Tag: Raising Children

I KNOW WHAT HEROES ARE MADE OF… by Art Smukler MD

by artsmuklermd, posted in Penn State, Psychiatry, Raising Children, Self Examination, Uncle Bill's Place, World events, a psychological view

In horrific detail, we learned from the Joe Paterno nightmare that having the most victories in college football can become meaningless. The McCourts taught us that tons of money and greed are just wrong. Donald Trump made it clear that power and arrogance may sell TV spots, but it’s not a style we wish to emulate.

Victories, money and power are all interesting, but for me there is a much simpler way to bring value to the world.

Listen.

Really hear what a person is saying. Respond to his concerns. Don’t spend your time while he’s talking formulating your response; so your story tops his story. If you really listen, the person you’re hearing feels better about himself, feels better about you, and wants to be your friend. You become special and he feels special.

Imagine what it’s like for a child to be heard, for a parent or aunt or uncle to crouch down to his level and take the time to understand what his concern might be. The reassurance that comes from being appreciated and understood can obviate the need for hundreds of victories, greed and power. It creates a sense of inner peace and satisfaction.

I had an uncle who really listened. He wore shapeless turtleneck sweaters and baggy corduroy pants, decided at the age of fifty to become a psychologist, and went out of his way to appreciate the wisdom of the person he was listening to.

I know what heroes are made of…

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, I AM IRONMAN! by Art Smukler MD

by artsmuklermd, posted in Psychiatry, Raising Children, World events, a psychological view

A few months ago, I was watching the Adventures of Ironman, with Dylan, the 3-year-old son of a friend. As we sat together in the dark family room, Dylan said, “Uncle Art, I like Ironman.”

“He is cool,” I answered.

A short time later, Dylan said, “I really like him.”

“Me too.”

After another series showing Ironman whipping the bad guys into submission, Dylan said, “I think I want to be him.” He sat riveted on the sofa, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

“That would definitely be interesting.”

A minute later, Dylan got off the sofa and stood in front of me. “I am Ironman,” he said.

I nodded and smiled at him.

“You don’t understand, Uncle Art, “I AM IRONMAN. I really am.” His little chest was all puffed out and he was flexing both his arms, showing me how huge his biceps were.

“Sometimes I wish I could him too,” I answered.

A few weeks later when I saw Dylan again, he was all decked out wearing a Spiderman costume. “What happened to Ironman?” I asked.

“I’m Spiderman now. Watch!” He bent his legs, spread his arms, and assumed a perfect Spiderman pose. He WAS Spiderman, and I was stuck still being me.

Why do most kids develop a passion for superheroes? To me, the answer is pretty obvious. The world is a scary place. Really scary and really violent. The “mature” adults don’t believe in superheroes, they believe that their religion or religious sect or religious patron is more powerful than their competitors’ religion. They are willing to die for it, and see the rest of us non-believers or different-believers as the enemy.

If only we could choose to be Ironman or Spiderman or Everyman and give everyone the free choice to be whoever they want to be. Maybe, if I were Joe Belmont…