As parents we often wonder what’s going on inside our kids heads and hearts. Our kids’ psyche is an elusive thing. We desperately want to know who they “really” are. So – like wildlife photographers seeking to capture an endangered species – we lie in wait to “catch a glimpse” of our kids. Hoping they’ll emerge from their emotional dens for us to snap a photo.
Recently we were driving from Phoenix to Colorado for a family ski trip. At the 6 1/2 hour mark we were all stir crazy. We’d been arguing over “road trip bingo.” For the record, I don’t know why I decided, “the large puddle couldn’t qualify as a small lake.” Terrible judgment on my part! The problem with having 2 kids is the moment I side with one – I’m apparently conspiring against the other. In retrospect we should have had 3 kids. Anyways, our car grew silent.
Then it happened. I caught a glimpse of my youngest son’s heart.
My wife and oldest son had zoned out. On what I don’t know! My son was probably in a food coma from gorging himself on Jacks Link’s jerky, M&M’s and Pringles – and my wife was making a list of things I’d mistakenly left in Phoenix.
Quietly, my youngest son began singing to himself. I was the only one within earshot as he’d assumed his customary position behind my seat and he’d turned his head toward the window seeking solitude.
His song was an original score. Based on the lyrics I’m guessing it was entitled “Chicken Pot Pie.” The words were simple, “I – love – chicken – pot – pie.” As I listened to him work on the tune…I smiled. It was a precious moment. He seemed pleased with the final version. “I loooove chiiiiicken pot pie!”
Then something interesting happened. My son transitioned from singing to talking to himself and he said, “No I don’t. I hate chicken pot pie.” And just like that – the song ended.
I let the moment hang in the air to see if he’d modify the lyrics and resume singing. Hundreds of yellow traffic stripes flashed across my windshield as we rolled along. Nothing!
I started laughing…hysterically. Maybe I was just punchy from the long drive. I laughed because my son is an entertainer…and his humor makes me laugh. He’s funny –in a witty and sarcastic way. He’s random – frequently launching into monologues with no apparent source of origin. He’s a truth talker – not one to suffer fools. He’s a “veggie hater” – my son really does hate chicken pot pie so his conversation, although seemingly random, was totally logical.
My wife and other son asked why I was laughing. I recounted the song and rebuttal and we all had a good laugh.
As I’ve thought about this moment – it struck me that the chicken pot pie incident was a metaphor for how our kids process life.
As our kids “try on life” and “work out” their feelings – there’s a constant dialog unfolding inside their heads. Like prolific songwriters – our kids are in a continuous state of writing, editing, rewriting and discarding lyrics. Sometimes they like what they write and sometimes they don’t. Most of the songs our kids write remain in their heads. But sometimes they come out for us to hear. And hearing our kids’ lyrics makes for some amazing moments! But sometimes the words scare us.
I wonder how I would’ve reacted had my son been singing an original score about marijuana, or sex, or alcohol. Or what about depression, loneliness, or shame? Would I have let those lyrics “hang in the air” the same as the chicken pot pie? Or would I have stepped in to finish the song for him? Perhaps I’d have “turned off” his music.
Many times as adults we don’t really know what we’re thinking. Sometimes, as I’m driving and conversing with God, things come out of my mouth that surprise me. When I hear them I shake my head and let God know I don’t mean them. God seems ok to let me work out life’s awkwardness. He doesn’t shut me down.
I hope as my boys venture deeper into adolescence I have the sensibility to know when to just let them work out the lyrics. There will undoubtedly be times when they may need my help. Sometimes even the greatest lyricists have writer’s block. I hope to be more of a collaborator than a critic when it comes to my kids.
They may write a few songs I don’t like. They may write a few songs they themselves don’t like. But at the end of the day, isn’t it for them to decide – not me – whether or not they like chicken pot pie?
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