There are three core values that I thought I'd impose as a parent, which I've found I have no interest in "imposing"--if that can be done successfully with values.
First, I imagined we'd be a screen-free family, or only watch Sesame Street. Ha.Sesame Street scares the crap out of my kid. "Mario's Nightmare" on youtube does not. My only explanation of this is that it has something to do with being overwhelmed by eye contact and emotional expression in more typical movies. In the meantime, I scare away wonderful, well-meaning parents when I say my four-year-old has mastered multiple Mario video games.
Second, I imagined my kid would have a thorough and intensive social justice education before kindergarten. That I'd check out books by racially diverse authors that dealt with struggles like slavery, Jim Crow, the Trail of Tears, housing discrimination, and immigration as well as diverse religions, arts, histories, geography. Instead, I've realized I can't force them to read things and neither of us have time to read things that some blog listed as the most educational book about diversity.
I still try to get diverse books in, but they look more like Chris Raschka's goofy series of jokes, Moosey Moose and Crabby Crab. This then brings us to his Yo, Yes and The Hello Goodbye Window, both of which use subtle social interactions tinged with grace to discuss with Black/white American relations. Yo, Yes for example deals with shyness, which is how my kid understands their difficulty with social interaction. It promotes interracial friendship but not in the facebook meme, stunted reading of "I Have a Dream" kind of way where two cute babies with different skin tones hold hands. Instead, it so gracefully grapples with the difficulty of interracial friendship via differences in language (Yo and Yes), demeanor, and style. All of which contribute to miscommunications but can be overcome and can enrich the friendship. The book is so rich because my child identifies with shyness and understands a bit about whiteness, but when they're happy and confident their style of communication resembles so much the brash "Yo!" that starts the book, the sudden and simple way boys make friends:
I also thought that we would protest together for women's rights, for Black Lives Matter, for Native land rights, to end war. I brought them to protests as a baby but, even as a baby, they'd be overwhelmed by the people. Then it got too hard, and by the time they were three I realized I needed to respect their sensory needs, that a protest was too much.
But lately that's begun to shift again. I don't lecture them about politics, but I did tell them I was sad about Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, that they were hurt by police because the police thought they were scary because of their skin color. I told them I was sad about war in Syria and we watched a video of kids painting a bus in Aleppo. And since my husband and I fought and cried after the US election, and I could barely function for days, I found obvious need to tell them about the "mean" president who doesn't like people because they are different than him. And how people think women can't be president even though women can do all the things men can do.
In the week after the election, we were walking through our neighborhood and saw a peace flag with a hand-written note on it, saying "My name is ___ ___ and I did not vote for Trump." For whatever reason this warmed my heart. To begin to speak and protest, to say no publicly and begin to say no together. And since I stopped and gazed at the sign, I told my child why, that the sign was a kind of protest against the mean president.
Ever since seeing that sign, they have wanted to protest. We even made it, baby and all, to the electoral college protest. Amazingly, they were motivated and not afraid, enough that they were able to march themself for a few minutes and sit for a few minutes among all the people. Those ten minutes of involvement mean so much to me, and to them, much more than the hours I would have put in had I taken them to protests where they were overwhelmed and wanted to hide.
Finally, I thought we would be healthy. My husband and I eat a ridiculously healthy diet with loads of vegetables. My child eats bread and cheese and a few vegetable fragments. Yet while I'm trying to use whatever playful, therapeutic resources I have to help them feel comfortable with new foods, I also know that I don't want to make food a point of stress or guilt or dejection.
My husband and I also hike and want to be out in nature as much as possible. This has been a surprising roller coaster as parents. Camping and being in nature are in many ways the best thing we can do for our child. The world becomes their playground, social rules don't apply in the same way. The ground is not a blank surface to be cleaned but a treasure trove of materials (sticks, dirt) for their imagination. There are no walls, and in some ways they need to create a safe nook (the picnic table and tent provide security and stability) but in other ways this is comforting.
Still, our romantic tradition of hiking every other weekend has radically changed since they got too big to carry all the way. I thought I would be like a friend of mine and just keep hiking, forcing the kid to tag along. I thought I would insist on physical effort in exchange for treats and vistas and the value of nature. Instead, we've found that we have no desire to force them to hike, and the result is that it's rare if we go a mile out. We can still pick them up but not for long. For the past couple years not forcing them to hike has meant very little hiking. The constant change in environment makes them shut down rather than be motivated to continue.
Until now, because now there is Mario. Suddenly they are hiking and it's because of screen time. When we start walking anywhere--around the neighborhood or in a forest--they want to play Mario (identified by a specific game, because the titles "New Super Mario Bros. U" or "Super Mario 3D World" are hugely important). Once we have our assigned roles--Bowser, Mario, Princess Peach, Baby Luigi--they run down the trail or sidewalk for miles. Because we're throwing electricity at them, because they're got a one-up, because the whole world becomes their playground.
If last year was about embracing their autism and not imposing expectations, this year is about learning what they are capable of, beyond and completely separate from the things I imagined before I had kids. I had boxes to check off before I had kids--literacy education, social justice, health--and I thought I knew what that would look like: PBS, protests, hiking, and nature education.
Now, I still have the same values but I respect that their learning--rather than me teaching--those values means they are put through the kaleidoscope that is themself: their autism, their desire to be "girly" combined with their so often brash demeanor, their coming of age in this political climate, their digital world where they watch us on our smartphones and knows that messages from grandma come via screens.
There is no way I could have predicted or anticipated or imposed what the values in their world should be. Instead, they're teaching me, and they're challenging themself not because I check out the right books from the library and force them on them. Not because I drag them out for a 5 mile hike at 7am. Not because I turn off the screen and make them go outside. But because the world is fun and challenging. Because they enjoy a battle between Mario characters and the different shapes of an oak leaf. Because they want to read goofy books and is upset that war and racism hurt people. Because they love signs of all kinds, about water drains or traffic or politics. Because they love to draw in the dirt and have their tablet charged for the whole camping trip.
I sometimes wince at reconnecting with old friends who've had babies. I'm pretty sure that when I was a new parent, if I'd met someone like me now I would have thought they were nuts. Video games, a diet of cheese sandwiches, so much less diversity education than I imagined and wanted, autism: these are things I was afraid of. These are now things that have shattered my white upper middle class snobbery and made my life beautiful.