If I Didn't Have Kids

Meeting baby Sam

 About two weeks ago, my wife and I welcomed our 4th child. We've got three boys and a girl now, and Samuel has been taking to his new circumstances quite well. His brothers and sister have been admirably attentive as well, asking to hold him and look in on him, and picking up some slack around the house while Mom is recovering. 

When I shared with my coworkers in the elementary school I work in that we were expecting our 4th child way back in the fall, I eventually realized that there were several possible reactions:

1) Congratulations!

2) I don't know how you do it. I could never have four kids, let alone one.

3) Are you going to have more? 

Henry and Lydia in matching shirts

Our school's social committee threw a shower for me and another coworker, which created all kinds of opportunity for these responses. Four children, among the staff who work in my building, is a mark no one else has attained. For those who do have kids, unless I'm mistaken, the high-water mark is three. Large families are just not common among my workplace peers. The current tendency is toward no kids. 

I don't resent anyone for their reactions. But having kids has changed me in all kinds of ways. I've been doing some thinking lately about the kind of person I'd be if I didn't have any children. A quick rundown:

• If I didn't have kids, it's likely I would be a lot better at the sports I love playing, like volleyball and basketball. I'm not an old man yet, but when I was a younger man, I was much more of a force to be reckoned with in these areas. There's just not time for the kind of playing time I'd need in order to be as good as I used to be. Although I do still enjoy (and have hollowed out time for) playing volleyball weekly, my skills are just not what they formerly were. 
• If I didn't have kids, more of my time would be devoted to individual pursuits, like sorting through shelves of used books at thrift stores, playing video games, and even perhaps hosting board game nights. Now that I have kids, the amount of time, money, and attention I spend on any of these old hobbies of mine is quite nominal. The newest video game I've played is a PC game released in 2012. None of the phone games I played in the past are even installed on my phone any longer. I can't spend all Saturday playing Age of Empires or Super Smash Bros (and yes, I'm aware that most of the kids these days don't know the games I just referred to). 
• If I didn't have kids, my wife and I would enjoy a much higher standard of living. Overseas travel, fine dining, regular dates to the movie theater, more expensive restaurants and places. I've never cared too much about my apparel, but I could spend a lot more money on my appearance than I do, and I know for sure that my wife could. Our priorities are simply not devoted to this arena at this time. 
• If I didn't have kids, I could go on adventures like the ones I used to, climbing into abandoned buildings through open second stories, running away from security, biking through woods at night simply to get out of the house and escape my oppressive thoughts.

But I do have kids. They're with me all the time when I'm at home, due to their ages (6, 4, 2, newborn). 

Amos chauffeuring Lydia

And here's the thing. Although they are quite invasive, messy, ungrateful, and selfish, they have caused me to undergo changes. When faced with the reality that my children are looking to me to teach, shape, guide, and preserve them, I am forced to step up. I am so immensely grateful for the growth that has occurred in me because I am a father.

A quick rundown:

• Because I have kids, I have developed bedtime routines unique to each child (solid, hug, kiss, beard rub, fist bump, little piggies, prayer, and "twinkle" are involved. We'll see what Sam ends up requesting in about two years). 
• Because I have kids, I finally forced myself to continue work on a backyard house/structure on the platform my brother-in-law made for us. The kids have three walls, windows, and a roof on top of the elevated decking.
• Because I have kids, I know how to cook many more meals than I would ever have otherwise. My wife does a majority of the cooking and cleaning, but I have become pretty accomplished at these things. She needs breaks, and I am so much more competent than I used to be (you should come over and try my skillet lasagna or blueberry pie).
• Because I have kids, I have realized that no matter how much I want an outcome, no matter how perfectly I implement a training regimen with my children, the results are out of my hands. I cannot control the universe. I am glad that I know this. I have to rely on prayer and release the outcomes to Someone who really can run things. 
• Because I have kids, my vacations are centered around them. We have gone to the Ozarks, Arkansas, the Smoky Mountains, the Rocky Mountains, Ocean City New Jersey--and I am not able to partake in these places as I would if I didn't have children. But it is so lovely to see their reactions and know that their memories will include me. 
• Because I have kids, I see more clearly than ever just how broken I am. My weakness and inadequacy is on full display every day, in my anger, laziness, impatience. I would not see how much I need a Savior if I did not have "all these kids."
  
  
  Each one reveals my need in ways similar and different to their siblings. In Amos' seeming inability to be alone or to be quiet, in Henry's bewildering wildness, in Lydia's emotional pleading, in Samuel's indifference to me, I encounter my own sinfulness. I am not anywhere close to a perfect or great father, and that reality is revealed every day. 

But I am better. Song lyrics often come into my mind when I'm considering life. Two different lines are apt here. The first is from a song called "Eulogy," by Jon Foreman:

Every day I write the eulogy
For everything I used to be
I'm still aiming for a better me
I am the mosaic of a shattered man
Broken and becoming, broken and becoming who I am

I am being re-formed and re-made each day as I commit to relying on grace. I name my faults. I look into my own depths, and although I am always disappointed in myself, I see a substitutionary strength in me that I don't deserve but always have access to. 

I am such a fuller person because I am a father. I'm convinced that there are aspects of my character that would never have been developed had I not had children. In fact, I believe that each child we bring into our family develops me, my wife, and my other children in integral ways. I've told a few people recently this thought, which is that every youngest child needs not to be the youngest. Humans are inherently selfish, and adults and children alike need to know that they are not the most important person in the world, that others are equal in worth, and that there is such value in sacrificing a personal desire for the purpose of serving another person. 

You may know that I am the seventh of eight children, and that my mother homeschooled all of us while my father worked, first as a technical writer, then as a pastor of the small church I still attend. The older I get, the more children of my own that I have, I find myself wondering how they did it. I always felt such love and stability from my parents. I knew they'd be there, they loved me, and that they expected a lot because they had confidence in me. Ultimately, they were returning daily to a foundation built on Jesus. They saw their own need and it humbled them, while simultaneously enabling them to be incredibly strong and faithful. 

Enjoying time with baby Sam

It seems clear to me that the reason all of my siblings and I who've been married 8+ years have 4+ kids is that we know it can be done, and we see the value in having large families. Everyone had a place, a role, but no one was elevated or relegated. 

The other song lyric that's been returning to me lately is from Andrew Peterson's song, "Family Man." 

"Because love binds up what breaks in two

So keep my heart so close to you

And I'll fill you up with love, fill you up with love

And I'll help you stand 'cause I am a family man

I'm saving my vacation time for Disneyland

This is not what I was headed for when I began

This was not my plan, it's so much better than"

 

Proud oldest brother

The truth is, I had no idea how wonderful, painful, humbling and  life-changing having children could be. It is so much better than I realized. And yes, of course it is also much harder. But nothing good is easy. I look forward to the future because I have trust that I am loved and held by One much greater than I. My life would be so much smaller if I wasn't a father. 

Of Course It's Hard

     One of the things commonly uttered by many a young person is something along the lines of, "if it were right, it wouldn't be this hard." This is truly one of my least favorite sentences. It is uniquely idiotic, pithy, and unhelpful. How, you wonder, do I have the right to speak on this? I am one with a long history of being beset by this completely useless idea.

    I spent much of my angsty, angry, and lonely teenage and early college years held captive by the idea that hard was bad. I seemed often to be seeking ways to avoid difficulty. This, I believe, is quite common. It is, perhaps, a maxim, that when facing or contemplating the possibility that something will be unpleasant, it is logical to seek a way not to experience it. 

    Unfortunately for us, good things aren't easy. All kinds of harmful things come easily. It is easier to hit snooze than to wake up the first time an alarm rings (guilty). It is easier to eat sugar than it is to eat vegetables (or at least to enjoy them). It is more fun to spend money than to save it (for most). But any great endeavor has required endurance, grit, and an unequivocal commitment to completing the task. Everest was scaled, at last, as a result of this kind of attitude. The Sistine Chapel's ceiling took Michelangelo two years, and cost him his back's health. There are countless other examples of incredibly great lengths humans have gone to, in order to do things which were worth it. 

Fortunately for us, good things aren't easy. There is a beauty and grace that can only be encountered in the completion of something agonizingly difficult. 

A few years ago I happened upon a mind trick which has sometimes helped me flip my mind's natural tendency to shy away from unenjoyable things. Rather than asking myself "why?" I needed or wanted or ought do something, I began to ask myself, "why not?" This additional word served to reveal just how often my reasons for shying away from something are rather empty and selfish. "Why should I do the dishes? I deserve time to relax and watch a show." Why not do the dishes? Because I don't feel like it." A-ha! I have exposed a comfortable laziness which is all too easy to fall into, for me. 

My students need to hear these ideas. I find that I am often reminding them that the work we are doing or the lessons they are learning are not supposed to be easy. If it were easy, they wouldn't need me. Furthermore, if they don't understand something right away, there is not something broken or deficient in my students. They have simply not dedicated enough hard work to mastering or understanding the concept. To give up after an initial attempt is to believe in a lie or to allow oneself to drop something without really pursuing whether it is possible. 

I am not espousing a black and white ideology here. I am not a dualist. Things are not so simple as that. However, in looking at what has worked and failed in my life and others I have learned about and observed, there is simply no substitute for graft and hard work. The Brits would call this having "a stiff upper lip," or that people ought to "grin and bear it." There are endless idioms centered around this idea, and it is because it has merit. 

American culture is moving (often rightly) toward giving people permission to pursue self-care. However, it's important to draw distinctions between what this is, and what it not. Self-care is not a get-out-of-jail free card which provides permission not to do onerous tasks. 

In a group I go to, one of the adages we come back to when discussing concepts of right and wrong or reasoning out what needs to be done is this one: "The harder thing is usually the right thing." This is not a fun thing to consider, but not all of life is fun. There are so many tasks that require something besides ease and laughter, but, when completed well, can yield ease and laughter. 

So. To the phrase, "It shouldn't have to be this hard!" I reply, "Why not?" 

Homeschooled, now I'm a 5th Grade Teacher. #doesnotcompute

I've never met another elementary teacher who comes from the same background as me. Explanation
. 

    I am the seventh of eight children, each of us roughly 2 years apart, and all of us were educated at home by my mother, from kindergarten through the end of high school. A basic rundown of our day at home:

• Breakfast, from 7:30 until 8:10. 
• 8:10--Be at the table, ready to work.
• Since we were all in different grades, our math, science, and social studies content was unique to each student, and was completed individually. Think flipped classroom, but without the technology. Our textbooks explained concepts to us, and then we practiced. Assistance was available from older siblings or my mother. 
• We operated off of a core curriculum, which meant we all read the same exact texts together, even though there were at times 6 of us in school simultaneously. We took turns reading, studied for the exams together, and learned about all kinds of historical events, medical discoveries, scientific ideas, and Biblical teaching from the same source, regardless of age. It worked fairly well. 

  

  With a little less formality, this was us.

• An apple could be eaten at 11:30 (apple time!), yet work needed to continue.
• We all had a common lunch break, from 12:00-1:00. We could make our own lunches fairly quickly, which left the rest of the break for basement hockey, board games, endless reading, exploring in the woods behind our home, or whatever new hobby we were infatuated with. 
• Our afternoon went from 1:00-3:10, except on Wednesdays, when we were all able to attend volleyball, from 1:30-3:00 or so, with other homeschooled kids. 
• There was no such thing as completing my work and being done for the day (although I've heard rumors of families where this was allowed, much to my envy). Every time I completed core tasks, it was time to take up something else which could further my learning. 
• So, in essence, 6 hours of learning a day, with an hour of break time 2/3 of the way through. 

    Most public educators I know don't have a real idea of the resources available for homeschooling, or the different ways in which it can be conducted. And, to be sure, it can be done badly. For an overview of the different ways homeschooling is undertaken, here's a link. But then, how could public educators have any real idea of what homeschooling, private schooling, charter schools, or whatever other methods exist? Experience is the best teacher, it is said, and without it, little can be deeply understood. 

We aren't that weird. We're just different. 

So, why am I a public school teacher, having been homeschooled myself? And, do I regret being homeschooled in my entire pre-college life? What's more, how will my own children learn what they need to? 

1. I teach because it is the unique and best way for me to consistently meet, learn from, and have an impact on children. I am a Christian, and while I believe it's inappropriate for me to tell my students what I believe unless they ask, or to tell them what to think, I believe in living out my faith through my actions. I have learned so much from the precious and broken children I've had the honor of knowing in my nearly 6 years teaching. And, I hope my students have felt from me the love I have for them. Every day I seek to set my heart toward loving the children as they are, without qualification. I am quite imperfect in this, but I believe I must try. 

2. I don't regret being homeschooled myself. My experiences are unique, but I received a first-class education that prepared me for college quite effectively. I was not a shut-in. I had great friends, and opportunities to travel and serve around the country and even in Mexico. Although there are things I did not do, there are things my public-schooled peers did not do that I did. 

3. My children will be homeschooled, at least for now. And, my wife will be teaching, even though I have the education degree.

I believe in keeping an open mind about this and being attuned to the individual needs of each of my children, but there are so many benefits of homeschooling. 

I could flesh those out in another post, but for now just think about this: an average class size at the school I teach is 24 students. In a homeschool setting, it is never greater than 1. With enough effort and education, most parents can be the best teachers their children could hope for. They s

It's possible I stowed books in bathrooms for a little extra break-time...

tart out with an advantage over any public school teacher: they know their children better than anyone else. And, while this can result in some epic clashes, it can also yield abundant fruit.

So here I am, a paradox, a rarity, an aberration. Yes, I was homeschooled, and yes, I teach public school. Things are never as simple as they seem at first glance. 

It is Time (Or: Teaching is hard, but why?)

    It is hard to be a teacher. And it is not because I might catch a disease that could kill me (this is the least of my concerns, as a healthy younger teacher). It is because my pupils lack interest in what I am teaching, and their gaps are larger than ever. “Stop complaining and start being more interesting!” some thinkers might say. Listen. It is not enough to be entertaining, genuine, loving and kind. The challenges are so much more deeply rooted than in archaic teaching methods or boring content. The fact is, in any given year, of the six years I have been teaching 5th grade, the students’ abilities in reading, writing, and math vary immensely. I have taught non-readers to those far above grade level, children who know all their math facts and those who know none.

    This has been true from my first year, in 2016-2017, until today. I work in an urban district full of immigrant and low socio-economic families, but the last two years in particular have been noticeably worse. My students have less intrinsic motivation than ever. They rarely self-select activities, at home or in school, that are not attached to a screen. My efforts to motivate them and impress upon them just how integral knowing math facts and being able to read are often dismissed openly. 

    An anecdote: Noticing how distracted and unmotivated my class is, I remonstrate with my students about how the effects of too much screen time are well documented. They immediately contradict my statement. I rejoin, “Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you if, every day, you were unknowingly eating something poisonous?” “No!” They chorus. My shoulders sag in defeat. “Alright,” I say. “Clearly you know more than I do.” 

Photo by Tony Tran on Unsplash

    It is incredibly difficult not to retreat into cynicism and sarcasm in the face of such blatant lack of interest or respect for the ideas I am trying to communicate to students, even as the behaviors they’re exhibiting are understandable. What can adequately compete with the bright lights and dopamine hits all of my 10 and 11 year old students are experiencing each evening when they go home to their video games and cell phones?

    We are in the middle of the confluence of good intentions and bad ideas, to draw from Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff. Before the pandemic dawned, parents were already becoming increasingly restrictive of their children’s outdoor activity. During it, everything became hyper-restricted. With no good options for outdoor movement, most children turned to something their parents have thoughtfully provided for them: screens and media. Unfortunately, a neutral (potentially positive or negative) medium can easily become a destructive one, and it’s my belief that for a majority of young people that I come into contact with, the negative has become the normal.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

    For years I’ve noticed the difficulty I have getting into books, something I found effortless as a child. Only a few things have changed since then, my age and the plethora of digital entertainment opportunities available now. Since age is not generally an indicator when it comes to distraction, the clear impacting factor is my screen time. I have taken steps to be more intentional, but imagine the generation raised with constant technology! They often have no concept of the idea of technology-free situations.

It is time for the adults in the room to make decisions that will benefit our best hope for the future.

It is time for us to say no to constantly being plugged in, both for ourselves and for our children.

It is time to practice stillness and quiet, to model what we enforce.

It is time to prepare for the discomfort of our children being unhappy for what they cannot do, or do not need to do.

It is time to think more deeply, to strive more heartily, to embrace more fully the responsibility we have to our young people. They do not know what’s best for them naturally. It is up to us to inform them, teach them, and lead them into responsible and healthy living. It will be uncomfortable, but it will be worth it.

    Though it is hard to be a teacher, I love being a teacher. I will not give up, though there are moments when it seems I must. I will share my experiences, and I will listen to ideas that might make a difference. This is, after all, why I am in this job.