In the 1997 film Liar Liar, we find Jim Carrey on the wrong end of a birthday-wish-gone-wrong by his desperate-to-get-my-dad’s-attention son. For those who haven’t seen the film, Carrey’s character is a hard-working man with his priorities out of place. When his son makes an innocent, yet genuine, birthday wish that his father be only able to tell the truth from that point forward, hilarity ensues for the newly tasked Carrey. While truth-telling may be an admirable attribute that we all would flock to, for Carrey’s character, a lawyer willing to break every rule, including lying, to become a partner at the law firm, this new truth serum was far more than he bargained for.
During one hilarious scene, Carrey tested the boundaries of his lies by simply trying to identify a blue pen as red. After a valiant effort, he conceded to the fact that he simply couldn’t tell a lie – no matter what.
I feel like Carrey right now. However, lying is not my cross to bear. Whereas he couldn’t tell a lie, I seem to have a major problem with saying, “No.”
I’m not sure how often a child prefers to ask dad instead of mom, but if you were to poll my children, you would get a 100% vote that, in most instances, dad is going to be the push-over. Some of these moments are most interesting after one of my children has already gotten the answer of ‘no’ from mom before they trick me into unknowingly uprooting that decision with my naïve-teddy-bear-parenting skills.
I have been this way since I held our first daughter some thirteen years ago. I’ve done my best to attempt to have some more consistency in better parenting decisions and sometimes it works, but for the most part, I often find myself parenting with my emotions when it comes to my children. That sounds noble until you realize I have substituted an emotional strategy rather than what may or may not be best for them. While this approach may seem innocent concerning the intent, I am aware that it isn’t something I want to practice in every situation.
For nearly 10 years I have been the softy parent (not only concerning the 30 lbs of post-high school weight). Although my children have seemed to hone in on this, they haven’t socially matured enough to take full advantage – yet. For nearly 10 years, I all but ignored this parenting flaw and assumed there would be a time that I would outgrow it and focus on doing what was best for them, rather than what made them like me more.
Then my son Caleb was born. I have talked in great length about the 28th day of his life on this earth and how he spent the next 20 plus days fighting to keep it. It was no surprise that as a father who was already prone to having a soft spot for his children, I found myself in quite the predicament when it came to ever even imagining that the word ‘no’ would come out of my mouth should Caleb ever ask for anything.
In fact, I still, to this day, will say, ‘He can have another candy bar – after all he was in the NICU for a month!” Although there is a bit of humor attached to the statement, the sentence usually ends with me handing him that additional candy. He is now 4-years-old. A type of dad-always-says-yes-monster had been created.
I assumed the monster stage had peaked. I was wrong.
We delivered a still-born daughter in 2011. At some point during the two-day stay at the hospital, the yes/no switch that rested deep inside of me was not only disabled but completely broken. Unbeknownst to me, losing my daughter caused what I now know as a secondary loss. That loss was that I have little to no resistance when my youngest son asks for anything. The fact that a lost a child before I was even able to meet her, has branded in me the inability to steer the parental ship with any control. While the house is not upside down and kids are not coming and going at all hours of the night, the fact that I realize the loss of my little girl has changed me in so many ways, I still fear and wonder if I am alone.
During my grief journey, I went from a dad who won’t say no, to a dad who can’t say no. While I may be exaggerating the extent of this newly discovered issue, I still am aware that it is there and I do not have a manual to reference. I know that parents who lose children are changed, but I am not sure how many of them change toward their living and remaining children or rather,to what extent. I assume more hugs are given, deeper felt “I love you’s” are spoken and more time spent together is all-the-more valuable, but what do you do when you are finding it impossible to say no?
As I finish this article, I know my four-year-old will be walking in here soon to ask if he can sleep in our bed tonight. More than that, I already know what I will tell him.
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