The Proper Way to Raise a Child

For Russians living in North East Philly, raising a child is a magical thing.  A magical, but intense thing.

Ok, maybe not magical.  Intense is probably more along the lines of adjectives that describe this phenomenon. Intense with pangs of guilt, and judgey-ness.  Because you describe anything that happens in Northeast Philly without using the descriptor "judgey".

You see, my thoughts of childhood were always rife with memories of playing war in the backyard with the neighborhood boys, pretending I was treating a patient as a leading physician with the neighborhood girls, and living my life according to the tenets of Calvin and Hobbes before Bill Watterson even knew what a "transmogrifier" was.  I even played a version of Calvinball,but I called it "Billy-Ball".  Seriously.

But that's not how it works within the Russian Community.  You see, if you're a child being raised by Russian immigrants, your parents traveled across the entire world to give you a better life, and you'd better live that better life exactly as your parents dictate, goddamn it, even if you turn into a miserable wreck. It's a life-long guilt trip, and nobody does guilt better than Russian Jews.

As Sammy grows older, and discussions stray away from the consistency of his diaper droppings, the conversations are starting to get more centered around what activities we're going to involve him in. 

I'm the third one from the left.

My parents are advocating the position of the free range child - opening the door to the back yard and kicking him out until dinner time, and if he doesn't make it in for that, he'll make it back in for bedtime.  The more dirty, the more broken bones, the more trouble he gets into, the better.  Structure, for them, is bad parenting.  This is probably why I can't concentrate on anything for more than thirty minutes, and I've constantly got three hundred grandiose plans steeping in my brain matter - each one of them still on step 1.  This is definitely not an option, because I want Sammy to have at least some structure in his life.

But my in-laws are about as opposite as you can get.  Their position is typical of the entire Russian immigrant community: the more classes and extracurricular activities the better.  "Because WE never had these classes growing up, and we have decided for you that your future success will depend upon how many activities you've participated in before you graduated from diapers." 

This man is definitely not gay

So Sammy is in for it.  There are already plans for him to go to chess classes with a former chess grand-master, who will allow breaks from learning the Monkey's Bum Opening with mathematics tutoring. Apparently, Sammy will also be involved in dance.  I've been trying to compromise that if dance is a must, then let it be break dance.  How awesome would that be??  But the rest of the family wants either ballet, or ballroom.  "Look how far it got Maksim Chmerkovskiy!" is pretty much the best argument for anything, even those subjects not including dance.  There have also been long discussions over the optimum sport in which to participate.  Being a former swimmer, I suggested swimming.  But apparently, there's not enough strategy involved, and it has been suggested that Soccer would be a better choice. And over the summer, I've always dreamed of having a kid that went to Boy Scout camp, where he learned how to shoot bows and arrows, and build shelter from twigs and leaves, and not shower for a week.  But, there's a very good Science summer camp where he will be introduced to the basics of chemistry, physics, and biology.  Also, he must either play the violin, or the piano.  There is no room for argument there.

"BC" stands for "Birth Control".  

 

Maybe we should also get him some really awesome glasses too?  What the military calls "BC" glasses!  or perhaps a luxury pocket protector with matching calculator case!  They would be especially helpful on his trips to his math tutor's place!  Pretty much the only thing I'm 100% in agreement with is that they're also huge advocates of some kind of martial arts.  Good.  This way, when people who lived normal lives want to beat him up for being such a math and science loving tool-bag, he can protect himself better than resorting to throwing pawns at them. 

There's also the worry that if he DOESN'T do these things, all of the other Russian parents and grandparents will look down on him, saying "Oh, look at Sam-a-yul over there, who is already three years old and does not know how to do multi-variable calculus!  His family must not love or care about him.  What is he going to be able to do with his life?  He can't be a lawyer, or doctor, or financial professional, so he will obviously be a homeless drug-addict." 

Ahh, Northeast Philadelphia, if it wasn't for all the shish-kabobs and vodka, I don't know if our relationship could last.