Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Subscribe: RSS

It’s probably obvious to us all that we can’t be our children’s friend, but we have sadly been eyewitnesses to parents that parent that way.  In every relationship damaging reality the enemy has devised something very sinister.  Here it is.  When you try to parent as your child’s friend you wind up being neither.

As a Royal Ranger Commander this can be easy parenting style to slip into.  As a dad Royal Rangers gives you a great platform for building adventure, memories, and a close meaningful relationship.  As a Commander dad, Royal Rangers sometimes gives your boys a backstage pass and that’s were problems can start.  Be careful asking for a tour of the kitchen at your favorite restaurant.

There are two relational positions that you never what your kids to fill.  Your Confidant or your peer.

You Confidant

We all need those friends in our life that we can confide.  Usually that’s a very select, small group.  These are friends that know you well enough that when you need someone you can vent to; they will listen and can respond appropriately.  This can be disastrous when your confidant is your son or daughter.  Let me give you an example.  Let’s say you have a rough time in Rangers one night.  One of your fellow Commanders wasn’t well prepared again, and a few of the boys were a real handful.  One the way home you confide in you son your frustration with Commander Frederick and point out that Joey’s parents need to straighten him out.  Your son can’t properly process that information, nor does he have enough information to properly advise you.  This can have an undermining effect on how your son perceives the Outpost, the Commanders you serve with and the parents of his peers.

You Peers

When you treat you kids like your peers, they can begin to lose respect for you and other adults in their life.

Mean Moms Guide for raising great kids.

I tried to slip out the door, but Mom intercepted my exit. “Sweetheart, what are you wearing?”

“Just black pants,” I said.

“Did you paint those on?” She called for backup. “George!”

Dad appeared. “What are those?” His face scrunched up, as if looking at something extraterrestrial.

My confidence fled. “Black pants?”

With Dad as wingman, Mom began her “No daughter of mine . . .” speech.

Great. The “no daughter of mine” rant, I thought.

But she’d made her point. As I stomped off to my room to change, I muttered, “Mom, you are so mean.”