Before I had kids, I didn't like the idea that DNA played a major role in who one's kids were. I wanted to think that my own excellent parenting (and who doesn't think they'll be an excellent parent?) would create these wonderful, polite, well-behaved, knowledgeable, mature kids. I figured people were about 90% the creation of their environment and relationships, and 10% genetically determined, so my kids would be... well, stupendous in every respect, right? (This was also the era when, laughably enough, I believed we wouldn't even have a TV in the house.)
Popular parenting books sell themselves by implying that kids are nothing but the product of their parenting (so if you want good kids, you'd better buy this book). Parenting magazines make the same argument, for the same financial reasons. The educational toy industry rests on the assumption that kids are either smart or dumb (according to a very narrow definition of intelligence) depending on their parents' consumer behavior. And advertisers of baby-related products are, of course, trying to use our parental love to make us buy things, and that's best achieved if we believe that we shape our kids almost entirely, particularly in the first year or two. Obviously, parenting plays a very strong role in the kind of person a child grows up to be, but business interests and professionals concerned with children subtly push us to think it plays the only role.
One massive drawback to our cultural belief that parenting creates people is that we underestimate the natural variability of babies and kids. It's not just our schools that behave as if children are homogenous and interchangeable. Have you ever seen a parenting book that divides kids into several different personality types, and then tailors advice on potty training, bedtime struggles, or tantrums according to your child's particular personality? Dieting books talk about metabolic type and tailor their suggestions accordingly, but I've never seen a similar approach in a parenting book. Among adults, even the corporate workplace often acknowledges personality type through things like the Myers-Briggs test. But one bit of advice fits all, when it comes to popular parenting.
One thing that isn't often discussed among parents is that some children are orders of magnitude more stubborn than other children. This is a difference which affects basically every other aspect of parenting during the toddler and preschool years, and yet, you can't really discuss it with mere acquaintances, because to claim your kid is simply more stubborn than most sounds like some kind of parenting cop-out. Nor would you want to crow about how tremendously docile your child is, as this would annoy other moms, e.g. the moms who feel it's a personal triumph that their kid is wearing clothing.
Here's an example. I had read, a few year back, that you shouldn't give in to a 2- or 3-year-old having a tantrum, because what they learn, then, is that in order to get their way they need only throw another tantrum. It seemed so unassailably logical that even though it was heart-wrenching to let Anya cry and carry on, I tried this... exactly once. One afternoon we had a dispute, and I didn't give in for the longest time-- three hours, I'd guess-- because I had convinced myself that the first time I put my foot down would be the hardest and after this she would be... I don't know, meeker. But what I belatedly realized was that this common advice about tantrums was based on an assumption I hadn't detected at first, namely: that at some point the child will give up. My kids do not give up. Explanation and negotiation are your only recourse, and that's the end of that story. Putting your foot down like a drill sergeant is an exercise in futility and only tortures everyone involved.
I realize that some people with easier kids wouldn't believe me, and would think I lacked commitment or that I was exaggerating. And that brings me to the unspoken truth surrounding difficult, challenging, unusual, yes-we-love-them-but-damn-are-we-tired kids. The parents who don't have tough kids don't know they don't have tough kids. If you try commiserating with them, they explain to you what they did in your situation-- or what they think they did-- to produce their passive, docile, obedient cherubs. The (usually unintended) implication is: what the hell did you do wrong?
I said to a mom recently (a mom that I like, by the way) that Anya is a really picky eater. And she said "Well, we just didn't give our kids much choice about the food they ate." I just smiled faintly and didn't say much, recognizing that she clearly had no concept whatsoever of the term "picky eater". I didn't have hard feelings, I just knew that she didn't get it. This would be my definition:
Picky Eater: n. A child who will willingly starve and forego meals rather than eat undesirable foods; behavior is often accompanied by phobic reactions and/or excessive gag reflex.
I should make it clear that I have never let Anya go hungry for very long, but we did once spend an entire afternoon in on-and-off crying, pleading, and bargaining (this applies to both of us) over a lunch dispute. In the end I had to give in because she still had not eaten lunch and it was time to start making dinner. I have tried bribes, and I've even tried appealing to her competitive nature, by pointing out that her younger brother will eat anything (seriously: sushi, hot and sour soup, curries, kalamata olives, asparagus, salad, gorgonzola, lentils... anything). As things stand, Anya will not even touch the pieces of grape or apple we drop into her bug cage to feed insects. So, the idea that you can set food on the table, act stern, and eventually your kids will acquiesce and agree to eat it... well, sure they will. As long as they aren't picky eaters.
To give another example, I'm friends with a mom who does attachment parenting and has very well-behaved kids. They don't run off, throw tantrums, or shout "No!" as far as I have ever seen. She carries her youngest around in a sling most of the time. This mom was present when, a year or so ago, Tristan was having an unholy fit at a botanical conservatory with a cement floor, and I had to get down on the floor with him and protect his head so he wouldn't bash it against the cement. He was screaming and I couldn't even move, couldn't even gather up Anya and prepare to escape (she was nowhere to be seen-- another mom went to fetch her, thankfully)... and this attachment parenting mom said to me, sympathetically, "I do have an extra sling, if you want it." Which was very kind of her, but my children never put up with swaddling or slings or baby carriers for more than the first few weeks of life. Yes, I am an attachment parent, but no, my kids did not like slings. The idea that a sling could cure the torrential fury of one of my children's tantrums was somewhat comical.
I used to draw conclusions about parents based on their kids' behavior (particularly before I had kids, as is always the case). It seems to be the knee-jerk reaction, to look at a child's actions and immediately assess what this says about the kid's parents. But why? Isn't it more direct to wonder what this says about the child, their innate characteristics, and who they might become as adults? Why don't we go to playgroups and story hour and playgrounds and think, "Boy, she's given to theatrics," instead of "Boy, is she spoiled"? Or, "Aw, he's a sensitive little guy," instead of "She coddles him too much." Or "Sheesh, if he can lie like that he must be destined for Congress" instead of "Wow, have his parents ever heard of instilling honesty?"
We've gone too far toward denying genes and either glorifying or blaming parents. This parenting culture produces guilt and fear because every second of a child's behavior is taken as evidence of our parenting by a large proportion of society. And meanwhile, our children's individuality is ignored, their innate characteristics go unappreciated.