Are You Guilty of Fuffle?
An acronym my husband came up with a few years ago: FUFfLe. Pronounced "fuffle."
It came about one evening while attending a family dinner. My son was about ten and his younger cousin, my nephew, was a little younger, maybe nine. As we all went to the parking lot to get in our cars, I watched my nephew get into the back seat of my brother's car--and he was still riding in a booster seat. Now...technically, maybe his weight warranted the car seat, and you know, he was supposed to be in it. But the kid looked mortified as he mounted the car into his little seat. I half expected my brother to produce a bike helmet and fasten it to his son's head.
I pointed the scene out to my husband, who promptly said, "That's a fuffle." I asked him what that was, and he told me, on the spot, about his acronym/made-up word and what it meant. FUFfLe: Fuck You Up for Life.
I laughed pretty hard, and although I doubt the kid is "fuffled," it still makes me laugh as I think of his face as he got into that car seat.
There are parents who are complete morons who commit fuffles every day because of neglect, abuse or just plain ignorance. Then there are the good--great, even--parents, parents like my brother and sister-in-law, who commit fuffles without knowing it. We're going to talk about the latter type of parent today.
Overprotective parents have the best intentions. They want their children safe, happy and making good choices. Many want to spare their kids from making the same mistakes they made as youngsters. They are the parents who yell "make good choices!" out their car windows at their teen as the kid sprints away, pretending they don't know them. But being overprotective can be as harmful as being thoughtless.
I knew a mother once who wouldn't let her child run on anything but grass. If she tried to run on the sidewalk, she would tell her not to run or she'll "fall down and skin her knee." The message is, "I don't trust your ability to use your legs well, so you shouldn't trust it either." Or, another message: "Be afraid."
My two daughters had friends next door with whom they played all the time, a brother and sister--and the mother was seriously wigged. She wouldn't let them eat processed foods or meat. Their lives were regimented to the point where she still made them take naps even though they were well out of toddlerhood. I don't know what happened to those kids, but if experience serves, I bet they were hell on wheels as teenagers.
My grandmother was notoriously protective of my dad as a child. She wouldn't even let him outside to play unless she could be there, right next to him. When my dad had children of his own, she would come over, sit at the window and watch them, exclaiming "Oh!" and "Ah!" at every misstep or fall her grandchildren made. The result? My father was afraid of everything. It was something all five of my siblings and I had to overcome as we grew, and some of us still carry fear of ordinary things with us, despite our efforts, because my father passed his fear down as we all must when we are raised with something so pervasive. My grandmother's legacy would fuffle my dad--for life (pardon the redundancy).
On the flip side, my grown daughters are constantly challenging my parenting of their younger brother. One is childless, one has a five year old, so naturally, both of them are expert parents.
"You let him play THAT?"
"You let him watch THAT?"
"You let him do THAT?"
"You let him listen to THAT?"
Incidentally, I was much less lenient on both of my daughters than I am my son. I was pretty protective of them. Needless to say, both of them put me through special kinds of hell as adolescents, so I guess, in a way, they are reacting like the overprotective parents with their brother, trying to make sure he doesn't make the same mistakes they did.
What they don't understand is that I've learned as a parent--through parenting them, actually, that there are places you tighten up, and places you loosen. But they still challenge me. I know they do it because they love their brother. I also know they do it because they lack the experience of 25 years of parenting. Toss in a little jealousy ("You would have never let me see that movie when I was his age"), and there you have it.
I still battle my own overprotectiveness with my son at times, though, but I'm aware of it. My husband is a good balance for me. He reminds me that if I let my son know *I* think he can do something, then *he* will think he can do it, too. Even if it's scary for me, like letting him ride the bus alone. He's almost thirteen; it's time I let him learn to navigate the world around him. Doesn't mean I don't make sure he's safe or that he's ignorant of the dangers out there, it just means I have to trust what I've taught him, and let go a little.
So far, I don't think I've committed any fuffles with him. But...I do tell him to make good choices. I just make sure and do it while he's still in the car, alone, and the windows are rolled up. And I make sure he knows what "good choices" actually means.
