We may not actively conduct this comparison, but our internal sense of fairness won't allow us to overlook it completely. The thing is, we never seem to be all that worried about those who did poorly. Worse-than-me is not of great concern for most people. Instead, the ones who draw our ire are those who do better. That's human nature, I suppose. And the more aware of it you are, the easier it is to avoid the trappings that come along with it, though a full escape isn't really an option.
With this perspective in mind, I have tried to ensure my children do not fail to understand the realities of human nature. It's not a uniquely enlightened approach, but I try to have them focus on what they have more so than what they do not have, as well as what they have as a result of their opportunities (that may not be available to others). The problem, as with many things, is easier to identify and much more challenging to address.
Active self-awareness is something that is taught. It also needs to be cultivated over time, because failing to do so will result in footnotes; those irrelevant afterthoughts of times past. As a father, this leaves me with two questions to answer: at what age do my children become self-aware, and when should we start cultivating active self-awareness? The answer to the first question is easy: you know when they are truly self-aware the first time they show embarrassment or altered behavior as a result of having all eyes on them, which is surprisingly young. The answer to the second question seems as varied as the children we all have.
The approach we've taken with our children has been to ask questions about how and why certain events have unfolded the way they have, both good and bad. Much the same way we tend to learn more from mistakes than success, those less-than-favorable moments tend to afford the superior teaching opportunities. Asking them questions that force them to analyze and reflect in ways they aren't going to on their own has been our go-to. We also ask them what they feel they could do differently, offering suggestions that may or may not work, and taking ownership of the reality that we simply cannot answer every question they have because nobody has all the answers.
This leads us back to birthdays and the inevitable measuring sticks that result. My birthday was a summer birthday that I was never forced to endure in front of my peers. One might think I was sad to not have birthday parties (which was definitely true), but a part of me knew nobody would attend even if I had them, and an even bigger part of me knew that my parents didn't have it in them to do it right, because effort on behalf of another human being was never part of their makeup, even if it would have been for their children. Sitcoms and after-school specials often use the story line of parents forgetting anniversaries or birthdays for laughs or a moral-of-the-story, but when your parents genuinely forget about your birthday multiple times in your life, you know you are not a priority.
My children have never experienced what it's like to fall short on their birthday. Their mother has actively sought to ensure birthdays are a priority; a day of celebration. We may not have the means to deliver an expensive experience, but we make it memorable. The real surprise is the value you can find if you look. Who knew renting out a children's museum or a mobile video game party would be cheaper than a bowling alley or a pool party birthday? Could we make it more memorable if we had more to spend? Undoubtedly so, but if our children do not know the difference, that extra spending becomes more about us and less about them.
The obvious casualty of making their birthdays special is the absence of grandeur for our birthdays. We've had so many that were forgotten, so a few more won't make much difference ... or so we thought. Whether it's my son enthusiastically asking what special dish I'm going to make us for my birthday dinner, or it's my daughter demanding when guests are arriving, we have found our children value our birthdays the way we value theirs, and if their means were any different, they would do something about it.
With fatherhood, such things manifest in the most unexpected of ways. A few years ago, for example, I was working for one of those rah-rah-team-spirit-company-culture sort of places where they expect people to be company men that show unapologetic team spirit. It felt like something out of "Office Space (1999)." Everyone's desk was peppered with photos of their children or pets and other personal effects, whereas my desk was void of anything personal and only contained items that were required for the job. It was a bad fit for someone as cynical as me, but it was a job that paid the bills, so I endured.
Birthdays in an environment like this were downright scary. Desks were covered in confetti and streamers and balloons and whatever else one could think of. Those who had a chair had to extract it from the madness upon arrival before they could even consider using it for work. When I arrived for my birthday, my desk was no different upon first glance, though I noticed they had used restraint with the confetti, and thankfully, my chair was BYO. They even gingerly asked if I was mad, except I genuinely was not because they had handmade a card for me, signed by the entire team with well-wishes that were largely more than obligatory. It was done with a lion theme, to commemorate my star sign: Leo. I offered my sincere thanks and went about my day, returning home for lunch (as was my routine), Leo card in hand.
My children were napping while I was on lunch, but during the latter half of my shift, my wife showed my five-year-old daughter the card that had been given to me by my coworkers and how it was handmade. Inspired, my daughter decided to make me a card, in that image, to commemorate my birthday. She would not accept anything less. Here they are, side-by-side:
Of course you do. Thank you for making my day special.
