I was clicking a link that should have taken me to a review of a children’s book, when my computer screen flooded with porn. I couldn’t close the window fast enough or – judging by the speed with which other family members flocked to find out what on earth was wrong – shriek loudly enough. It was like the time I was stung by a bee and a neighbour not only heard, but was so concerned she knocked on the door to check no one needed an ambulance.
This time there was no bee – or burn, no broken bones, or even blood. I told the kids that I was fine. All that had happened was a link that should have taken me to one page took me to another, one with pictures that I didn’t want to see. I can’t remember if I used the word “nudity”, or the word “pornography”, or said something about “people without clothes on doing things I didn’t want to see”, but however I phrased it, they understood.
If I’d thought twice in the moment, I might have suppressed that shriek, but reflecting on it later, my husband and I were glad I didn’t. Sooner or later, this would happen to the kids, and I’d reacted in the way we’d want them to. Sure, you can set up filters, but filters don’t work every time, and aren’t on every device they’ll ever use. We wanted them to be prepared to filter too; knowing when to look away, when to – if not shriek – raise the alarm, is a life skill.
When you think about it, adults – parents in particular – are setting an example of one type or another whenever children are watching them. Sometimes, we do so consciously, but especially when we’re reacting in the moment, we might forget they’re looking on. In those moments, our examples might be as much a lesson in what not to do as what to do.
If we’re not careful, our behaviour might suggest the appropriate reaction to feeling stressed is to drink, that the appropriate response to frustration is passive aggression, that the appropriate response to feeling sad is buying things we do not need.
If we’re not careful, a child might judge us for paying more attention to our phone than to the cashier who is serving us or the family member sitting across from us, or they might think that’s just “what you do”, and when they’re older, do the same.
A related challenge is adjusting how we treat our children as they age. We have an instinct to protect our kids that won’t always serve us, or them, well. If we want them to learn how to be responsible adults, it’s our responsibility to gradually give them more freedom as they become more capable of exercising it; mindful that one day, they’ll have to navigate without our help. I struggle with this, especially when risk is involved, but I remind myself that shielding our kids now might do them a disservice down the track.
Another protective tendency is to shield kids from emotional struggles we might be facing, which they might learn from. Last year, when I received a distressing letter, I fought the instinct to flee the room to hide my tears, and stayed to explain them instead. I’d told the kids there’s no shame in expressing and processing emotion; this was my chance to show it.
I fought the impulse to be closed instead of open again when, on another occasion, our eldest overheard me talking to his dad about someone who was interested in me a long time ago, and started asking questions. I could have shut him down, but because I don’t want him to be secretive when he enters the world of romantic relationships, I spoke openly instead.
Knowing when to be more or less open with our kids, or when to give them more or less freedom, knowing what’s “age-appropriate”, would be easy – or at least, easier – if all children matured at the same rate, if all were equally responsible, equally trustworthy, equally risk-averse, equally streetwise. But, like each parent, each child is different.
I suppose it’s a matter of noticing them noticing us, of being a little more conscious of, and intentional about, what we’re saying and not saying, what we’re suppressing and expressing, and why.
No matter how strong our resolve, we’ll still model bad behaviour. The good news is that every time we catch ourselves, we have an opportunity – to admit it and apologise. If our kids leave home with the ability to do the same, then for all that we’ve got wrong, we’ll have got something, something vital, very right.
• Emma Wilkins is a Tasmanian journalist whose freelance work has appeared in newspapers, magazines and literary journals in Australia and beyond
