Thor!
You all know the guy I’m talking about, the one who just won’t let it go, who is in your face, who believes that everyone must—repeat must-- benefit from his insights.
For the purposes of this essay, salespeople, political zealots, and religious adherents will be assiduously ignored. Our community of loving parents is predicated on acceptance and deference. My proselytizing is limited to recommending Parcheesi and camping--with the occasional shout out for enjoying mathematics and healthful exercise. My essays are cafeteria style—take what you like, leave the rest. If my ideas reinforce what my gentle readers are searching for, awesome! If I offend, the unsubscribe button—my broken heart notwithstanding—appears on every essay.
Consider an acolyte of Heathenry, the modern revival of traditional Norse paganism. Heathenry does have modern adherents, none of whom are engaged in trying to convert anybody. So the following is purely a thought experiment. Stay with me. We’ll get back to raising healthy kids in these tricky times.
Picture a knock on your door. An insistent fellow invites you to discuss Mjolnir, Thor’s hammer. You politely decline to engage and tenderly shut the door only to be annoyed an instant later by your window rattling. “Frigg, Odin’s wife, must be worshiped,” the young man exclaims. “She is the goddess of motherhood, love, and marriage!”
You courteously explain that you are quite satisfied with the beliefs, or lack thereof, you already hold and that you have to get back to work. Only to notice a moment later that the young man has broken through a wall in your bedroom and is screaming, “Tyr sacrificed his hand to bind the monstrous wolf, Fenir!” While you consider alerting the authorities, he launches into a diatribe about the Norns, Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld. “You must worship them!” he continues. “They determine the fates of all beings! Even the gods!”
You consider how to get rid of your impassioned, uninvited visitor. You wonder if your home owner’s policy will cover the cost of repairing the hole in your bedroom wall. Eventually, reason prevails. The young man is excused. You go on with your life.
End of thought experiment. Again, those enamored of Heathenry aren’t knocking on doors. But imagine they were. Imagine that the phone call is coming from insight the house, that the followers of Odin and Loki are already downstairs, that there is no escape from their incessant harangue. Worse, imagine that in order to eat a meal, read a book, or even just go to the bathroom you had to listen once again to the compelling reasons for learning the names of all the Valkyries.
Is that how your children feel?
Are your kids overwhelmed with “do your math homework, fill in your applications to college"? Do your kids ever get a break from "behave as I do, believe as I do”? Are the majority of your interactions with your kids telling them what to do?
Is it any wonder some kids shut out their parents? Is is surprising that many of our children turn to their (admittedly ill-informed) peers?
Obviously, you’re not pushing Heathenry. And I’m on your side. You know how strongly I feel about sharing my love of literature, of discourse, of ideas, with my beloved children. My concern regards how hard--not what--we suggest.
Because our children don't have an “unsubscribe” button. They don't have access to “mute” or ever “pause.” Sometimes our kids just need a break from our guidance. If our ideas are good enough, our kids will absorb them without the constant repeating, no home repair necessary.