Written by single parenting contributor Crystal Hadidian.

One of my favorite things about parenting is the challenge to communicate big ideas to a young mind. It isn’t just their limited vocabulary that requires you to get creative.

I just wrote a children’s book based on an experience with my son where using a super hero metaphor proved surprisingly effective. As you can see in the cover image above, it’s called Grey and the Good Attitude Cape.

Let me tell you the full story. Recently, I was in an exceptionally rough season of life with a lot of major transitions. My son and I were both feeling the effects. New apartment, new job, new schedule.

These life events are challenging for any family, and as a single parent, I was incredibly overwhelmed. My son was experiencing the stress of an inconsistent schedule between mommy’s house, helpful friend’s houses, and daddy’s house, and most of his toys were still in boxes.

Neither of us were sleeping well and we were both disappointed about not getting enough quality time together. The (at the time) three year old and his mommy were cranky.

I was floundering, trying to find a way to not only set a good example, despite exhaustion, but to also explain in words to a three year old that you can choose to be nice and thankful, even when things are hard.

I wanted to communicate that having a positive attitude is a choice. It doesn’t mean that you pretend you’re not disappointed or tired. It doesn’t mean that wanting more time to play with mommy is a bad thing.

It just means, that even when you can’t have what you want or need, you can still choose to use nice words when you ask for more milk or help with your shoes.

And just as important, when you realize you’re not having a good attitude, you can stop and change it. As I say in the book, “it takes strength to be kind even when you’re frustrated.”
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Written by fatherhood contributor Shaun Groves.

Mrs. Roosth was tall and gaunt, uncomfortably quiet, with small eyes and angry hands.

I leaned back too far in my chair and landed with a thump on the classroom floor. She wrapped her bony fingers around my arm, yanked me up to my feet and just about threw me into the nearest corner to stand for the rest of the day. A few hours. I was in the first grade.

My stomach hurt. My muscles spasmed in my back. My chest grew tight. I thought I might die. But I didn’t say a word.

That’s my earliest memory of serious anxiety. But not my last. Or worst.

I missed a Homecoming dance in high school because anxiety so debilitated me that I couldn’t stand and walk.

I was so heavily medicated on my wedding day that I slept through the first night of the honeymoon!

I turned down my first offer of a record deal because I fear traveling. And just the worrying about it doubled me over in pain and sent me to bed for the better part of a day.

But since eventually signing that record deal, I’ve traveled to around 100 cities every year for twelve years. As a musician and speaker I’ve stood on stage and done my thing in front of tens of thousands of people. Sometimes all at once. As a spokesperson for Compassion International, I’ve traveled to ten developing countries with questionable airplanes, eaten grub worms and guinea pig, and lunched with posh dignitaries and mobs of slum children.

No more debilitating anxiety. How’d that happen? And how can we as parents stave off the anxiety of our children?
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Written by contributor Robin Dance of Pensieve.

Though I didn’t have words to articulate it at the time, looking back I realize these could be filed under “Injustices of Youth”:

In 6th grade:

The boy I liked gave me a letter another girl had given him.  It was laced with profane words and (sexual) actions I had never heard of; horrified, I turned it in to my teacher, who in turn, took it to the principal.

All three of us were summoned to the office (the boy, the letter writer, and me) and punishments were doled out:  we were all required to write “lines” (Remember those?  Do they do that anymore in school??) and my sentence was “I will not read letters not addressed to me.”  Five hundred times.

I don’t remember their sentences, but his was 750 times and hers was 1,000.  I was the only one who completed it and turned it in.  I don’t think my dad was called and because I was led to believe I had done something wrong, I didn’t tell him; I was punished, after all.

In 7th grade:

I had braces, and for a season I was supposed to wear headgear 23/7.  The kind with straps across the back of your head and metal bars protruding from your mouth; torture devices–emotionally and physically, for a teenage girl.

To minimize the Nerd Factor, I wore a bandana to cover part of it.  When I arrived at Social Studies that first day, Mrs. Lumley promptly instructed me to remove the bandana because our school had a “No Hats” policy.  Mortified, I complied, but I also took off my headgear.  Quite possibly my first Worst Hair Day ever and I remember feeling embarrassed and UGLY all day long.

I’m sure many of you have similar stories with different circumstances.  The bottom line was that an adult/authority figure exerted control over you, for which you were not in a position to argue, defend, or disobey.

And it wasn’t fair…it truly wasn’t fair!

I believe it’s crucial for a child’s maturation to suffer the consequences of poor decisions.

If he makes a poor choice, he’ll learn best when he has to pay a price for bad judgment – not if you bail him out every time.  Otherwise, you’ll create an unattractive victim mentality.  That will not serve him now or through adulthood, or society in general ever!

But sometimes, your child needs you to be his advocate, when you see a true injustice and he’s not in a position to speak for himself.

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