When I was growing up my family loved to huddle around the TV and watch “American Idol.” We started way back in season one with Kelly Clarkson and watched every year as contestants were chosen and eliminated based on the wills of millions of viewers, each armed with cell phones and a number to call and vote. I always hated the first month of episodes where the show focused on the auditions, the sob stories, and winning the golden ticket. I much rather preferred “Hollywood week” where the knives came out and everything became super dramatic almost instantly. That was the fun part. I loved seeing people break under pressure, be voted off the island (to mix my reality show metaphors), and watch the judges tear into the contestants. As time goes on in my foster care experience, I’ve come to realize that auditions are over and I’m DEEP into Hollywood week, or what I like to call “parental hell.” It’s only Wednesday, but it seems like this week has gone on forever. Calls from the principal, calls from our son’s teacher, complaints from the neighbor, my son giving me the silent treatment, and my first experience with laying down the law and having to discipline the poor kid. It’s been brutal. I suppose if my life right now is actually like a reality show, then I already know I’m the winner, right? Like, I’m the one who has to come out at the end. Honestly, I’m the only contestant. Though, if this is a game, I guess it’s more like “The Price is Right.” I’m standing on the stage being presented with random items and I’m supposed to guess correctly or as close to correct as I can. However, imagine an alien from another planet playing “The Price is Right.” They would have no clue how much a microwave is worth or how it compares to a bottle of shampoo. In this scenario, I’m that alien and every item I’m being presented with is a different behavior that my son has suddenly started exhibiting. How I respond to that behavior will determine if I “win the game” or if I get sent home empty-handed. But I have no clue what the answers are. I’m just trying to get as close as possible. Of course, I know that this job isn’t a game. It’s serious. There’s a lot of laughter and I’ve quickly come to realize that I’m the “fun parent” but at the end of the day the stakes are higher than a million-dollar grand prize or a trip to Hawaii. Since I create the rules, I’m kind of like the host of the game show. So why am I the one who ends up crying at the end of the night as if I was just eliminated? All I can think is that I want everyone to win. Participation trophies are on the house. But in the parenting game, you have to get really comfortable with losing. Every time your child gets a penalty, it feels like you’re taking the loss too, and you’re not even on the field. My husband says that the advice contestants receive from the judges “helps to make them better.” Maybe he has a point and knows what he’s talking about since he binged multiple seasons of “Master Chef” in a week. Yet I bet you could ask any contestant right after they’ve been eliminated if they’re grateful for the critique they received and they’d say, “absolutely not.” I’m not either. Friends and family can tell me “you’re doing great!” I can get pointers from the caseworker and read up on the best practices for parenting all day, but when the score is being kept, it’s a zero-to-zero tied game and the match is forfeited. It feels horrible and no matter what I have to wake up tomorrow and play the game all over again. Such is life. (And yes, I know there are obvious board game references that I could make to the actual game “Life” but I’ll spare you on my relentless metaphors.) When it comes down to it, I’m writing the rules while playing the game. I’m building the plane while we’re already 50 thousand feet in the air. I don’t know if I’m doing it right or if there even is a “right” way to be a parent, but I’ve got a really great team and we plan to take this all the way to the championships. Practice makes perfect, or so I hear. If parents were awarded medals, like at the Olympics, then I could at least judge myself against others, but there’s no rubric. There’s no score board. There isn’t even a way to know when the game is over. For now, I just have to get through “Hollywood week.” For what it’s worth, most of the singers who actually had a successful singing career after American Idol were contestants who got eliminated. Many of the winners faded into obscurity. Maybe I don’t have to win, I just to have confidence in my decisions and keep pushing forward. [email protected]
0 Comments
|
Erick L. Graham WoodHello there! Archives
June 2023
Categories |