Why I Stopped Telling My Sons to “Be Careful”
I started saying, “Pay Attention” instead.
Photo by Unsplash
When my almost-ten-year-old was about three, I stopped directing him to “be careful” and replaced that common parental command with, “Pay attention.” I was beginning to realize I didn’t want to raise boys who are careful. I want to raise boys who pay attention.
For example, if G climbs onto the roof of the treehouse, I want him to pay attention to his footing on the slanted plastic roof; to pay attention to groans in the roof that indicate too much weight. I tell him, pay attention to balance. Backflips into the pool? Pay attention to the jumping distance from the edge. This exchange actually resulted in eight staples in his head. His first four flips were successful. Then, he reported feeling lazy and not paying attention to form. I figured the next time he tried this he would jump out further over the water. He decided to take a break from poolside backflips for awhile. And I decided it was very, very good his fireman dad was there. (He resumed backflips are few weeks later.)
My husband and I are striving to equip our sons with tools that enable them to pay attention to a number of factors in any given activity and use the information to successfully achieve their goals.
Backflips, line drives past third base, surfing in a big swell. As I type, my oldest is practicing new skateboard moves on the ramps he won at the school raffle. He is not wrapped in bubble-wrap. His knees look like they’ve been pounded with a mallet. I don’t want him to be careful. But I make damn sure I keep repeating the words (okay, yelling the words) PAY ATTENTION!
I feel a pull to add a tiny qualifier here. As I reread the words above, I seem to convey a certain centered, Zen-like approach to all of this. In actuality, my heart rate often increases and my blood pressure goes up when he attempts some of these things. Sometimes, I would actually like to wrap him in bubble-wrap and let him only jump off very short walls. Some days I tell him I can’t handle the stunts. I’m paying attention to my own limitations. And I’m his mother, so he listens.
Paying attention extends beyond my parenting and has become more of a rallying cry for how I want to live. In relationships, for instance, I have historically been drawn to being careful, which might mean being conflict-free or not too weird/invasive/persistent/dorky. However, when I’ve committed to paying attention to people around me vs. being careful, I find myself knocking on a neighbor’s door at 8:30 PM when I learn her long-ailing husband died while we were out of town. That specific night I felt impulsive and a little nuts but I paid attention to my heart’s pull to reach out. I then had the humbling privilege of sitting on her steps for an hour sharing some of her grief.
Paying attention also means, as I mentioned above, listening to my own needs and limits. (I hate having limits and needs. I am told this is being human.) Now in my 40s, I pay more attention to my need for quiet, solitude, an evening on the couch with the Real Housewives.
Paying attention as a wife means I’m dedicated to practicing this with my husband; dedicated to paying attention to our energy together, to my anger in conflict, to times when we’re disconnected. Because I’m married to someone who is also open to practicing awareness together, this works well. Now, this doesn’t mean all is peace and roses in our marriage. It means that when we fight, we pay attention to ourselves, our patterns over 21 years and to each other so that we can effectively repair after I’ve called him words I don’t want to include here because my mom might read this.
I could go on and on. Paying attention can be exhausting. Sometimes I take breaks. Did you see I mentioned the Real Housewives above? But I am confident it is worth pursuing: paying attention and the real housewives.