May I Give You Some Advice?

One of my running buddies has a neighbor who gives her endlessly sincere advice about her workouts. He has insights into her weekly mileage, speed work, the long run, recovery, cross training, you name it. Her neighbor pontificates about the newest training schedule he has heard about. Jennifer is a gifted athlete who has qualified and run the Boston marathon several times. She has logged enough training miles to have run around the world at the equator. She listens patiently.

To her neighbor who could not run from his kitchen to his bedroom.

When he finally stops talking, she goes out for her run.

Robert has a neuro-typical child who was graduated at the top of her high school class before heading off to a top college and law school. Daniel’s son is on the autism spectrum, has moderate speech delays, and is unresponsive to many communications from his loving parents. Daniel’s son’s behavior at home and at school in ungovernable and includes yelling, throwing things, and rolling on the floor. Yet Robert incessantly gives Daniel advice as if the two children weren’t 20 years apart in age and a thousand miles apart in makeup.

“I never allowed my child to act that way,” Robert begins. “It is NOT okay for a second grader to hit his mom. When my daughter was that age, she was already reading on a high school level…”

Robert’s advice is neither helpful not wanted. To the contrary, I have often wondered why Daniel doesn’t just come out and say, “We’ve already thought of that; we already know that; we’ve already tried that.” No one would blame Daniel if he went on to say, “Children are different. Are you trying to be helpful or just bragging again about how your daughter got a scholarship to law school?” before suggesting that Robert take a long walk off a short pier.

Maybe Daniel could be snarky enough to suggest that Robert spend a day with Daniel’s developmentally delayed and unmanageable son. I suspect that Robert would be uncomfortable trying to walk a mile in those moccasins, that he would think twice about giving advice having tried to get Daniel’s son to put on his shoes let alone finish his homework.

Which brings me to the ultimate in ironic advice: you may wish to stop giving so much advice to your children.

I’m not suggesting that your children are on the spectrum and that you cannot understand their behavior because of your neuro-typical brain. I am suggesting that your children are intimately well acquainted with your suggestions.

Of course I could be completely wrong: Maybe what your children need is to be told for the one hundred and first time that you expect them to do well in pre-calculus.

But my guess is that they already know your opinion. Taking a step back and trying to take the perspective might be helpful. Why might your daughter’s eyes glaze over when you tell her–again–about how you did well in school? Why might your son suddenly remember an appointment when you tell him about how he should run faster?

Last point: the irony of my giving you advice about why you should consider giving your children less advice is not lost on me. Do you think I should ask Jennifer’s neighbor what he thinks I should do?