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Teach Your Parents Well

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By D'ANN LAWRENCE WHITE | The Tampa Tribune

Published: June 18, 2007

I've always been fond of the 1970 Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young song, "Teach Your Children." But I never truly appreciated the lyrics until I became a parent myself.

The words, "Teach your parents well. Their children's hell did slowly go by," just didn't make sense. What can a child possibly teach a parent?

Now I understand. Sometimes I think I've learned far more from my child than I've taught him.
He doesn't realize he's teaching me anything. They're just simple lessons offered in profound innocence, yet filled with timeless wisdom.

Like many schools, St. Stephen Catholic School takes part in the Kiwanis Club's Terrific Kids program, designed to acknowledge a student's outstanding efforts each month, whether or not they happen to be the best academically or athletically.

With the exception of a few students who have transferred in and out, my son, Ian, has been in a class with the same close-knit group of 30 children from kindergarten through fifth grade. For 45 months he watched as all of his classmates, including the newcomers, received Terrific Kids awards once, twice, sometimes three times. It didn't really bother him that we had no Terrific Kid bumper sticker plastered on our car's back window until his best friend, Ted, got his award on the last month of their fourth-grade year.

Seeing that he was bothered by his lack of an award, I tried to downplay the award's significance. I was determined that his self-esteem not revolve around a piece of paper.

I joked that perhaps we could find a bumper sticker that read, "My child is an un-terrific kid at St. Stephen." And I challenged him to be the first student to go through all eight grades at the school without getting a single Terrific Kid award.

At the same time, I assured him that his lack of an award was an oversight. He was most certainly a "terrific kid" in anyone's book and didn't require a bumper sticker to prove it.
We reinforced that notion, altering the famous line, "We don't need no stinkin' badges," from the movie, "Blazing Saddles."

Whenever I'd see him looking wistfully at a Terrific Kids bumper sticker, I'd say, "We don't need no …" and he'd complete the sentence "… stinkin' award."

Then, one Friday in December, I received a phone call from Ted's mom, Rita, who greeted me, "Hello mother of a terrific kid."

I thought she was teasing and I said, "You mean 'un-terrific kid.'"

No, she was serious. Ted informed her that Ian had gotten the Terrific Kids award that day. I was surprised. Ian hadn't said a word. I told my husband and he surmised that perhaps our son planned to surprise us and announce it later that weekend.

We waited all weekend for him to tell us about the award. Sunday evening rolled around and Ian still hadn't told said a word. I began dropping hints.

"How was your day on Friday?" "Did anything special happen?" "I heard you had a particularly TERRIFIC day."

Ian never uttered a word about the award. My husband and I were baffled.

I finally asked him outright if he'd received a Terrific Kids award. He pounded his forehead and said he'd completely forgotten.

All this time I'd been worried that my son's self-esteem was on the line when, in fact, he could have cared less about the award.

I should have left well enough alone but in January the school e-mailed me its list of Terrific Kid award recipients for the month to publish in the newspaper. I replied back that I'd also like to publish the previous month's list, you know, the list with MY son's name on it. The response was somewhat disconcerting.

It seems, due to the holidays, there were no Terrific Kids awards presented in December. Yes, Ian's teacher gave him an award after six years. However, it wasn't part of the official schoolwide program.

My heart ached for the little guy. No wonder he didn't remember. He hadn't been summoned to the office to receive the award during the school's morning program as was traditional.

At times like this, I'm sure the Rev. Bill Swengros wishes someone had forewarned him about me before he accepted the assignment to St. Stephen Catholic Church. He probably would have high-tailed it to a remote Benedictine monastery where he'd be enjoying blissful solitude right now instead of trying to duck me and my incessant questions.

Instead, he was forced to listen as I told him the story and asked what I should do. I say "forced" because I had trapped him in the confessional where priests have no choice but to sit there and listen to your problems.

He replied that there was really nothing for me to do. Ian had taken the decision out of my hands. He chose piety, said Father Bill.

In Catholic liturgy, a pious person is someone who is willing to perform acts of mercy and kindness without expecting rewards or recognition in return. All they need to know is that they are doing God's will.

It's not an easy virtue to grasp. Even the most giving people sometimes need pats on the back, a moment in the sun, their name in lights, credit where credit's due.

Apparently, my son knows he's a good kid. He knows his parents know he's a good kid. He knows God knows he's a good kid. And that's good enough for him.

The word "piety" came to mind when I crashed the Greater Brandon Community Foundation's annual luncheon at the Bonefish Grill at which the foundation directors distribute the proceeds of the Charity Golf Classic to Brandon area charities.

It's true. I wasn't actually invited. Sharon Silver of the Palmetto Club mentioned it to me at another event and I thought it might be newsworthy so I invited myself. Maybe the foundation didn't want to make a big deal about the fact that they were giving away $100,000 but, to most of these Brandon charities that receive no government or United Way funding, it is a big deal.

I watched as 33 charities, including the Kiwanis Foundation, which funds the Terrific Kids programs at area schools, reaped the rewards that came from a lot of hard work by a lot of people who sought and expected absolutely no recognition. In fact, foundation president, Anne Nymark, had to cajole the board members into standing to receive any recognition at all. Even then, I think James Young and Paul Senory managed to remain hunkered down.

The final speaker at the luncheon was the first recipient of the Foundation Angel Program, established last year to help families with a member who has cancer.

Rhonda Wills said she always expected angels to appear as spectral creatures in white robes with halos, not in the guise of Nymark and foundation co-founder Arlene Waldron who knocked on her door that November evening just as she was getting out of the shower.

Wills' husband, Patrick, had been diagnosed with leukemia in March. And, with all the medical expenses and his inability to work, they couldn't pay the mortgage on the FishHawk Ranch home they lived in with their three sons, Tyler, 10, Hunter, 7, and Keller, 3.

"They gave us an amazing gift," said Wills. "They helped us with our house payments and we were able to have peace of mind instead of worrying about losing our home."

The Foundation Angel Program recruits resources throughout the community to help families. When the Wills' air-conditioner stopped working, Chuck Long of Ice Pro Mechanical fixed it at no cost. And when the daily trip to the Moffitt Cancer Institute and Research Center began taking its toll on Wills' car, which already had 108,000 miles on it, Autoway Nissan manager Chris Trotti repaired the car and then helped her purchase a new one.

Patrick Wills died three months ago but Rhonda Wills' angels haven't deserted her.
As I stood by, waiting for my chance to talk to Wills, Diana Niles from the Brandon Family YMCA walked up and offered her children a scholarship for summer camp and Susan Saunders, a board member at Center Place, offered Wills' children free children's theater tickets and art classes.
You'd never hear about any of this, though, if I hadn't crashed that luncheon.

Given the same circumstances, I hope I would act with equal humility. I hope I will always want to give simply for the sake of giving, not for how I might be viewed by others.

I hope my child has taught me well.

D'Ann Lawrence White is a reporter and columnist for the Brandon News & Tribune.

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