High Five!

“I can live for two months on a good compliment.”

~Mark Twain

Anyone who questions the power of praise, should test its undiluted strength on any random pack of children.

Picture this:

A dozen kids are sitting around a table, waiting on their wedges of fruit.  The youngest, at eighteen months, is mashing his mitts on the table; the oldest is sitting quietly with his  hands braided into a nest in the seat of his lap.  The remaining wee-ones are scattered in varying shenanigans.

“My goodness,” I say.  I draw my breath, and send my eyebrows climbing.  “Look how well William is waiting.”

Instant hush hovers over the table, thicker than if I’d said Santa was in surveillance.

“I’m being patient, Mr. Sean.”

This voice tweets from a toddler who, a split second before was yodeling Yankee Doodle.  His declaration fills the air, chased by an avalanche of echos.  Even the tiniest tot looks up from his high chair, relaxes his hands, and begins to wildly clap.

We all long for validation.  It is as much a part of our DNA as the tint of our eyes, only less visible, and infinitely more important.

With my own children, I never let sun and sky split without letting them know how proud I am of precisely who they are.  Their ears perk as they stand straight and smile wide, swelling to fill the outline I’ve drawn around them.  This verbal applause gives my words gravity.  My children love it when I tell them great job, but are loathe to find me upset, disappointed, or angry.

This isn’t new age hokum I’m spitting from the right side of my brain.  There’s plenty of research to document the infinite advantage of regular praise.  I know of no analysis to disprove the theory.

There is something inside each of us, that steady beat that makes us human, always searching for a rhythm to follow, eager to find license to a tempo that’s true.  We never shed this need for compliments, any more than we do our need for sun.  Like with our star, we can burn our soul if we soak too much, but this is still far preferable to the threatening gray of a rainy day.

Each day, Daisy tells me that she’s proud of me, and then she tells me why.  I do the same for her.  That may seem corny to some, but it isn’t; it’s feeding our flames with the finest of fuel, from the purest provenance possible.

We must practice praise with our children.  It’s important for who they are, and who they will one day be.  We must of course tell them how they can do better, but we must also never forget to tell them what they have done well.  There is nothing quite like watching them recapture the magic.

Writer Dad

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Namas Daisy is talking about too much TV.  You’ll find that here.

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