To Every Thing There Is A Season

I don't expect everyone to agree with me, and I'm always willing to have respectful conversations about differences. Especially given that I try very hard to extend respect, though, it's really exhausting how many people phrase their questions to me or people like me in truly confrontational terms - "What kind of idiot believes..." and, "How could you possibly..." and "How can you ignore..." That last one is especially annoying when it's wielded by people who define "ignore" as, "You didn't change your mind after I told you that you were wrong!" Folks, that is not what "ignore" means. Ignoring you would be not responding at all or pretending that you hadn't spoken. It does not mean hearing what you have to say and simply maintaining one's own opinion (even when you think that opinion is wrong or "stupid"). I don't tell you that you're "ignoring" me because you continue to have opinions and beliefs that I do not share. Let's try to extend each other the same courtesies, shall we?

Anyway, there's been a whole lot of interpersonal and online questions aimed at people of my religion lately, because we 1. (gasp!) Believe things that others do not, and 2. My church leaders have made quite a few procedural changes in recent years. People who know that they do not agree with my religion are apparently continually astonished that they still don't agree with us - like that should be a surprise, to them or to me. There's lots of, "Can you believe that someone said/did..." like it's just amazing - which puzzles me, because I don't spend any time being surprised by the fact that I don't agree with religions to which I do not belong. I certainly don't post on social media about it, or engage people who are members in conversations about why I'm not a member.

Anyway. I digress.

So, I'm going to explain 1. why changes don't bother me, and 2. why not everything will, or should, change. I don't think I'll change any minds, but I assume that others really do want to understand, not just to insist on agreement. (Call me crazy...) You will definitely not agree with me if you think that all religion is superstitious nonsense, but please save us time by not being surprised or outraged by that. You also won't agree if you don't view Jesus as the Messiah; don't be surprised by that, either. It'll just save us both time and frustration.

To demonstate my points, I'm going way back - back to the Old Testament. For centuries, people followed the Law of Moses. A significant part of that was the law of sacrifice. Dating back to the time Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, people had been commanded to sacrifice the first and best of their crops, livestock, etc. in the temple. There were all kinds of associated laws - what was acceptable, when to sacrifice it, how to sacrifice it, where to sprinkle or spread the blood of the sacrificed animals. It was part of what separated God's Chosen People from the "heathen."

Following me? OK.

Now, it's New Testament time. Here comes Jesus. He declares that there should be no more "burnt offerings," no more animal sacrifices, no more crop sacrifices. This law had run its course; it had been "fulfilled."

Theologically, the sacrifice was supposed to remind people of the Messiah, the Savior. Now that the Savior had come, those were no longer needed. Christ asked them to offer "a contrite spirit" instead of animal sacrifice.

Were the people thrilled about this? Did they say, "Wow, this is great! Not only has the Messiah come, but this frees up time and food that my family can use!"? No; they accused Jesus of trying "to destroy the law and the prophets."

Some of what they said is recorded in the Bible, and I'm pretty sure that I can imagine how a lot of conversations not recorded went. People were furious and scandalized. This was, after all, The Way Things Have Always Been Done, it was the Word of God, it was how one earned salvation, generations had followed these precepts - and now they were being asked to discard it. This made no sense to the vast majority of believers.

The problem was in thinking the same way many people today think. "Were you wrong before, or are you wrong now?" Because, people assume, if you've changed something, something has to be wrong. People don't seem to be able to understand that both ways can be right, for their time and circumstances.

Of course, not everything is fulfillment of prophesy, like the arrival of the Messiah, but the idea of different behaviors for different circumstances shouldn't be too difficult for anyone who's been younger than they are now (which is all of us), and especially for parents. Do you treat your toddlers the same way you treat your teens? Of course not. Does that mean that you were wrong to treat them differently, that "different" automatically equals "not fair?" Of course not.

Now that brings us to the flip side of that coin, people who assume that everything must unavoidably change; that, in fact, anything that doesn't change is wrong. To look at that idea, let's go back to the Old Testament again.

Let's look at the Ten Commandments. Most societies, religious or not, agree with at least some of those commandments, things like "don't murder each other" and "don't take things that don't belong to you." Let's agree that, even if you don't follow all of the ten, you recognize that these rules go back many centuries, and are accepted by people of differing religions as the basis of their moral code.

I'm going to take one of these as my example - "Do not bear false witness against thy neighbor." There are so many laws based on this concept - plagiarism, libel, false advertising, perjury, breach of contract, defamation, slander and more. Pretty much every system of government has laws against false witness.

If I come across a religion that tells me that these ideas are outdated, outmoded, unnecessary, embarassingly backward, I know that I do not want to practice that religion; I don't think anybody should practice that religion. (The same is true, actually, of a government.) That's because some things do not change, so our attitude toward them, and our observance of them, shouldn't change. Saying, "OK, it was accepted in the past, but we know better now" doesn't sway me.

In general (although this isn't a hard and fast rule), practices change; doctrine shouldn't.

Many practices will change, and those changes don't mean that anyone is, or was, wrong. But some things are wrong, and time, popular opinion and other societal changes don't make wrong things, like false witness, right.

Sometimes I hear from people who are waiting for changes that they think should come, or those who feel wounded by changes that have come, and they talk about how pained and unhappy and angry they feel. The entire church (or all humanity), they think, should so obviously be doing things the way that makes sense to them. I understand that their pain is real, but I don't think that's the fault of any religion or its adherents. It's a problem with unrealistic expectations. How many times were you in tears as a child, or have you watched your child be in tears, because you couldn't have a pony, had to take a bath, had to do homework? That's what that pain looks like to God. He's lived many centuries longer than we have, so He has perspective and experience that we don't. He hurts because we hurt and He loves us, but not because He's doing things wrong and we children would do it better.

So, in summary, change is inevitable - but not all change. Makes sense?

Safety Rules

I felt the need to pause the television show we were watching recently and deliver an Important Parental Lecture to my 15 year old.

We were watching one of my favorite shows, a crime drama. A potential witness to a kidnapping was describing how he was nervous, watching a teenager he took to be intoxicated leaving with a man, until he noticed that the man was with a woman who seemed to be his wife - "Then, I figured, it was safe." As I described the moment to my husband the next day, he said, "Oh, you must have come unglued at that point."

My husband knows the story, the story that all of my kids have heard, about one of the most traumatic things that happened in our community when I was growing up. A girl from our congregation at church disappeared, along with her best friend. They were taken, and murdered, by a husband and wife serial killer team. (See "No, Not Cereal...") It doesn't matter if you're Gerald Gallego and Charlene Williams (responsible for the death of the girls from my town) or Paul and Karla Bernardo, a young, beautiful murderous Canadian couple who participated equally, or Cameron and Janice Hooker, with a dominant partner and one who simply goes along. No one can assume that a wife, or a woman, means safety.

My 15 year old is too trusting and naive anyway (a trait that I fear she gets from me). She once received phone calls and e-mails from a stranger that set off all kinds of mental alarms for her dad and me, but none for her. She explained that she felt "it was OK, because she's a woman," and my immediate, gut response was, "Do you know how many of the convicted Manson Family killers were women between the ages of 18 and 21? Three out of five!"

I don't know if that's "good" parenting or not, but I do feel that it's necessary.

Again, I found myself, with the TV program paused, saying, "Never, never never assume that a woman or a couple means that it's safe."

"I know, Mom. They told us that in my Red Cross classes." She's very proud of being a Red Cross Certified Babysitter. She started recounting things the instructor said about how to avoid being a victim - throw whatever you might have in your hands, scream, wet yourself, make a scene, make yourself an unappealing target.

That's fine, but I felt that I had to explicitly warn her again that danger may not look like danger. I reminded her about the girl I knew. Two teens were approached by a woman, a woman a good six inches shorter than my daughter, and offered a job putting flyers under windshield wipers. "They're both dead." Her eyes widened, and I worried, again, that she doesn't remember things that might be important some day.

This isn't the first time I've stopped in the middle of a program to have these discussions. I did the same thing once with three of my kids, two teens and an adult. The subject then was something that happened in 1974 at Lake Sammamish State Park in Washington. An attractive, well dressed, articulate young man with his arm in a sling approached a young woman and asked her for help loading his sailboat onto his car. "What's the red flag here?" I asked. They all looked rather blank. "Something about this scenario should be setting off warning bells. What is it?"

My youngest offered, "He's asking her to leave where she is and go someplace else with him." While I was gratified that she'd internalized one of the safety rules that we'd given her, that wasn't what I was looking for. None of them could think of anything unusual or dangerous about the request.

I pointed out, "How is he going to sail with his arm in a sling?" The younger two went, "Oh!" as the mental lightbulb went on.

My second born, who was 25 at the time, said, "Yeah - I wouldn't notice that at all. It wouldn't occur to me that anything was wrong."

"That," I informed her, "is what keeps me awake at night." She's bright and reasonably well informed, but she doesn't read people or situations well. I worry that it paints a figurative target on her chest.

The attractive young man in question was Ted Bundy. The sling was merely a prop. His arm was just fine - and there was no sailboat. He approached several young women at the park that day. Most turned him down. Two - Janice Ott and Denise Naslund - agreed to help, and died.

I hate the fact that friendliness or helpfulness can be fatal.

Sometimes, when we have these discussions, I can tell that my kids have grown up hearing different safety rules than my generation did. I once paused a program about a workplace shooting. Everyone in the office had been shot, but one was still alive, and attempted to crawl toward the phone while the shooter was still there. Hitting the pause button, I demanded, "What do you do in that situation?" - if you're in the midst of a group shooting.

Both of my teens immediately answered, "Play dead." Without prompting, they both said that the correct response was to hit the floor when the shooting started, and stay there, playing dead, until the shooter was gone. "Then you can dial 911."

I was glad that they both knew the answer that I was looking for, the answer that just might keep them alive.

I was sad that they live in a world where being involved in a mass shooting is seen as a possibility.

Letting It Go

All art is, by its very nature, ambiguous. Everyone will experience it differently, even if they agree on the theme or subject. You yourself will experience it differently at different times.

Whenever someone says that their interpretation is the only one, I get a bit annoyed. First, are they the author? If so, I cut them a bit of slack, because they created it. Still, it may have spoken to someone in a way that the author did not forsee or expect.

Nothing has quite dominated the entertainment landscape in recent memory the way the movie Frozen and its music has. So, naturally, I've read and heard a lot about "what it really means." Some of it is perceptive, and some borders on delusional, if you ask me. Still, I feel compelled to add my voice, because I thought that certain things were obvious, but I don't see them in many discussions.

Discussion of Frozen must include discussion of the juggernaut that is "Let It Go." I do not recall any song saturating popular culture the way this one has. Good heavens, it's everywhere.

And it's gorgeous. It's beautiful music. It's fun lyrics. To my mind, though, too many people stop at the "empowerment anthem" take, and don't look any deeper.

Sure, we're thrilled for Elsa that she's not huddling, terrified, alone in her room any more. I like to think that, had her parents lived, they would have quashed that, but (disturbingly) they don't seem to have discouraged it. Obviously, it's not healthy. Of course we're happy for her.

BUT.

There's some very large problems with deciding that this is the pivotal moment, that it's all about her breaking free and living her own life. She's still alone, for one. She won't let anyone near her. Isolation is isolation. Her current choices have made a mess for everyone else, too. Her orphaned sister feels even more abandoned. The kingdom that her parents cherished is without leadership. And, oh yeah, - "You kind of set off an eternal winter. Everywhere." These things are bad.

So, we have to look at the before and after, the cause and effect.

Elsa is different than other people. She has an ability that few have. (She controls snow and ice.) It doesn't worry her or make her feel special - it just is. Most of the time, she uses it for fun. Then, accidentally, she hurts her sister, Anna. Her sister is as much to blame - she didn't listen - but Elsa feels that it's her fault.

Those the family turns to for help unwittingly reinforce the idea that it was, indeed, Elsa's fault. Her ability, what sets her apart, was the cause, they say. She can't control it, which is dangerous. Others will fear her and her ability, and may strike out at her in anger or fear. So, the ability must be squashed and ignored. It's what's best for everyone.

But Elsa can't squash it. It's still there. And they're right - she can't control it. So, she hides. She equates squashing her ability and isolating herself with being "good." To be a "good girl," she can't be herself, or be around other people.

It's important to remember here that being embarrassed or shunned was not her primary concern. Her biggest fear was hurting someone, especially someone that she loved. She's willing to be miserable if it keeps them safe.

Of course, that can't go on forever, especially when she has to take on adult responsibilities. She must be around others. And, because that ability is still there, and because she can't control it, it shows up in the most inconvenient ways, at the most inconvenient times.

So, Elsa runs. She has to get away from other people. When she's truly alone, she thinks, she'll be free. She can be herself, and let what makes her different loose, give it free reign. She can do anything she wants to. "No right no wrong, no rules for me," she sings. When she stops trying to be "good," she'll be happy, she's sure.

But life doesn't work that way. Her sister feels abandoned, and that hurts even more because of the loss of their parents. The citizens of the kingdom feel abandoned, because they counted on her and she left them. Plus, the actions that Elsa did take have endangered everyone's health and safety. She was afraid that she might hurt someone, and now she's potentially hurt hundreds or thousands of people, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

Because she's never learned how to manage her abilities or feelings, how to truly cope in healthy ways, she just runs farther. She feels like "a fool," she fears harming others, but she just can't see any way out except more of what she's already done. The problem is, none of that has worked.

While it's a lovely song, I dislike focusing so much on this moment, because things are such a mess here. Nobody is happy; nobody is safe.

A lot has been written and said about two of the movie's lessons, that evil can come in an attractive, smiling package, and that the love of your family is "true love." Disney and its subsidiary companies have explored both of those ideas in many ways in recent years. Gone is the idea that the villain will be ugly; look at ABC's Once Upon A Time with Lana Parilla and Rebecca Mader. Look at the new Maleficent and Angelina Jolie. Both Once Upon A Time and Maleficent have also had "true love's kiss" be delivered by a family member, by a mother (or "godmother") to a child. I think that recognizing those lessons is extremely valuable.

I think, though, that the powerful lesson taught in the last few scenes of Frozen speaks just as loudly. Elsa, Anna, indeed the entire kingdom, are not safe and happy when Elsa is isolating herself and denying what makes her different. They aren't safe or happy when she just unleashes her power. Everyone is both safe and happy when she learns to control and apply that power.

Think about a power that most of us have - the power of speech. We eagerly teach our tiny children to speak, to recognize and use words. We're thrilled when they do. But almost from that very first moment that we ask our little diaper clad cherubs to say "mama" and "dada," we teach them that there's a proper place and time for words, and there's some words we shouldn't say. We shush them in quiet places like church or a waiting room. We teach them to wait their turn when others are talking. And, the older they get, the more restrictions we put on what words are OK. It's not OK to call other kids names and hurt their feelings. It's not OK to lie. It's not OK to bully or gossip. Once we start hitting adulthood, there's actually laws - slander, plagiarism, perjury, even advertising laws - that govern what's OK to say and what's not. Despite the fact that speech is important - indeed, almost necessary - we can't just unleash it and let it run where it will. We shouldn't "let it go."

Any other ability or aspect of human personalities is the same way. It doesn't matter if you can freeze things, conjure fireballs, read minds, talk, build, create, teach or anything else. It's not in squashing and denying it or in turning it loose that we'll be happy and productive. It's all about control and application.

I think that's what Elsa (and everyone else) has learned by the time we leave her creating a skating rink for delighted citizens, with friends and family around her. Sure, there were people who reacted with fear or anger, but they were the minority. Sure, it's possible to hurt others, but it's not inevitable. It's not a choice between being "good" and "no rules." Using this gift wisely is the goal.

Praiseworthy

Someone posted an article recently about the latest Young Adult in Hollywood Behaving Badly, and a friend of mine commented with a sentiment that I've heard many times before - "There aren't enough adults in (his/her) life saying no."

We all know this - we recognize it to be true. Give a young person fame, money and few boundaries, and chances are, it will turn out badly. Very few people can handle that kind of constant indulgence without turning into a self involved jerk with no reasonable decision making skills.

Sometimes, though, we seem to feel that it's about the money and fame more than it is about the lack of boundaries. "You've got to support your kids," people say, when what they mean is, "I'm afraid to tell my kid 'no.'" We worry so much about our kids' self esteem, and obsess that we might hurt their feelings or squash their dreams, that we find ourselves unable to set boundaries.

I know people who are just terrified to think that their children will ever be upset, hurt or disappointed in any way. While I adore my kids, and it pains me when they hurt, I have never thought that they are, or should be, exempt from the human condition. It is not my job to tell them that everything they think and do is amazing, or even correct.

My mother, and any parent of her generation or before, would have laughed herself silly if someone told her that her that her job, as a parent, was to make her kids happy. My mother was not perfect, believe me, but you criticize her parenting at your peril.

Mom was a very sensible, logical person. She was not stingy with praise, but it was always earned and matter of fact. If she said, "You worked hard on that project; you deserved an A," she said it the same way she said, "It's time for dinner," or, "You have a dentist's appointment on Tuesday." It was simply a fact.

That was also how she delivered criticism. "You can do better," "You made a mess; now clean it up" or "That's not going to work" were also delivered as a fact, not a value judgment. She knew when I'd thrown an assignment together, even if I got an A on it. Then, she neither praised or discounted the result, just observed, correctly, "Well, (that subject) has always been easy for you." Sometimes, I was annoying, disrespectful, lazy, unorganized, neglectful, hostile or any number of other "negative" things. She never hesitated to call me (or my siblings) on it, but I never, ever felt that she didn't love me because she was angry or disappointed. I also never felt that she loved me more when I was easy to parent - obedient, helpful, focused on my schoolwork. Her response to any action on my part depended on the action. Her love for me - for anyone - was entirely separate from behavior.

She did not gush over my every effort, no matter how tiny, assuring me that I was so much smarter, more talented, more worthy than other people. She also never put me down and made me believe that I'd never be good enough, no matter what I did.

At church, they told us that we were all children of God, and therefore, special. So, I felt special; but, I recognized that everyone else was special, too.

I never really thought that the balance of praise to criticism, "yes" to "no," was that hard. For one thing, Mom made everything she did look effortless. For another thing, the fact of the matter was what was important. If she'd told me that my crayon scribble was better than Picasso and it deserved to hang in a museum, that didn't mean that someone was going to come pay me millions for it and put it on display. If she'd told me that my "A" schoolwork was worthless, and that a chimpanzee could do better, it wouldn't suddenly change my correct answers to incorrect ones. Luckily, I never had to look for hidden meaning. If she pointed out that my room was a mess, it was a mess. If she said that my grandmother really appreciated the letter I'd sent, then Grandma was glad to get the letter. Simple.

Watching other people, though, it doesn't appear to be that simple. I see parents who feel that their child is never in the wrong, ever. Did the child get a citation for fighting at school? The other child involved is clearly in the wrong, and their angel was only trying to avoid being a victim. Did the child fail a test? The teacher didn't teach the material correctly. They didn't get the position they wanted on the sports team, or the solo they wanted in the chorus? It's because the coach or director doesn't like them, and favors another kid. These parents never ask their child to sit down and be still, to say please or thank you, to have a bedtime or to wait their turn, because the child doesn't like to. It causes the child to be unhappy, and that must be avoided at all costs!

Then there's the other end of the spectrum. I know (otherwise reasonable) people who believe that any praise is bad. It will cause the child to "get a big head." Compliments of any kind are also bad. They also believe that pointing out strengths, or things the child does well, are immaterial, and will prevent any improvement. In order to improve, the child must focus exclusively on what they do wrong. If you do ever pry a compliment out of them, it always has a "but" attached - "That was good, but it could be better." This is being "helpful," they're sure.

Both philosophies are well intentioned, but I believe that both are wrong. Balance is necessary.

The best Little League coach that my son ever had was the one who recognized each player's strengths and weaknesses, and tailored his praise and correction accordingly.

I try to do the same with the speech and debate team that I coach. I would never say to the kids who compete in the impromptu and extemporaneous events, "That's just lazy. You could memorize a piece if you wanted to. Why don't you do one of the events that takes actual preparation instead of taking the easy way out?" I would also never say to the kids who do events that require writing a piece, memorizing a piece, or both, "Anyone can do a decent job if half the work is done for them, and the piece is already written. Anybody can remember something they wrote themselves. Why don't you do something that's actually a challenge, and makes you use your brain on the spot? Are you too stupid to speak off the top of your head?" Each kid needs to figure out what they, personally, are good at, then do that thing. That may be the same thing their teammates are good at, or something vastly different.

I praise them when they do a good job, or even make an effort, and let them face the consequences when they don't do a good job. I've let my own kids walk into competition unprepared, knowing that they'll score badly (or completely crash and burn), because it's not my job to make sure that they never fail. It's my job to provide them with information and opportunity, and then let them learn. What cause equals what effect?

I have always tried to follow my mom's example and keep the same balance with my kids. I try to keep it very factual. Sometimes, they do a great job. Sometimes, they don't. I let them know that sometimes they'll win, and sometimes they'll lose. That's not a reflection on them, personally; it's how life works.

Anyone who's a parent, though, knows that children are not miniature adults, with fully formed reasoning capacity. They are irrational beings. They have no sense of scale - how big or small a problem is - and have undeveloped coping skills. Their brains are not done forming, even if they're intelligent.

My middle daughter has loved her persecution complex for her entire life. She clings to it like a life preserver in a stormy sea. When she was a child, good heavens, she spent most of her time simultaneously angry and depressed. In other words, she was a stereotypical adolescent.

She was about 14 when she informed me, sulkily, "You're always telling the baby, 'Good job!' You never say 'Good job' to me."

This was not the time to point out that when I did praise her - and it happened frequently - she would tell me, vehemently, why I was wrong. After a band concert, for instance, I'd tell her what a good job she did, and she'd snort in derision. "I screwed up the (musical term I don't understand)! I played the wrong note at least six times!"

I would say, "A performance is not measured by whether or not it's perfect. Professional musicians still make mistakes. A performance is measured by whether or not the audience enjoyed it, and they did."

"No, they didn't!" (Her knee-jerk response, the entire time she was growing up, was to disagree.) "Nobody liked it! They're only here because they have to be. Their kids are playing." She "corrected" me if I complimented her appearance ("I look stupid!"), schoolwork ("I didn't even try hard"), attitude ("Big deal"), helpfulness ("You make me do this stuff") or anything else. This is the child who informed me (repeatedly), "I'm obviously not as smart as you think I am."

Instead of pointing out how often I complimented her and was told that I'm wrong, I pointed out another obvious truth. "Just today, I said to the baby, 'You put your shirt on all by yourself! That's great!' The days when I would say that to you are long gone. No one will ever again say such a thing to you until you're 90 years old and in a nursing home. If you want me to say 'Good job,' you have to actually do a good job at something."

This is why humans do not have magical powers. If she could have reduced me to a pile of ashes right there on the spot, she would have.

When they were younger, my older two children complained bitterly when we made them clean up after themselves at fast food restaurants. They had to pick up anything they dropped, throw away their trash, wipe up spills and put away the tray. They both found this to be victimization of the highest order, and a clear violation of child labor laws. The complaints were loud and frequent. "Why do we have to clean up? Everybody else gets to just leave their stuff. It's not fair. They pay people to do this. This takes forever (a perennial favorite, no matter the job or how long it actually took). Why don't other people have to clean up their own mess, but we do?"

(Answer: "Because it's the right thing to do." This was not met with enthusiasm.)  The caterwauling reached a crescendo if we ever had them pick up a stray piece of trash along with their own.

When she was 16, my oldest went to work at a fast food restaurant. Almost from the first day, she came home complaining about people who didn't pick up their own messes. "People are pigs!" She resented having to do her regular duties and clean up after sloppy and lazy patrons. (I don't blame her.) She was especially scathing about parents who watched their kid(s) make a mess, then just got up and walked out.

I kept waiting for the mental light bulb to go on, and for her to make the connection, but it didn't seem to be happening. After 2 or 3 weeks, she was still complaining when we made her clean her own mess, as well as complaining about people who didn't pick up after themselves. All she had internalized at that point was, "I have to clean up whether I'm the customer or the employee. It's not fair!"

Then one day, she came home especially furious. A frequent customer had come in with his child, whom she described as "obnoxious" and "a filthy pig." Apparently he made considerable messes, and just walked away from it every time. "No one's ever going to want to be around that kid! No one's ever going to want to date him, or even be his friend."

Time to point out the obvious. "Now do you see why your dad and I always make you clean up your own mess? We don't want you to be one of those obnoxious people that nobody likes."

I swear to you, I actually watched the synapses fire in her brain while she finally connected the two thoughts, and her eyes grew wide. It was obviously the first time that this had occurred to her, yet she could see the truth of it. What decent parent wanted other people to feel that way about their child(ren)?

I don't think that we ever again heard "It's not fair!" complaints about having to pick up her own trash. My younger kids have done less complaining than the older ones because the older ones not only provide a good example, they're the first to let the younger ones know what's OK. "Pick that up! Nobody else needs to clean up your mess!"

In fact, one of the joys of this stage of my life is being around my adult children who are delightful, considerate people. "I used to be so jealous of those kids who got away with anything," my middle daughter said to me. "Then I got older and realized, those people are just obnoxious to be around. Nobody likes them."

It was never my job to have children who were happy every moment. It was my job to create functional adults. To a point, I agree with people who say, "We need to build up our kids, before the world tries to tear them down," but I sometimes disagree with the ideas others have about how that's done. I don't think that you "build up" a person by constantly telling them that everything they do is right and praiseworthy and good. You build them up by giving them the actual skills they need in order to function independently, competently and happily. You teach them how to work, how to cope with frustration, how to hear and respect the word "no," how to practice self control and how to consider the feelings of others as important. Those qualities are what will lead to them being happy. They won't be happy if they expect to always get their way and hear how amazing they are, no matter what they do. No matter who you are, those are unrealistic expectations.

I am not a perfect person or perfect parent. My kids are not perfect. Still, three out of my four kids are adults now, and if I do say so, they've turned out to be pretty great. So, yeah, I feel qualified to hold opinions on what's a good idea and what's not.

Young Hollywood: talent does not excuse rudeness. Everything you do, or consider doing, is not OK, funny, amazing or even justifiable. Sales of albums or movie tickets or mentions in the press do not equate to your worth as a human being. People around you, especially the ones telling you that you can do no wrong, are not "supporting" or helping you. Often, they're actually keeping you from reaching your potential. There's a reason for the term "spoiled rotten."

Those boring, outdated, out of touch people who tell you to knock it off, to tone it down, to dial it back - they're onto something. You might want to listen.

But only if you want to be actually happy instead of just indulged.