The Power of the Spoken Word

By Lisa Sugarman

There’s this saying I often use with my kids—it’s one of the many profound nuggets of parenting wisdom I lug around in my head and try to use appropriately from time to time. And it goes like this, You can’t take back the spoken word. A pretty powerful concept when you think about it.

I mean, we’ve all had experiences—either as kids or as adults—when someone gave us a compliment or a criticism that left an indelible mark on our heart, on our mind, or in some cases, on both. And as most of us know, those kinds of marks are a lot like tattoos—for better or for worse, they’re with us for life.

Maybe you were like me as a kid and someone criticized you for wearing tomboyish clothes so it made you extra sensitive to the clothing choices you made for years to come. Or maybe you were a middle schooler who didn’t consider yourself an artist until your art teacher told you she thought you had real talent.

The truth is, those kind of interactions have the potential to shape our future in both good and bad ways. And it’s especially true for negative feedback, which can be as dangerous as a loaded handgun. That’s because when hostile words come hurtling at you, they can rip right through your heart with the same devastation as any caliber bullet out there.

That’s why it’s always so important to think before you speak. Because once hurtful words hit the air, there’s no grabbing hold of them and swallowing them back down. They’re out in the universe and burned into someone’s memory forever.

Now the reason I’m thinking about this is because of a spontaneous conversation I had with a friend the other day about something I said to her daughter that left a pretty acute mark on her sweet little brain. And she wanted me to know how poignant my words were in her daughter’s eyes.

In this case the little girl I’m talking about is a fourth grader and I’m one of her cross country running coaches; and something I said to her at practice last week made a strong impression on her. Stronger than I even realized. Lucky for me, though, it made a strong positive impression.

We were doing tempo runs at practice trying to teach the girls how to find their just-right pace and my little friend was giving a 110% effort the entire time and it showed. That’s why every time she ran past me during practice I yelled something positive to her, the same way every one of our coaches does when we see our girls giving their best effort. And then, at the end of practice, as we often do, I took her aside and told her how proud I was of her and how her attitude and her commitment to becoming a stronger runner was so obvious to everyone.

Well, I guess what I said meant something to her because she went home feeling great about herself. So much so that she asked her dad that night at dinner to start running with her on the weekends. And now who knows, maybe she’ll be the next great American distance runner. Stranger things have happened. Anyway, it’s proof that we generally get way more from people when we build them up, rather than cut them down.

See, words are funny things, they can sound totally harmless echoing around in your head, and then have a totally different quality as they leave your mouth and hit oxygenated air. I just think people sometimes forget the power that the spoken word has and how impactful they can be, especially on a child. And who those words come from is equally as important.

For instance, as a parent, I know all too well that I could give either of my daughters the most profound advice about relationships or school or work and it wouldn’t matter if every word I spoke was coated in edible leaf gold (like the kind you find at the bottom of a Goldschläger bottle), because no kid thinks their mom or dad knows what the hell they’re talking about. But have someone like their teacher or their coach or their boss say the exact same thing and now your kid is drooling over every word. So not fair.

My point is, those of us who coach or teach or parent or supervise anyone, in any capacity, always need to stay cognizant of the kind of power and influence our words have on the people around us. Because one insensitive comment can change the course of a person’s life. Like the mother who tells her daughter that she’s getting fat and then the poor girl becomes anorexic and has self-image issues for the rest of her life. You hear it on the news all the time.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that we all have a responsibility to the people around us to choose our words wisely because what you say and how you say it can be a game changer. So say whatever you have to say in a meaningful and sensitive way, because your opinion or advice or feedback may just have the power to change someone’s life. And if you have nothing nice to say, well, then shut up.

Lisa Sugarman lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at facebook.com/ItIsWhatItIsColumn. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is available on Amazon.com and select Whole Foods Market stores.

I give the News AND the Weather

By Lisa Sugarman

I’m a talker. Always have been. And a big-time storyteller. Not that anyone around my house is ever clamoring to hear any. But I do love telling them. Especially stories of things I did when I was a kid.

My father-in-law says that I like to give the News AND the Weather. And he’s absolutely right. God bless his little heart. It’s just part of my charm, I guess. At least that’s what I tell myself.

The truth is, I think it’s because I see things so vividly in my own mind that I have such a compulsion to share every detail.

Thankfully for me, my friends accept me for the detail-oriented pain that I am. Thankfully. Dave and my relatives, on the other hand, don’t have much choice. They have to love me by default no matter what. My kids, though, well, they’re a different story altogether. Whenever I make the mistake of retelling a story they’ve heard before I might as well be talking to an empty room because they shut down almost immediately. Eyes start rolling; yawns start escaping.

Now it’s because I have so many happy memories of being a kid that I love to relive the moments. And who better to retell them to than my own kids? Problem is, my kids would rather scoop out their eyeballs with a grapefruit spoon than listen to me tell them about all the stuff I did when I was their age. And frankly, I’d love to know why that is.

Ok, so I wasn’t Miss America and don’t have extravagant pageant stories. And I wasn’t a coke dealer in Miami, so I don’t have any Medellin Cartel stories to make me look like a badass. Although my friends and I once brought home a “perfect stranger” as part of a scavenger hunt back in high school. But that was a one-off. And I think the guy was actually my friend’s third cousin.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve lived my life as a recluse, in a cave, in the Himalayas, with no human contact. Ever. I’ve done stuff. Plenty of stuff. Stuff that would curl their little toes if they ever knew. (Actually, I only said that for dramatic effect. I’ve really got nothing.)

My stories are about Powderpuff games and being one of only two girls to play Little League in my town in the mid-80s. They’re pretty cookie cutter as far as stories go. But I always thought they’d be enough to keep my kids at least mildly entertained and wanting more. Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t bet real money on it.

I think, ultimately, my mistake was that I didn’t make stuff up. That would’ve made the difference. That would’ve left them drooling. But these are things that a parent can only see in hindsight.

I’ve tried to convince myself that all kids feel this way about their parents’ stories. But I wasn’t like that as a kid. On the complete contrary. I remember actually asking my mom to tell me stories. Even the ones I’d heard twenty-seven times before. I wanted to get to know who she was before she was my mom. And when I really think about it, I think I did it because I always wished that I’d had the chance to know her the same way her friends knew her—a way no kid can ever know their parents. I also think I had way too much time on my hands because I was an only child. Either way, I hung on every word.

That’s the thing about being a parent; we all have this whole other side to us that our kids will never know. Sure, they’ll see pictures and leaf through yearbooks and maybe watch some old videos, but they’ll never really know the people we were when we were their age. That’s why our stories are so valuable. 

Like, my daughters will never get to experience the boy-crazy me or the prom-dress-shopping me or the student-driver me or the camp-counselor me. And I wish they could. Not because I was this amazing rock-star-type kid, but because I think they’d have a different appreciation for me and for the stories I love to tell.

I’m sorry, but you can’t tell me that when my girls are pushing 50 someday they’re not going to want to share their memories with their kids. Because they absolutely most definitely will. Even though, at the seasoned ages of fourteen and seventeen they swear they won’t. What the hell do they know?

So to all you new parents out there, take my advice now while you still have time. Make some stuff up to keep your kids on the edge of their seats. Mix a little fantasy with reality to keep them coming back for more. Consider it historical fiction. You can tell them the truth when they’re grown up. No harm, no foul, right?

Lisa Sugarman lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at facebook.com/ItIsWhatItIsColumn. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is available on Amazon.com.

No parent wants to play favorites

By Lisa Sugarman

I’m an only child, so I always had a pretty good lock on being my parents’ favorite kid. (Tip: When you limit the options, the odds are always stacked in your favor.) And I have to admit, even though I would’ve loved the companionship of a brother or a sister or both, there was definitely something to be said for having zero competition in the Favorite category. There was no one to compare me to, so I was always a shoo-in.

Now though, as an adult with kids of my own, I’ve almost always got someone vying for the Favorite spot. And because my kids—like yours—have a highly sophisticated radar system hard wired into their genetic code, they can detect every opportunity to ingratiate themselves on my good side. Like when one’s being particularly snarky, the other seizes the chance to suck up to me. Never fails. It’s usually a real seesaw battle, although it’s always entertaining for me.

But lately, one of my girls is consistently blowing the others away as a model child. And as much as I try never to play favorites, I’m compelled to give her the shout out she deserves. Because in my opinion, stand-out behavior deserves to be acknowledged. So I feel obliged to give her props for being my easiest, even though it goes against my nature to put one of them on a pedestal above the others.

Now she is my oldest, by a lot, so in all fairness she’s had more time to mature and settle into herself. And I’ve taken that into consideration, believe me. But quite frankly, she’s just naturally easy-going and low maintenance. And she loves to be with me, which, in and of itself elevates her status.

I mean, what mother of girls doesn’t fantasize about their daughters hanging on their every word? What mother wouldn’t give anything to have her girls drop everything just to lie on the couch together and watch HGTV? What mother wouldn’t offer to do her neighbor’s laundry every day for life in exchange for a daughter who never complained, rarely made a mess, licked her plate clean, and sailed through puberty without even a second’s worth of drama?

Now do you understand why I just have to give my girl the recognition she deserves? I mean, she drops everything and comes running the second I call her name. And she’s so eager to please that she’s practically panting with excitement every time I yell for her. Talk about devotion. What mother wouldn’t want to brag, at least a little bit?

To be honest, I do kind of feel bad for my other kids because this one’s set the bar so high that it’s almost impossible for the others to compete. And I think they realize that their sister is unique in that way. She’s not like other girls. No sass. No attitude. Never slammed a door or talked back a day in her life. And, believe it or not, she’s never actually asked me to buy her one single thing. Not one.

She’s dreamy, what can I say? Nails it in all the major categories. She’s my most obedient, affectionate, passive, reliable child.

Now I’m the first to recognize that no kids are created equal. They’ve all got their own special and unique qualities that makes them loveable and endearing. But the reality of parenthood is that there are always kids who capture your heart in extraordinary ways. There just are. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with celebrating those exceptional kids for being so remarkable. You know, at some point along the line, we just have to be allowed to call a spade a spade. So that’s exactly what I’m doing.

With the exception of a couple of challenging years when she was young and a little wild and often hard to control, she’s given me [us] next to no grief.

I guess if I had to put my finger on it, I’d say she really hit her stride right around the time she was spayed. It was right after that that she settled down and she’s been a rock star ever since.

Ok, so anatomically speaking, my favorite child isn’t exactly your typical child. In fact, she’s not a bonafide child at all. She’s my ten-year-old beagle; Lilly. But my daughters love her like a sister and as far as Dave and I are concerned, she’s just another one of our kids. And as much as I hate to rank them against each other, right now she’s my favorite. And she’s earned it.

Maybe if my other daughters start licking my face and come when I call them, their stock will go up. Maybe. In the meantime, my dog will retain the title of Favorite Child. At least until one of my other kids learns how to fetch me the paper. Then it’s anybody’s ballgame.

Lisa Sugarman lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at itiswhatitiscolumn.wordpress.com. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is available on Amazon.com.

Want my opinion? Well now you can get it!

After years of writing about what’s on MY mind, I’ve decided—by popular demand—to write about what’s on YOUR mind. So I’m launching a new interactive feature on my website that lets you tell me what’s on YOUR mind.

Just click the ‘Ask Questions’ button below to visit my WANT MY OPINION? page. Then ask me whatever’s on your mind and I’ll weigh in with my opinion.

10 Reminders Why Parents Should Love Snow Days

By Lisa Sugarman

When I sit down to write, I usually don’t set a goal of pissing people off. Usually. Sometimes it just happens, kind of organically.

This week, though, I know most of you aren’t going to appreciate my enthusiasm. And that will mean an almost guaranteed piss-off. But I just can’t help myself. When I get excited, there’s very little I can do to contain myself.

Look, I don’t know if it’s winter where you are right now, but where I am, just north of Boston on the coast, winter hasn’t really shown itself. Until now. A little late in the game, if you ask me, but better late than never. And it looks like it’s making a big fourth quarter comeback.

Sure, we’ve had plenty of frigid days and reasons to keep the fireplace cranked, but without any real bonafide snow covering the ground and shrouding the trees, the true vibe of winter is just missing. That’s because, at least to me, snow is the x-factor that makes winter winter. I’m well aware, though, that I may be one of a small minority of people living in this region who feels this way. But I’m okay with that. Haters gonna hate, right?

I’m hip to how the saying goes. Be careful what you wish for. But as far as I’m concerned, bring it on. And I say that because snow draws out my inner child unlike almost anything else. Always has, always will. It represents something sacred and beautiful to me. It takes me straight back to my childhood, when life was simpler—when a day in the fresh snow felt like winning the Golden Ticket.

When we were kids and the blizzards came, everything stopped and the only thing we were expected to do was play. It was heaven. Moms and dads and neighbors were home, school was padlocked, and our snowsuits were on, morning to night.

Unfortunately, when most people transition from child to adult their feelings about snow and storms become somewhat contaminated. Sentimentality fades and people stop seeing storms as a natural phenomenon that transforms the world into a giant playground. Instead, they start seeing it as a tedious inconvenience.

Once we become the ones responsible for clearing it, plowing it, and navigating through it, the beauty factor of snow and the storms that bring it disappears. We become jaded. With the exception of the snow sport enthusiasts like skiers and boarders and ice climbers and mushers who live for fresh powder and white outs, the majority of adults I talk to aren’t real fans.

But I think it’s important to remember that even as bad as it gets in some places, we have it way better than our ancestors did. Look back in history, even only a few hundred years, and you’ll see how good we really have it compared to our forefathers. We’ve got insulation and home heating, Thinsulate and Doppler radar, snow blowers and ice melt. When Washington and his posse crossed the frozen Delaware, only a couple hundred years ago, they did it in skimpy tights and wool coats. We’re in hella better shape nowadays, I’d say.

Now don’t think that just because I’m a fan of nor‘easters and blizzards that I’m naïve to the aggravation they cause. I get it. There’s the frigid cold and black ice, power outages and shoveling, shorter days and frostbite, chapped lips and wind chill. But like I always say, life is about balance. And wherever there’s a negative, there’s always a positive somewhere nearby to keep things level. That’s how I can still love winter so much; because I always try to remember the things that make it beautiful.

So now that we’re all firmly in the thick of it again, here are 10 things to love about the storms that paralyze us—the things we tend to forget once we grow up. Maybe, somehow, they’ll remind you that you loved it once too.

• Waking up to complete stillness and a world that’s been completely buried in powdered sugar.
• Bundling up in your fuzzy slippers and bathrobe in front of the fire with a steaming hot coffee and reading the paper from front to back in one shot.
• Sledding and snowshoeing, cross country skiing and skating.
• Checking the School Cancellation List and feeling the joy of seeing your town’s name scroll by.
• Waking your kids up just long enough to tell them there’s no school and savoring the look on their faces.
• Snowmen and snow forts. Snowball fights and hot chocolate, overstuffed with marshmallows.
• Tossing the last shovelful of snow from the driveway and pausing to admire your work.
• Wrapping yourself up inside a Snuggie with your kids and watching movies all day.
• The special kind of tranquility that’s only broken by the scraping sound of the plow trucks.
• An unexpected hard stop in a world where hard stops are hard to find.

Your inner snow angel is in there. You just need a good old-fashioned blizzard to bring it out.

Lisa Sugarman lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at facebook.com/ItIsWhatItIsColumn. She is also the author of LIFE: It Is What It Is available on Amazon.com.