Do as I say, not as I do…

Every once in a while I experience an event that reminds me of my own hypocrisy. There are times when I need my children to remind me that I need to practice what I preach. We all want to think that we are models of perfect parenting, however, we all need to do better.

One such event occurred a few months ago, during one of the few cold snaps we experienced this winter. As I prepared to leave for work Kate noted that it seemed cold in the house. She was sure the furnace was not working. My furnace is junk. The smallest breeze will extinguish the pilot light. The pilot is located in an awkward place, and never, ever lights without a struggle.

Already upset at the prospect of being late for work and anticipating the fight, I trudged to the basement, a box of matches in hand. As I had anticipated, the pilot gave me fits. It was at this time that I was transformed into ‘the old man’ in ‘A Christmas Story’. ‘In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan…’

After a protracted engagement with the furnace I emerged from the utility room victorious and left for work, knowing that my home would be warm and cozy all day long. By the time the furnace was again pumping hot air through the house, the children were awake, dressed and eating breakfast.

Unbeknownst to me, Patrick, whose bedroom is adjacent the utility room was awake during my attempts to light the pilot light. He heard everything. He told Kate that I used every word he could think of. That’s a lot of words, and I can’t deny it. I have a short, hot fuse, (that I inherited from my mother) and when I get worked up, I have a tongue that can cut diamond.

Needless to say, I was humbled at the thought of my son hearing me losing my temper and using language that I would not tolerate from him. Certainly it was a good lesson for me.

The lesson was reiterated to me this week. As the temperature dropped yesterday, Kate suggested that the furnace might not be working. I entered the utility room and closed the door. After taking the front panel off, I discovered to my delight that the pilot light was still glowing. As I replaced the front panel, the door behind me opened and Patrick entered.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Mom sent me down to make sure you don’t swear.” He answered.
I have been tempted to maintain that Patrick was still asleep that fateful morning, and that he had been dreaming about my behavior. However, since I require my children to be responsible for their own actions, I cannot lie. Covering one hypocritical action with another is not acceptable.

So I learn. And one day, when Patrick spills a hubcap full of lug nuts and lets out an ‘Ohhhhhh…fuuuuuuuuudge!’ and I am tempted to stick a bar of soap in his mouth, I will be reminded to stick a bar of soap in my own mouth first.