Calling Your Daughter “Dorkface” and the Need For Therapists

Earlier this week, the Morning Rush on B98.5 in Central Arkansas (listen live here) did a segment on nicknames that you have for your kids or a nickname that you had as a kid.  As some of you may know, I am prone to texting in to this radio program on occasion.  I like saying funny things and then people hear them.  (That’s one of the main reasons I blog)  Well, I texted in some of the numerous nicknames that I have for my girls:

Maylee: Pip, Pipperpants, Sissy. Lauren: Lou, Squeak, Gooberfish, Dorkface.

As this was read on the air, the host comments, “Well, there’s a couple of dollars into the therapist’s jar.”  It was especially funny to me that she would say that, since I talk about my girls’ future therapists all the time.  Just last week I said, “When you are talking to your therapist in the future, try to remember that I sat and watched an iCarly movie with you.”  I even referenced my girls’ future need for a therapist on cloften.com last week here. 

Anywho, what kind of dad would call his daughter Dorkface?  Aren’t you legitimately setting her up for a therapist?  Here’s the thing, though.  She is a dork.  So am I.  She wears that nickname as a badge of honor.  She doesn’t want to be “regular.”  She never has (good thing too).  We are dorks together, being who we are.  She’s not what a little girl is “supposed to be,” and her dad is not a “regular pastor.”  We are not trying to be rebels and be different for different sake.  We are just being who God has uniquely designed us to be.

Sometimes it is hard to embrace different in your child.  Often when that baby girl or baby boy comes out, we can close our eyes and imagine what he or she is going to be.  We map their lives out.  If we had such a plan with either of our girls, they shattered them many, many years ago.  We strongly believe that God designed our two precious girls and that he has a great plan for them to be used by him for their whole lives.  Our role is to help shape their values, character, point them to God, and then someday get out of the way and watch God use them to change the world.  One of them plans to be an actress/boutique owner and the other a cake designer/comedienne.  Well, ok then.

Am I messing my kids up and giving them fodder for future therapists? Sure, we all are.  But it is not from embracing my girls in how they are different, loving who they are, and being good enough friends with them to tease them. 

Loving my little Dorkface is reducing that bill not adding to it.  Now, you call her that, and I might take you out.  Don’t make me get all “Papa Bear” on you.  That’s my nickname, BTW.

Embracing the Fishbowl

Well, my older daughter has a FB page now.  We had a deal worked out, in part because of the move and also as a reward for good grades.  You might would think that this is about to turn into a sappy blog post where I lament how old she is getting.  I’m going to save that one for when she asks to get her driver’s permit.  I know that some people are hesitant to allow there kids access to the social media.  However, the overwhelming number of people in her class already had one, so it can’t be too widespread.

Most people’s concerns come down to privacy issues.  People don’t want their children’s info or pictures “out there.”  The world is a scary place and there are a good number of Mervy McChestersons out there on the internets.  However we have some good controls in place that we feel good about.

But really, she is already “out there.”  If you don’t believe me, look at the banner on the top of this page.  There they are.   Click on the tag “parenting” or “daughters” at the bottom of this post.  Her pictures are out there, stories are out there.  Our life is the proverbial fish bowl.

Often I have heard pastors and their families complain about the fishbowl.  Why is everybody watching our every move?  Why do they scrutinize us so?  People get frustrated and discouraged by people watching them and feel like it is undeserved and unwanted pressure.

We say, “Bring it on.”  I don’t say that because I’m perfect.  I’m not.  We’re not.  If you look (and not very hard) you will see a man full of flaws with a family that is working on stuff the way that all families are.  However, I’m going to tell you about them, perhaps even before you see them.  You are going to know me and who I am, what I’m good at and what I’m not.  The same for my family.  We are out there for the world to see.

This calls us up.  We know that the world and the church need leaders and examples to follow.  However, no one needs someone who is pretending to be something that they are not, pretending to be perfect, pretending to have it all together.  The problem with living in a fishbowl is not that people can see, it is when you have things to hide.  Mind you, I go to lengths to protect my girls’ privacy.  They are never the villains in my stories.  If it is embarassing to them, you won’t hear about it from me.

But we as a family have been called by God to lead people and a local church.  Our lives are public lives.  Here’s the kicker.  So is yours.  Jesus said that you are the light of the world.  People are looking to you to find answers.  What does it mean to be a follower of Jesus?  Can Jesus in your life really make a difference?  People are watching.  What are they seeing?

What I hope they see in us is a family that is not perfect, but is honest.  A family that loves God and loves each other.  A family that wants to honor God and be the people that he has called us to be.  We can’t fight the fishbowl, because that is where we live.  That’s where you live too.

Embrace the fishbowl.  Be transparent.   Be real.  Be somebody that people want to be.

She Said What?

The fam and I went swimming over the weekend.  FYI, my girls would swim 24/7 given the opportunity.  They have been know to be in a swimming pool for 8 hours straight.  They have never even hinted that they were ready to go home. 

Anywho, the girls and I have a series of games that we play.  One is where one of us is on one side of the pool giving clues about something and the rest of us have to guess.  When we think we know, we have to swim across the pool and guess.  If wrong, we have to swim back.  I, as I am prone to do, ruin the integrity of the game by constantly swimming back and forth guessing random things.  (Item #412 on the list “Things Maylee and Lauren Will Have to Explain to Their Therapist”)

Maylee is “it” and gives the following clues:

This is a person

He has black hair

He is somone I admire more than anyone

He is my role model in everything

At this point, Lauren takes off swimming and guesses “Daddy.”  Maylee says that is right.  I am stunned.  Why?  Because I think it’s awesome that Maylee would still describe my mostly salt, salt-n-pepper hair as black.

Seriously, what did she just say?  I am whom she admires most in the world?  Role model in everything?  I can’t accurately explain the conflicted feelings of pride and absolute fear that I felt in that moment.  Now mind you, I have taught on numerous occasions to dads that what she said is what kids believe.  Even daughters, perhaps especially daughters.  It’s one thing to teach it to other people, it is another thing entirely to hear those words come out of my daughter’s mouth and to have the other daughter so quickly guess it.

Everything that I do is being watched.  Everything I say or do is being put into the category of “that’s the way to talk and act.”  Everything.  I’m sure that she has a filter to filter out the bad things that she hears me say or do, but I’m guessing that each one of those breaks her heart and/or confuses her in some way.  “Easy, Cloften, that’s way too much pressure.   Get back to what I came here for: mediocre cynical, humorous obervations about life and pop culture.”  I know that it’s a lot of pressure.  Believe me, I know.  The pressure is not from me though.  It is from your kids.  We would all do well to feel some of that pressure and do our best to live up to it.  We would also do well to learn to depend on a God who loves us and is helping us become like his son, Jesus, and to point our children to that same God.  Remember, though God is described very often as Father, so it continues to boomerang back on you dads.

On the positive side, though, our kids do look at us through rose colored glasses.  How do I know?  She said I have black hair.

Because I Said So

Those are haunting words that make kids fume with anger and can give those of us who are no longer kids horrifying flashbacks of the times we have heard that phrase.  You ask, “why?” and Mom or Dad say, “because I said so.” 

When you heard this growing up, you swore on anything you could think of that you would never, ever say that to your kids.  You would give them reasoned, thoughtful answers to every question that they ever ask.  Ask why once, I will give you an answer.  Twice, thrice, quadrice (?), no problem.  They can keep asking why and you will hang in there with them and keep giving them good answers to the why question.

Then it happens, they push you too hard, too far or at the wrong time and you say it, “Because I said so!”  Maybe you have chosen to mask the phrase with it’s nearly identical twin, “Because I’m your dad/mom,” but nonetheless you said it.  They overreact and then you slink back into your bedroom, close the door and weep, despondent about the loss of the idealism of your perfect always patient, gracious and thoughtful parenting style.  You have in fact, become just like your mom/dad.

I have released this.  I have become my dad.  I parent very much like he did.  The most recent example occurred at the soccer field this weekend.  My daughter in an attempt to stop the other player from attacking the goal charged the player, missed the ball, but, in fact, did not miss the player.  Had someone from Cabot High School’s football program been there, he would have wanted to talk to me and get some info on this 3rd grade prospect.  The other girl goes down hard, and rightfully, starts to cry and is carried off.

Later on at home, my mom (my folks were at the game) ask me about the incident and would it have been OK for one of my girls to cry on the field.  (Half ?) Joking, I say, “you know how I was raised, what do you think?”  “Well, you do have girls, you know.”  “Yeah, but their playing sports.  Getting hurt is part of it.  Shake it off and keep playing.  If you don’t want to get hurt, let’s take a knitting class.”  (I’m not sure if that last line is sexist, insulting to people who knit or just funny.  You be the judge.)

We all to one degree or another parent as we were parented.  You know that’s not all bad.  You turned out OK, didn’t you?  At least in some ways.  The real question is do we parent like we were parented on purpose or accidentally?  Do we not parent like we were parented for good reason or just as a continuation of teenage rebellion?  Take the good from how you were parented and gladly reproduce it.  Analyze the weaknesses and make changes when you need to.  Talk to your spouse, friends, other family and invite them to help you evaluate how you are doing.  Pray, read Proverbs.  Parent on purpose with a strategy and with consistency. 

You know, every now and then a kid needs a good, “because I said so” because your authority should be enough and they need to know it (just don’t don’t tell your parents).

p.s.  I do let my kids cry when they are legitimately hurt.  You and I may just have different definition of “legitimately.”

Disney World, Fayetteville, What’s the Difference?

Sorry that I have been away and not blogging.  I know that matters to, well, no one.  We went on Spring Break for a week and I made a commitment to not get on the computer any.  I didn’t.  I did have my pocket computer with me, read iPhone.  Barely tweeted or FB, played some Words with Friends, but for the most part was computer-free and family focused.

We went to Fayetteville for a few days to see some friends and then we went to Branson to spend a couple of days with my folks and go to Silver Dollar City.  At one point, Heidi and I had talked about taking the kids back to Disney World.  We (me) love going there and the kids of course love it as well.  However, it didn’t really work out schedule-wise.  I had a wedding the last weekend of spring break and it would not have worked well.  So what do we do instead?  Go to Fayetteville. 

That’s the same, right?  If not the same, close, right?  Let me tell you, in the minds of my girls, it was.  We stayed at the Hog Cottage, which is owned and operated by our friends.  Check it out here.  It is right off the campus.  You can see the stadium from the front yard.  My girls loved it, and asked multiple times while we there and more since we got back about staying there again.  They thought it was great.  They had their own bedroom!  Woo-hoo!  (They have their own bedroom at home, fyi.)  There was a TV! (Have one of those)  There were snacks! (Got those at home too).  We played lazer tag, rode a mechanical bull, rode go-carts and went out to eat.  It snowed 14 inches while we there and we went sledding.  Not exactly Pirates of the Caribbean and Space Mountain, but close.

What did they love that trip so much?  We were togtether having fun.  We were doing something different and they had my undivided attention.  I have worked very hard in the past to plan expensive, fun trips.  The girls love them, but they love these just as much.  I want to create big, fun memories for them, stuff that they will remember forever.  They want me to stop at Sonic for happy hour and buy them a drink. 

What do they want?  They want me.  Sure, they might prefer me at Disney World than me at Fayetteville, but not by much.  We’ll go back to Disney some day, but I don’t feel any pressure, because what they really want is me. 

BTW, please don’t tell them you read this.  Otherwise, they will start intentionally not having fun on vacations so we will go back to Disney.

When the Pastor Gives His Daughter Away

So, I am with a friend the other day and he says, “You start a lot of your posts with the word, ’so.’”  Hmm, didn’t notice that.

So, we as a family are at a wedding Friday night, Seth Latture and Rachel Stockdale.  They have just recently started coming to our church.  He plays keyboard for one of our worship bands.  The wedding was at New Life Church in Conway, great church BTW, where they had been going for years and where her dad is one of the pastors.

There I am with my wife and two daughters and I am watching this pastor/dad walk his daughter down the aisle.  (Jim Stockdale is a great man and pastor and has the privilege of being the dad to four girls.)  Before he gives her away, the officiating pastor gives him a mic and he gives a blessing to his daughter and future son-in-law.  He talks about what a blessing his daughter has been and how he has been praying for this day, that God would bring the right man.  He then looks at Seth and commends him for the man he is and how proud he is to give his daughter away to him. 

Then he did it.  He gave her away.  He sat down and watched his daughter marry this guy.  Then right before the pronouncement, he got up and prayed for them.  Wow.  I teared up then.  Tearing up now.  As a dad of daughters and a pastor myself, I found myself walking in Jim’s shoes.  I will walk in those shoes someday.

The question is what am I doing to prepare myself and my girls so that when that day comes,  I will be as encouraged and want to give a blessing the way he did? 

What do my girls see in the way that I love them and encourage them and value them that makes them have high expectations for a man?

What do they see in the way that I treat their mom that sets the expectations for what a husband should be?

How am I pointing them towards God so that they will learn to trust him and follow him and expect that their husband will do the same?

Do I pray?

Do I go and have lunch at their school on a regular basis and intimidate boys so that they will be scared of me, and consequently my girls, and we can delay this process for as long as we can?

Well, maybe we don’t need the last one.  Regardless, that day is coming.  I will walk my girls down the aisle.  I will give them away to somebody.  Who that somebody is depends on me.

Gimme That Fish

Well, it was inevitable.  We have talked about it for a couple of weeks and it finally happened.  What you may ask?  First, let’s take a step back.

A couple of weekends ago, it was just Maylee, Lauren and I.  Heidi was on a women’s retreat.  Perhaps a step or two behind the curve, we discovered the Filet-o-fish commercial.  If it is not a pop culture phenomenon, it should be.  It is at least at our house. (If you haven’t seen it, watch it below.  It’s 30 seconds.  Without it there is a 0% chance you will understand the rest of this.  After watching the percent goes up at least to 7%)

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csrPT9ClVUc

We played that no fewer than 20-25 times over the course of the weekend.  Now we find random opportunities to say things like this to each other, “You know that fish is right, I wouldn’t be laughing at all” or “Seriously, are you going to give me back that fish or not?”  We have had a blast.  Mom is reluctantly in on it.  By reluctantly, I mean, she hates it.

Well, we had been threatening for a while to go into a McDonalds and play the commercial on my IPhone, via the Youtubes.  On Sunday, we went to the Drive-thru and through what I consider magic technology, we had my phone connected to my stereo system, blaring that song. 

Before we pulled up though, we had to have a comedy lesson.  Like the one guy on the commercial, we had to act like nothing was going on, as if it were just any song playing on the radio.  It was hard for them.  Lauren had the cheesiest grin on her face, mostly looking out the window in the opposite direction.  Maylee had eyes as big as saucers holding in a laugh staring at the workers.

Well at this McD we had to go through two windows.  One to pay and one to get the food.  We got the reaction that we wanted.  Nervous stares.  The thought bubble on these people’s heads had to be, “What dorks.”  If that was the case, then SUCCESS!

After we drove through, they both just laughed and are talking about that still.  Now, here is the question, can I steer this into a reasonable parenting lesson?  Sure, why not?  I’m just that creative.  Why did I do it?  One, I like to be funny and for them to think that I’m funny.  Furthermore, I want to teach them to be the same. 

Deeper than that though, I want to build memories for them.  Small memories.  Memories of a dad that loved them and had fun with them, that wasn’t too busy or serious to enjoy life with them.  Memories of a Dad, who would sit down with them and ponder the mysteries of life, such as what would it really be like if I were up on that wall.

A Troubling Declaration

So it turns out that I don’t have enough time in a weekend to do my paying job (pastor), playing the role of mom and to do my non-paying job (blog-writer).  For some pre-thought on my role as “mom” for the weekend, check this out. 

We had a blast this weekend.  We had a sleepover upstairs.  The three of us piled up matresses, blankets, beanbags, etc.  We watched movies and fell asleep.  (I woke up at 3:30 and decided that I wasn’t really sleeping and went downstairs.)  We also played the “Gimme That Fish” McDonalds commercial on Youtube no fewer than 25 times over the weekend.  We played with friends, won two basketball games, had a great weekend of church services.  It was great.

However, there was one moment that still sticks out it my head that I just can’t shake.  Maylee and I were taking Lauren to soccer practice and as we were pulling in she asked if we were going to stay and watch.  She said in such a way that made it pretty clear that she didn’t want us to stay.  So I’m trying to get out of her why she doesn’t want us to stay.  She is embarassed because she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Finally, she says this, “If I make a bad kick, I don’t want you to see it.”  I am going to confess to you that I was crushed.  (If you know her, don’t bring this up to her).  She didn’t want me to see her mess up.  She is hard on herself, very hard on herself.  I would like to think that I am an encouraging dad.  I would like to think that I am “better than most.”  I think that she is great and a great soccer player.  I try to tell her that all of the time.

However, I also correct her when she does something wrong, especially if it comes from a lack of focus or hustle.  Apparently those corrections add up in her mind, and she would rather avoid them, at least during practice.

So what does this mean?  If anything, Dads, you cannot overestimate the power of your words when you talk to your daughters (I assume the same applies for sons.  I wouldn’t know first-hand).  Everything that you say matters and she takes it in.  Everything.  Her view of herself is largely determined by your view of her.  I am now reevaluating everything I say.  I want to be incredibly encouraging.  Even when I feel I need to correct her behavior, I am thinking, “What does my facial expression look like?  What is my tone?  What encouraging comment can I tag this with?”

Maybe I am about to over-correct and be “too easy” on her.  Guess what?  I don’t care.  I could live the next 50 years of my life and I would be just fine without hearing her say that with that look on her face again.  This was a great reminder for me of something Robert Lewis says that I pass on to you, “Dad is destiny.”  What we say, they become.

Do You Want to Have Great Kids or Raise Great Kids?

One of my all-time favorite stories in our family history didn’t happen to me and I wasn’t even there.  15 years later, despite my tendency to exaggerate stories, I have yet to tell this story as if it happened to me or I was there.  That’s remarkable for me.

Anywho, it was the summer of 1995 and Heidi and I, who had been married one year, led a group of college students on a 6 week trip to Ukraine.  We had a great time and felt a connection with the Ukranian students that we met there.  One afternoon, after we had been there a couple of weeks, Heidi was with her translator.  Her translator Anya was about 18 years old.  They were walking together and Heidi said, “I want to learn Russian.”  Without missing a beat, Anya said, “No you don’t.”  Heidi argued with her.  Then Anya said, “You don’t want to learn Russian.  You want to speak Russian.”

What a statement.  Heidi and I use that when talking to people all the time.  So often what we want is the result but we are unwilling to do the work.  We don’t want to lose weight, we want to be thin.   This most recently came up in my mind as I was dealing with one of my girls.  One of them had a friend over and her dad pulled into the driveway.  As I tried to call my daughter and her friend, they ignored me, again and again and again . . .  You’ve been there right?

I’m trying to be cool.  I don’t want to embarass her in front of her friend.  On attempt number 6, she finally comes out loaded with mediocre excuses as to why she didn’t come and couldn’t even acknowledge me.  I held off for the 60 seconds or so until her friend was gone.  Then I gave the talk about respect (again) and how we act the same with our friends here as when they are not (again) and about making excuses instead of apologizing (again).  (Anyone ever tempted to record the speeches and play them back while they sleep so maybe it will soak in subliminally?)

After putting her to bed, I walked away thinking (again) how hard this is.  How constant this is.  There are no breaks from parenting.  You always have to be attentive.  You are constantly shaping behavior, molding a heart, encouraging, rebuking, consoling.  It can be emotionally exhausting sometimes.

I want to have great kids.  I want them to be awesome young ladies that go into the world and become incredible women.  However, if I want to have great kids, that means I have to raise great kids. There’s not even a Rosetta Stone shortcut.

How do you discipline a crying girl?

A quick note before we start, I will use my blog and other public forums to praise my girls not call them out, so if there is any parenting post/story that involves something bad happening, it will be vague, nameless and thus perhaps a little confusing.

Anywho, we have recently had to take something of value away from one of our daughters.  She has been having some self-control issues, bursts of frustration and lashing out against her sister (people who know us–stop trying to figure out who is who).  We told her that she needs to build up a track record of not doing that over a few days and her valuable possession will be returned.  For the next 3 days, we have had at least one outburst. 

After last night’s outburst, she almost immediately starts crying and beating herself up.  “I am so stupid.”  How do you keep going at that point?  Don’t you have to give in?  Well, I will tell you what I did.  I sat down with her on the couch and told her how much I loved her.  I told her that it was my responsibility to help her.  What I want for her more than anything is for her to win. 

“I am on your team.  I love you.  If I let you do anything with no consequences, what would happen?” 

“I wouldn’t get better, Dad.” 

“I am not punishing you.  I just want to help you.”

You want to guess what happened next?  That’s right, she started crying again.  I hugged her, tucked her in bed and told her good night.

Everything in my heart said, “Just give it back, you mean old bear.”  However, I didn’t and it hurt me.  You see, I am compelled by God and driven by my love for both my girls.  I want them to become beautiful young ladies, inside and about.  Sometimes that means I do things that make her (and me) cry, not to hurt her but to help her, not simply to punish, but to love.

How do you discipline a crying girl?  I’m not exactly sure, but it hurts.

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