A rule for parenting: Be there!

I know there isn't actually a rule book for parenting.  It does seem to be a 'learn as you go' experience in many ways, which often seems influenced by culture and class, and perhaps even by our own upbringing serving as a 'what not to do' guide.  Quite often, unless there are examples of extreme neglect or danger, we find we have no place to advise others on 'better parenting' and have to accept that they have a right to raise their children as they see fit, even if we do see a 5 year old screaming in the shopping aisle, yelling for sweets and being given a Drumstick lolly for their efforts...as if that's not conditioning behaviour and reinforcement. Still, some parents could bubble wrap their children in the park and still find themselves yelling 'Be careful!  Come down!" as little Bob ventures higher than a foot and a half, while other parents sit and read a magazine while their children forget the park is even there and play in the surrounding trees.  I guess it's all up for debate, but yesterday I experienced one of those moments as a parent where I knew through and through what to do...and what not to.  Why do I bring this up?  What has compelled me to sit at my laptop and splurge on my (pitifully) rarely updated blog?  In short, it's that if there was a parenting rule book and this rule wasn't yet in it, I would overturn tables and unashamedly campaign for it to be in the top 5, because if it somehow offends some parent somewhere to be challenged on this point, then I'm not going to be all respectful and British about it: they can put their reproductive organs in some blending device and feed them to the family dog...because they just shouldn't use them for anything else.

Parenting rule:
Do -- Hold your wounded child's hand, stay in the room and be the calm reassurance that's needed for the poor little soul.
Don't -- Squeal 'Oh my God' as the doctor stabs a needle into your child's open flesh, give the busy nursing staff a dramatic insight into your squeamish past experiences because it highlights how awful this moment is for you (are you trying to earn a sticker?), and most of all, don't leave the room (and your child) and stand outside the door weeping, claiming it's just too painful to see your child so distressed.

It's rather unfortunate, really, that I feel the need to staple this into the imaginary library copy of this make-believe handbook, but I've quite honestly witnessed enough of this over a decade of fatherhood to know that some parents need to be stopped in the middle of another piteous and attention seeking sentence and turned back toward the distressed screams of their child, because 'suck it up; however challenging this may genuinely be to your sensibilities or whatever attention and drama you may be able to smear across your life's story comes second to simply being there.'

It's not for recognition that I mention all this, but it's simply that I have felt myself angered on occasion and wanting to challenge that aspect in friends who tell me of their dramatic 'walk outs' because they were so emotionally moved, or of strangers I've stood alongside in hospital who I've witnessed do the same.  So, I'm sorry, but if you're reading this and you've previously told me of a time when you left your child wounded and surrounded by strangers as they prodded him with medical instruments, because you had a 'moment in your own life's movie' where the piano music and strings were more audible than the kerfuffle of doctors and your crying child, the lens looked past the youngun crying out for it to stop and focussed on your distressed face, cut scene to the exit which you suddenly bash through in an effort to escape the trauma, gut-wrenching sob....FREEZE. Reeeeewind.  Yes, I judged you for that story.  Sorry.  For me, it's kind of the same as watching a dog get a wallop for...being a dog.  I won't moan at you for how you train, or don't train your dog...but don't smack it!  Same goes with parenting; let them climb trees, choose your method of control and discipline, but most of all, be there when you are the only source of strength, comfort and reassurance.

Now, I do say all this with a degree of experience.  I'm a dad of four.  My eldest is 10 and she underwent a lot of treatment as a baby as she was extremely ill.  But, I remember the first night in hospital, as the doctors poked and prodded her little 8 week old body as they tried to figure out why she might not make it through the night (it turned out to be leukaemia).  It was at this point that the doctors and nurses insisted we leave and shoved us out the door because the 'distress to us' for seeing her get folded in two to have a lumbar puncture performed would be too much to take.  On that occasion, we were bewildered by the formality of the hospital and didn't feel we could stay.  Our inexperience meant that we did what the doctor said...but that was the last time we allowed ourselves to be put out of the room for 'our sake', because as we stood in the hall, listening to her scream from in the middle of a mob of doctors, she should have....should have known we were at least in the room.

Yesterday my 6 year old boy, Finley, decided to throw himself off a wall and head butt the floor.  I can't say I approve of that sort of violence, but the floor turned out to be fine after the attack and Finley came off much worse, running into the house with a stream of blood down his face, his forehead open like a flower to the sun and his best friend yelling "we can see Finley's brain!!"

This is where, I have to say, I did what I think all parents should do.  I know emotions play the part and extreme concern of a parent is, of course, where the love is.  At once I had a tsunami of emotions hit me, but this wasn't about me.  Our wounded children don't need to see our concern in our panic, our drama or in any hype of how bad this injury may be!  They need calm, optimism, lots of reassurance...and for mum or dad to gaffa tape the mouth of whoever's yelling about brains seeping out of heads!  I calmed him down, got him sitting comfortably, arranged care for my three girls and got Finley to hospital, making sure he was laughing at stories of how brave he is because I used to bawl like a baby at his age -which I actually did.

Anyway, I mention all of this because there was one particular moment during that whole incident which caused me to reflect on Isabelle's treatment as a baby and our need as parents to suck it up and be there amongst the strangers in the room.  Finley lay on the hospital bed with his eyes closed as the doctor poked and prodded at his flesh; it seemed, at times, that he lost swabs of tissue inside my boy's head as he performed a deep clean of the wound, and I'm sure at one point I heard him mutter, 'bugger...my keys'.  ...and then came the toothbrush!   It was that point where if I had any choice whatsoever, I'd have chosen not to be there.  I felt a little light and a little tingly and suddenly didn't feel like eating anything resembling cheese and tomato sauce.  I also realised that while I stood there holding Finley's hand, it was me that was squeezing tight with the anxiety of the procedure...and trying not to 'vom'.  The important moment, though, was when, for just a second, he opened his eyes and looked straight into mine; I don't know what my face must have looked like before he saw me; probably something akin to Edvard Munch's 'The Scream', but all he saw was that I had time to give him a big smile and a quick wink.

I know I was blagging that smile and I know that the wink was some pitifully helpless gesture of reassurance, but I guess his interpretation of that was:
Dad's face = Dad's there
Dad's smile = Everything seems okay, he ain't sobbing or anything!
Dad's wink = I'm still a little dude and he may tickle me.

I will just mention that, full credit to her, had Finley's mum been the one there at the time of the accident, he'd have seen her face.

I don't judge many people for many things.  I often disagree with some parenting techniques, or lack thereof, but on the whole it's something I pass by and won't challenge.  Let your children play in the trees, or don't!  Let them whizz around on their bikes, or don't!  It really is up to you, of course, and I don't consider that my business.  I'm, actually, often very moved as I walk through the street or through shops when I see so much evident love between parents and children and I don't, by any means, think I'm the most achieved and best parent out there.  But, I will say that accidents happen...and it's our job to be there if they open their eyes..and our job to be heard if they keep their eyes closed and grimace with the pain.

As for Finley, if you're curious, he's fine.  The wound was quite deep on his forehead so he may have lost the ability to raise his right eyebrow a bit and he's left with an H shaped scar on his forehead (yes, a bit like Harry Potter...heard that three times already!).  If can't do a 'shock horror' expression any longer, I guess there goes any career in the theatre, but he does have a mean scar on his forehead and will return to school with the story already told that Jamie could see his brain.  He has the scars and the legendary injury, I'll have to get him some mean tattoos for his seventh birthday.

What have you had to deal with as a parent? 

How do you handle your child's injuries and illnesses?