Put on a Happy Face

At the gym the other day, I overheard a conversation between two acquaintances who had, by their own objective assessment, the worst most miserable lives ever in the history of the planet Earth from the Australopithecines to the present day. Ungrateful children, galloping health concerns, economic problems of epic proportions, and unmitigated wretchedness from their respective ex-spouses were the least of it. The world had done them wrong and they were intent of letting anyone within earshot know the grim particulars. They “one upped” each other with morbid consistency:

My second ex-wife is taking the kids on a cruise the very weekend I’m having an unpleasant outpatient procedure.”

“Oh, yeah? My ex spoils the kids rotten then sends me the invoice. Meanwhile, my attorney’s bill has topped what Imelda Marcos spent on shoes.”

“Ha! Wait till I tell you about why my idiot of an ex-boss fired me for no reason. Her expectations were ridiculous, completely unfair–not that she ever explained what they actually were.”

“Your ex-husband is three months behind on her child support? That’s nothing. Let me tell you…”

Invited to join the conversation, I admitted that things were going pretty well in my world. None of my four children is in the emergency room, my elderly parents enjoy relatively good health, and we have a fridge full of food. No, we don’t have any trouble walking around our home for fear of tripping over garbage bags filled with hundred dollar bills, but we get by.

Had I slapped these two with a large fish they could not have been more offended or annoyed by my positive response. They lit into me as if I had stolen their seed corn. How dare I? They were offended that I didn’t join the complaint fest. For an instant, I almost felt responsible and believed I should pay their mortgages and take responsibility for hiring someone to kidnap their ex-spouses.

Misery may love company, but in future I’ll be looking for less vocally miserable companions. I’m going to chat with folks whose glasses are half full and spare myself the unrelenting downer of these two sad sacks.

Which brings us to my gentle guidance for loving parents for this week: It might be a good idea going forward to model doing the best you can with what you’ve got.

Students don’t learn biology by osmosis; putting the text book underneath their pillow the night before an exam doesn’t bring good grades. Your kids do learn your beliefs by absorbing your every gesture, thought, and expression. Your children are certified alien mind readers when it comes to knowing how you think and what you believe. If you model strength, your kids will be able to display weakness. If you refrain from incessant complaining, your children are more likely to stop grousing as well. They’ll know that you have the emotional strength and stability to support them if the seas of their lives ever do actually get rough.

And let’s face it: you have less to complain about than any generation in history. Henry the VIII, who owned a large fraction of Europe, would have given half his kingdom for that which you take for granted. When your kids step on a rusty nail, they get a shot of antibiotics and skip home from the pediatrician’s office; when Henry’s kids stepped on a rusty nail, they got tetanus and dead.

You’re complaining about the twenty-five dollar co-pay?

Of course parents displaying honest emotion is healthy for kids. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging occasional sadness or displaying tears at a funeral. But an unmitigated outpouring of constant dissatisfaction communicates that the world is an unsafe, unpleasant, overwhelming place. Surely we want our children to have a firmer foundation than believing that every step is bad and about to get worse.

Giving your kids the foundation of “We’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got” and “We have our health and we have each other” will allow and encourage them to have contented lives themselves.