There are two main human sins from which all others derive: impatience and indolence. - Franz Kafka

Ask anyone to name the chief dangers facing children today, and they're likely to tick off a predictable list - homelessness and malnutrition, poor education and inadequate healthcare. They're not wrong. But the longer I work with children, the more concerned I am about another quiet wave that carries just as a great a menace: the mindset of avoidance. Call it what you want - convenience, denial, or stubbornness - but if there's anything that characterizes education across the board, it's the persistent habit of turning our backs on the hardest questions, and falling for the answers that soothe us back to sleep.

Though the tendency to settle for the most painless solution to a problem is a normal human trait, it is rarely a healthy approach to child rearing. Of course, the very idea that parenting is a "problem" is a negative one. After all, raising the children we bring into the world ought to be a privilege and a joy. Yet fewer and fewer parents view their natural responsibilities in these positive terms. And the result is that fatherhood is no longer a natural duty, but one governments must chase men to fulfill; motherhood is at once attacked and seen as the supreme sacrifice; and loving (now downgraded to "bonding") is regarded as an art or a learnable skill.

From parenting journals to popular books, the wisdom is the same: children may be cute, but raising them is a thankless chore. That's why magazines are always advising couples to get away for romantic candlelight dinners, for vacations or long weekends by themselves. Just don't ask where the children fit into these plans: they rarely do - which is sad, because in actual fact, it's the hours you spend with your children when they are growing up that will later stand out as some of the happiest of your marriage. As for the struggles, sacrifices, and hard times, they are just as formative and important. Happy memories are just that - happy - but it's the rough patches that really strengthen relationships and temper the ties that bind.

Why is it that in bringing up our children, we so quickly see the obstacles and problems, and so easily miss the joys? Why are we so eager to protect ourselves from pain, and so reluctant to accept the hard work we know child-rearing must entail? Why are we so desperate to avoid the hard parts of parenting, and so blind to the ways they could help us to grow? Clare, a member of my church, says:

Perhaps it's because our generation never really grew up. Many of us are still seeking the perfect partner, the perfect car, or some other kind of elusive happiness. We don't know what it is to make sacrifices, to give unselfishly in ways that won't ever be recognized. I'm not sure we were ever expected to...

Clearly not everyone is in the same boat. Plenty of parents feel like Jane, another member of my church (and mother of five), who says:

I think motherhood is the noblest task of all, because you cannot do it at your convenience, or tailor it to suit your preferences. You have to be ready to give up everything when you take on this task: your time, restful nights, your hobbies, your pursuit of physical fitness, any beauty you may have had, and all of the private little pleasures you might have counted as a right, from late dinners and long soaks in the tub to weekend excursions and cycling trips...I'm not saying you can't have any of these things, but you have to be ready to let them all go if you're going to have children and put them first.

To many women, especially in underdeveloped nations, the idea of giving up these things would hardly seem a sacrifice. They are trappings of a comfortable life, ones that only people with a high standard of living can attain. And even if our own wealth allows us to take them for granted, it never hurts to be reminded of that. Neither should we forget that in relieving us of almost every task our grandparents once performed - from cutting wood and plowing to building fires and carrying water - technological progress has shielded us not only from the discomfort of sweaty labor and long waits, but also the formation of character it yields. Because we are no longer familiar with the meaning of hardship, we can no longer pass on its value to our children.

Where I grew up, hard physical work was part of daily life. One did not need to look for it. There was no indoor plumbing, no central heating, and, for many years, no electricity. Meals were cooked on an open fire, and there was always wood to split and stack, and water to carry. Grass was cut with a machete; it was coarse, heavy, and high, especially after rainfall. As a teenager especially, I grumbled incessantly about the never-ending chores, but my parents had no pity. And in retrospect I am grateful. I see now how their insistence taught me self-discipline, concentration, perseverance, and the ability to carry through - all things you need to be a father.

Few parents I know carry water anymore, but they're fooling themselves if they think raising a child doesn't involve hard work. Take discipline, for instance. To hold out firmly and consistently against a child's will is often irksome. It is always easier to let things slide. Yet anyone who prizes comfort above the effort of demanding obedience will find that, in the long run, the problem will grow bigger and bigger.

German educator Friedrich Wilhelm Foerster, a friend of my grandparents, used to tell of a British general who walked his horse through a street corner again and again, until the stubborn mare turned the way he had taught it to. "Never give in till the battle is won," he said after the nineteenth time, as the animal finally turned as he wished. Exasperating as the incident must have been, the lesson it contains is a vital one for every parent.

Sometimes we skirt a difficult issue simply because we feel too weary to confront it. At other times our reluctance is connected to guilt: Why be hard on your children when you've made the same mistakes? Then there are the times we are blinded by pity, when we try to smooth things over to avoid causing hurt. Such thinking rarely has immediate consequences, so we forget them, ignore them, or talk them away. But there will always be repercussions, and they can sometimes be ugly. Bea, an acquaintance, has a classic example:

I had a friend, Kate, who tried to commit suicide three times in high school. Her family always rushed her to the emergency room, and had her stomach pumped (she took pills each time), and she'd soon be back at school. They never really helped her...Kate's parents had divorced some years before, and then remarried, and neither set of parents really wanted her. She was a constant reminder to them of their pasts, and they wanted to get on with their lives. She didn't fit into their plans.

Paul, another acquaintance, suffered similar anguish. Born out of wedlock, he grew up without a father, and while his mother tried to protect him by avoiding the subject, her silence ended up making his life hell.

I grew up with my mother in the Midwest. "Hometown America." I sometimes asked about my father. Mom would show me a photograph and tell me he was smart and handsome and daring, and that he wanted to be with us, but that other people needed him more than we did. I never asked too many questions. Maybe I could feel that it was hard for her to talk about it. But over the years I guess I built up this picture of my father, the cartoon hero - a daring man who was always off on some mission, rescuing people in distress.

When I was fourteen, I discovered by chance who my father was and where he lived. I also found out that he had been married for nearly forty years, though not to my mother. It's strange to realize it now, but I'm not sure the thought ever even crossed my mind that my father could be someone else's father as well, or that I might be "illegitimate." If it did, I certainly never faced up to it...I never talked with my mother about my feelings; I just let them fester. Soon my fantasy father evolved into a villain. I hated him. I began to resent anybody being nice to me - I knew they were just having pity on the little charity case, the little bastard...

I ran away from home, I was so determined to prove myself without help from anybody. But I ended up just running from place to place. I got involved in drugs and only avoided jail when a friend bailed me out...There were other tight spots I weaseled out of, but mostly I ran when the going got tough; I just couldn't face up to my own mistakes. Once I was doped up and missed work and was so ashamed that I just skipped town. I never even went back to face the boss. I was constantly on the run, because I was always messing up and there was no way I could hang around and try to straighten things up.

Everywhere I went I was attracted to homosexual pick-up spots. I wasn't looking for relationships, just anonymous sex, and if anything started getting serious, I got out in a hurry.

After a few years of that, I settled down somewhat. I went to school, then grad school, got married, and became an upright citizen. But it was all just show. I was still trying to run away from my past, just like my parents had...It didn't work. My wife thought I was clean, but I was still sneaking off to sex shops and doing drugs on the sly.

Through it all I wanted so bad to be loved, though I never dared give anybody a chance to really get to know me...

Both Kate and Paul's stories show that it makes no difference why we push down a problem or look the other way. In the one case, the issue was lovelessness; in the other, a mother's understandable desire to protect her son from shame. As for the results, they were basically the same: confrontations were avoided, but not pain. If anything, that was only compounded.

Even when we do face a challenge that comes our way, we often fail to meet it squarely. And while there's nothing wrong with an easy answer in itself, the quick fix is rarely the best one. In fact, the hard truth is that the most convenient solution may hide the gravest dangers. But in a land of fast food and credit cards, tanning salons and 24-hour TV, that's not popular advice.

No one can deny that five minutes at a drive-through can replace an hour at the kitchen, but neither can we claim innocence with regard to the skyrocketing rates of obesity among children on both sides of the Atlantic. Nor should those of us whose TV doubles as entertainer and unpaid nanny be surprised that our children are addicted to the mindless junk it spews, that they find reading a drag, and that they insist on our buying them the latest brands. (My children were brought up in a TV-less house, and they have all continued the tradition in their own homes.)

And while circumstances like ignorance or poverty are often used to rationalize the bad choices parents make - with regard to nutrition, for instance - the fact is that even the best explanation cannot save a child from the consequences. In any case, the problem is never a purely financial one: well-educated, wealthy parents are just as negligent as less privileged ones.

According to Jennifer, a teacher at an upscale Los Angeles day care center, even salaried professionals are too harried to attend to their children's most basic needs:

Since most of my kids come from middle-class and upper middle-class homes, you'd never think they'd arrive without having had breakfast. But it happens all the time. They come to day care flat-out hungry.

I had one three-year-old who was given a little chocolate for breakfast and some more chocolate for lunch. That was it! And her mother is an executive who makes good money. The girl had a protruding stomach and no energy whatsoever...

I spoke to her parents, but nothing changed. Now the girl's been diagnosed with a sugar disorder and continues to suffer the effects, including lethargy, bloating, and circles under her eyes. She has very little desire to learn, and constantly wants to be cuddled. It breaks my heart...

I hear more and more mothers say, "I can't wait till Monday." It seems that being with their own children for an "entire" weekend is all they feel they can take. They've definitely chosen their lifestyle, and they are determined to keep it. But the children don't feel wanted. They are angry and frustrated, and if you ask me, it's all because they've been made to feel guilty for wanting to spend time with their parents.

Childhood itself has come to be viewed as a suspect phase. Never mind toddlers who are made to feel guilty. On top of that, children of all ages and means are being squelched on the playground and in class, not because they're unmanageable or unruly, but simply because they're behaving like children should. Diagnosed with "problems" that used to be recognized as normal childhood traits - impulsiveness and exuberance, spontaneity and daring - millions of children are being diagnosed as hyperactive and drugged into submission. I'm referring, of course, to the widespread use of Ritalin and other related stimulants, and to the public's fascination with medicine as the answer to any and every problem.

Ritalin is surely a legitimate drug for certain specific conditions. But given the threefold increase in its use in the last decade, one has to wonder if it isn't being misused as an easy cure-all for problems such as ADHD (attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder) and to rein in lively children who may not even have the disorder. After all, much of what is designated as ADHD is nothing more than a defense against over-structuring - a natural reflex that used to be called letting off steam - or alternately, a symptom of various unmet emotional needs. Jeff, an old friend, gives a poignant example:

Jerome, an eight-year-old from Seattle, came and stayed with us last summer for a break from the city. When he arrived he was a mess, though he was on Ritalin. After two or three days, however, we weaned him off his dose, because with all the room to play he was no longer bouncing off the walls, but beginning to take himself in hand. (At home in his apartment building there was nothing for him to do but watch TV.) I could definitely see the change.

When this little guy first arrived he could barely keep his attention on anything for more than a minute, he was so keyed up and distracted. I laid down some ground rules and gave him some time. I took him out with a bike, since he was unsure of how to ride...By the end of his stay he was so settled and happy that at one point he even asked me if he could call me Dad. I just about lost it. This child didn't need Ritalin: all he needed was fresh air - and love.

Put Jerome back in the projects, and he will probably revert. He'll be put back on Ritalin, and his "symptoms" will be re-suppressed. Whether he'll ever get the attention he really needs, either at home or at school, is quite another question. Fortunately it's one that increasing numbers of people are asking, like Peter Breggin, a pediatrician and author best known for his book Talking Back to Ritalin:

People call drugs like Ritalin a godsend for emotional and behavioral problems...But I think the way they're overused is absolutely horrifying. When I was asked by the National Institutes of Health to be a scientific discussant on the effects of these drugs at a conference they held, I reviewed the important literature, and I found that when animals are given them, they stop playing; they stop being curious; they stop socializing; they stop trying to escape. Ritalin makes good caged animals... We're making good caged kids. It's all very well to talk about it taking a whole village to raise a child, but in practice, we're acting as if we think it only takes a pill.

As if this medical suppression of childhood (Breggin calls it "chemical straitjacketing") were not enough, there are myriad other ways in which children fall prey to our addiction to convenience and control. Most shocking of all is the great number of abuses committed against children, not by strangers and not even by recognized criminals, but simply by their own parents and caregivers - "normal" people who snap because things don't go the way they want them to.

Equally chilling is the number of abortions had by women who terminate pregnancies not because they do not want children, but because pregnancy interferes with other plans. According to a 1996 article in the British Medical Journal, attitudes in some parts of Europe (and the United States is surely no different) are such that some women choose to abort simply because their baby's due date conflicts with a planned vacation.

Unbelievable as such a mindset sounds, it is not entirely inexplicable. As Foerster points out in his classic Basics of Education, the comforts of contemporary "civilization" have cushioned life so completely that many people simply do not have the wherewithal to deal with anything that makes demands on them. Faced with the simple unpredictability of life - not to mention pain, suffering, hard work, or sacrifice - they helplessly succumb "as if to hard blows...They do not know what to make of frustration - how to make something constructive of it - and see it only as something that oppresses and irritates." And though, he goes on, these very things provided earlier generations with the experiences through which they gained mastery over life's challenges, they are often "enough to send the rootless, modern person into a mental institution." Or, as we have seen, to prisons and abortion clinics.

Given the dismal state of the culture described above, parenting in the 21st century is clearly going to involve a lot of hard work. But why should that frighten us? As long as we run from the responsibilities that will always be there, we will not only squander the most formative moments of bringing up children, but rob ourselves as well of its most meaningful joys. And if that sounds like a stretch of the imagination, listen to Chuck, a California acquaintance for whom the easy solution to just about everything disappeared when a plane crash left him paralyzed from the waist down:

Despite the accident I was fortunate enough to get into law school...and after I finished, my wife Karen and I moved to North Carolina, to be near my parents. We knew we could never have a family of our own. Then Karen, who has always had a heart for kids at risk, discovered that our county had a serious need for foster parents, and after some investigation we realized that we could raise a family, after all. We decided to start with a couple of children...We now have the two we started with, plus three others, all of whom we've adopted, and two more whom we hope to adopt as well.

We are always amazed at how people respond to our situation. Forget my disability - even without that, people think we are crazy. But we would rather be seen as eccentric and have children than be what society calls normal...In actual fact, it's the reactions we get that don't make sense. On the one hand, everyone recognizes how hostile the world has become for children. On the other, very few are willing to change their lifestyles in order to fit children into their lives. We are so quick to point the finger at everyone but ourselves.

People are always complaining about how bad things are and how difficult their children are. But how often is this because they are too busy, too driven, and too selfish? How often is it just because they won't let themselves be inconvenienced? Disciplining and training and nurturing a child is inconvenient. But it is also the most redemptive thing...Sure, there are days when your buttons get pushed, times when you are at your wits' end - but a little child can put everything back in perspective.

In my view, bringing up children is the best venture there is, even if the fruits will only be harvested in the next generation. How fulfilling is that? I'd prefer to let people answer that for themselves.

http://www.ChristophArnold.com