destroy". He has a more subtle method to his disrespect of adults. On the outside, he looks pretty good, but he wields more power through his quiet methods than Seek does through his abuse. Destroy refuses to participate in anything, simply because he knows that you hope he will. He won't play in any games, he won't open his scriptures, he won't do anything....except talk to Seek throughout the lesson. When called out, he adopts a chagrined smile and apologizes, but you know it's not for real. Deep down, he hates you if you don't think he's the best, and if you don't allow him to control the class.
I can't tell you the anxiety I felt about teaching Seek and Destroy. I knew that the other kids were afraid of them, and because I'm no fading violet when it comes to disciplining kids, I knew we were going to have problems. However, I prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more about it, and after talking with several people, I felt that I could keep myself in check and have a really great class.
The first month was the honeymoon stage. They thought I was entertaining and were semi-well behaved, especially when I laughed at their tactics. However, they pushed too hard and I pushed back.
In all honesty, I had the best of intentions in mind. If Seek's father wanted him to be like Ethan and Mark, some things would need to change. Too, I saw these boys as missionaries in just a few years. If something didn't change, they either won't serve missions, or they will have some very hard lessons to learn on their missions. As I've said before, I believe it takes a village to raise a child, and I was happy to be one of the village members.
Little did I know that Seek and Destroy's parents would not like me doing anything of the sort. I was not to encourage their sons to follow the class rules. I was not to speak back to Seek when he was standing in class and yelling at me. I was not to tell either of them to take their feet off the table during the prayer. I was certainly supposed to allow both of them to be on their phones during class when nobody else was allowed to be, and if I asked them about it, of course I was supposed to accept their lies about not having phones. I wish somebody had told me about this in the beginning.
Again, knowing that our bishop didn't have my back, and I was just one infraction away from being released (in other words, perfection in teaching was expected), I sought advice. Not ever having children who behaved this way, I didn't know what to do, and I especially didn't know that I was just supposed to ignore it and accept it.
Well, I didn't, the parents complained, and this past Sunday, I was released.
The parents weren't willing to pay the price. They weren't willing to allow me to help their kids.
The next day, after the bishop showed up to seminary, told them simply and without explanation that I was released, and taught the class (while I sat at home, feeling like I wanted to kill myself), I received this email:
Sister Kennedy,
We heard today in class that you had been released. I just wanted to send you my sincere thanks for being an awesome seminary teacher for the time you were with us. You did a great job keeping me awake (which is no small feat) through your humor and cool stories. Your lessons invited the spirit and I really got a lot out of them. I will definitely miss your fun personality and spirit in class.
Thanks again for all you did for us!
Sincerely,
Natalie
That email and the sentiment that accompanies it is what makes me the saddest: I counted most of the kids in that class as my closest friends at church. In fact, it was wonderful going to church on Sundays, knowing that there were people there (young people, no doubt, but still people) who were my friends and whom I loved.
One other lesson that John and I have taught our kids. You don't "tattle" on people in the church, or really in any other setting.
Years ago, when John and I were living in Germany, there was a man who was using unrighteous dominion over our family. We endured it for three long years, and at the time, John had had it. Our family was suffering because of this evil man. John was about to go to one of the counselors in the stake presidency and lay it all out for him, and he even left a message on his phone to have the counselor call him. When he did call back, John realized that it would do nothing to complain, except make John look really, really bad, so he made up some other reason for the call.
The next week, John was called as the bishop, and we believe that if he had complained, things might have been very different.
In fact, that experience has left us with the feeling that we should never complain. Nobody in the church is perfect, but when we expect others to be perfect, it leaves everyone feeling badly. As Mormon wrote near the end of his life, "And if there be faults they be the faults of a man. But behold, we know no fault; nevertheless God knoweth all things; therefore, he that condemneth, let him be aware lest he shall be in danger of hell fire."
As John says, I "took the hit" for everyone. I took the hit from my fellow teacher who wouldn't help me even though, when I signed on, I asked her to watch out for me and help me with these kids. I took the hit from the seminary director who never once visited my class. The same with my bishop. And I took the hit from the parents who don't like me.
The worst part about all of this is that nothing was said to Seek and Destroy. Not one word. And in the end, they have learned that they can be rude and disrespectful and it's okay. I know this as a parent: it will not serve them well in the end.
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