(Almost) Inner-City Parenting

Unlike the pattern described recently in a Vox article in parenting in the inner-city, my wife and I moved from the 'burbs to the inner-city before becoming parents.  There might be quibbling about the definition of inner-city in the part of Calgary where we have lived for the last nine years.  Calgary has its onion layers of growth and development and we moved 16km closer to downtown, from the layer that afforded the view of the northwestern city limits to a neighbourhood where the original houses are over 100 years old.

At the time of the move, we actually increased the square footage we occupied, moving from a newish 1000-square-foot townhouse to a 1400 square-foot apartment-style condominium. Parenthood was not on the horizon when we moved, but we immediately came to appreciate the walkability of the neighbourhood.  As I said, it was not significant at the time, but rather than facing the prospects of bussing our son past an empty lot declaring itself (as it has for nine years) the future site of a school, we are now within 1.2 kilometres of three elementary schools. Our son's is just 500 metres away. Beyond that there are three playgrounds, two pools and the daycare that he has attended for the last 2 1/2 years. The level of car traffic being makes me reluctant to let him head out on his bicycle on his own but with time, he will be able to navigate his way onto the bike paths safely.  Ultimately, though, we are in a location where he will have relative independence to move about on his own without being reliant on his mother and I to get to school by car.

When Gabriel came along, there was no impulse to pull up stakes and head to the burbs for the extra space and a patch of grass that we could declare exclusively ours.  The infrastructure in our neighbourhood is abundant.  If there was an issue with the space in the condominium, we would adapt to it and we would cross our fingers that this would be what he grew up knowing.  We have ready access not only to the schools, daycare, parks and pools, but the transit system within a 7-minute walk.  Transit easily gets us to music class, downtown, museums, the zoo, movie theatres and other facilities that are all keys parts of free time that I spend with my son (without relying on the car.)

There are other parts of Calgary, namely the still-developing East Village, that have the potential to give families the opportunity to stay right in the downtown area.  Schools are currently a little harder to come by in the East Village, but the amenities there are quite attractive. With museums, the library and playgrounds all nearby, the main issues are proximity to schools and whether or not developers are willing to provide the space families need or if they favour the profitability of smaller units.

In our case, the space we have is more than enough.  If we happened to have ended up having two children, we may have had some tougher decisions to make, especially if we ended up with a boy and a girl, but at this point, the 1400 square feet we have is more than enough. The blog 5 Kids 1 Condo makes the case that a bit of hacking (both in terms of trimming away the unessential and finding a few deft short cuts) would further maximize the way we use our space.  Our mindset throughout, however, has been to use the amenities around us as much as possible rather than insulating ourselves in a detached home and investing a lot of time and energy in duplicating what is readily at hand.

The lessons that we have learned and the habits we have developed are all different from what would be the case in the 'burbs.  Our son has probably socialized more on the nearby playgrounds and his time walking or travelling by transit has exposed him to a wider variety of people from walks of life he would not encounter if he was chauffeured about the city from a distant locus of similar houses with a vista of matching garage doors extending down a street.

Owning Up

Our Saturday morning rituals truncated for the summer, we have foregone the music lessons until the fall, but we still squeeze in our lunch pizzas with my cronies and yesterday, one of the less regular attendees in the circle asked Gabriel if he had a piggy bank and after a confirming nod, handed over a toonie.

Prior to that, my inquiry about whether Gabriel was ready to get on the train was met with some excitement, even if it did not entail a stop for a snack at Starbucks. The view of the city from the train still holds its command over Gabriel, and of course, there is a bit of local colour or grit on the train that he does not encounter from a backseat of the car.

When we arrived on the platform and he punched our ticket for the ride, Gabriel gravitated toward a boy who was a year older but happened to be playing with an Optimus Prime Transformer toy and wearing a baseball cap, just like Gabriel - check, check.  The two of them fell into easy conversation and when that happens as spontaneously as it does, about ten minutes passed before they got around to exchanging names.  When we boarded the train, they sat together.  The boy's father had little in common with me other than the boys and the proximity of their ages.  He was dressed in colours that seemed dark and muted by neglect or disregard. He had a large tattoo that covered most of his left bicep and for the moment preoccupied himself with his cellphone, something I am not above but wasn't doing this time around as Gabriel was inviting me to explain my affection for the long-gone Montreal Expos as we walked to the station.

As the train headed downtown, Gabriel and the boy continued their conversation and as it unfolded, the boy felt the need to raise the point that the police had taken his Dad's car for no apparent reason. The father in measured, resigned tones indicated that the car was taken because he had a suspended license. There was not a moment of disrespect for authority or the suggestion that he was hard-done-by or deserved or needed a break or express anything to indicate that anyone else was to blame.  My respect for the man was moved to the level he deserved and for the moment I discarded the narrative I was writing about a weekend father putting the time in.  He was setting a great example for his son and for myself.  It is easy to forget the importance of setting an example, especially when it comes to responsibility.

So the next time there is an opportunity to avoid taking myself down a notch in my son's estimation of me, I will remind myself of this man and father who acknowledged reality rather than trying to revise it to suit me in the short term.

The Curse of Imitation

It happened.  It may have actually happened in countless other ways that I have been able to discount with varying degrees of denial.  My sighs of exasperation are not quite that dramatic; he probably picked it up at daycare from a kid who picked it up from his or her folks.  The eye roll? Okay, that might have been me, but I usually turn away and lift my head to the heavens.  Still safe.  The running? Yeah, that's me.  The resistance to sleep? Nature, not nurture, so I shrug off that genetic hand-off with some resignation.

But this one, I could not deny. The Dude was playing with friends at his grandparents' neighbours two Sundays back.  I was there as well, providing some vigilance to relieve the neighbour the burden of tending to my son in addition to her own two sons. We were chatting about kids, summer travel plans and such when Gabriel let out an impatient yell that immediately clanged on my conscience.  That was me, clearly something he picked up from me and my go-to move when patience has worn thin or frankly I'm too lazy for a mindful, calmer approach.  I immediately (and calmly and gently, I can add) called him over.  I was not preoccupied with appearances and what this younger mother might think. 

Gabriel sat on my knee thoughtfully and was prepared to listen.  There was something about his surrender or openness at that moment that reminded me of a heart-to-heart we had a few weeks before. We sat on the sofa and in the course of the conversation I assured him that I would always be looking out for him and that making sure he was happy and safe.  In response he replied, "I never knew that," and there was a sense that it was a genre of father-son conversation that we would be able to have regularly and that there was an honest give and take.

This time around though, I spoke straight up about how he was picking up a bad habit from me - the yell.  I told him that it was something I learned and that I was trying to unlearn it and that I needed him to unlearn it before it became a habit.  I have been conscious of my tendency for a long time and when I catch myself, I can manage to alter my tone or volume after a tumultuous start to make a change that only a sensitive ear like that of a novelist or a child can pick up on.  On this occasion, though, with him on my knee and quiet with a sense of the moment, but it his guilt or mine.  Perhaps in his case, there was the realization that the yelling thing did not render any benefits.  For that moment, I had the feeling that I was getting through to him and making a pact that the two of us could hold each other to.  

I did not give him much opportunity to speak on this occasion and I did not ask him to apologize to his friends.  If anything I should have apologized to them, but there was enough self-flagellation for the moment without puzzling two pre-schoolers with this bout of self-awareness.

For the past ten days I've managed to rein in the volume and find that extra bit of patience when I'm being tested.  There was even a little revelation from Alice Munro's The View From Castle Rock where she talked about a relationship between parent and son that underlined the fact that being overprotective of your child (guilty as charged) ultimately prompts the kid to test your limits rather than his own and come to some discovery of self-regulation as limits are tested independently.  (If that revelation has reached all of her readers, she deserves another Nobel to go with her one for Literature.)

So, I've dialled back the over-protective, over-corrective impulses. When he scampered off recklessly from a crosswalk (and me) on Monday and landed in a heap after tripping on his feet, I just hoisted him up and comforted him until the tears ended. I held on and let the storm pass and we were both assured that he would live. Tonight, with his feet brown with dirt from an afternoon on the playground and him in no mood for a bath or shower (on consecutive days?!?!) I found the compromise of a ticklish footwash in the sink as he sat on the vanity counter. The novelty amused him and got the job done without undue battle over territory.

The yell, hopefully, will see its decline and disappearance. I'll be the tough nut to crack since it is a go-to in times of stress. It may not be the most reasonable expectation, it is a goal - especially when the dialogue has been already so valuable and illuminating with Gabriel when he's barely 5 1/2.

Onward.