Bringing the Kids: Why Expecting Good Behavior Works

My boys and I had quite a day this past Friday. I’d known for months that May 22 would be a big day: my niece, my beautiful Tara, would be graduating from Marymount Manhattan College. I had to be there, no question about it. Tara was born when I was a senior in college, and 21 years later, it was my turn to be there to celebrate her accomplishment and see her shining smile.

My niece, Tara, at graduation.

Oops, sorry — proud Auntie brag over, and back to the subject at hand: Sure, I would be there. But what about my boys? Would I take them to New York City? On a weekday? On a school day? A day with precious little kid appeal? Seats in a Lincoln Center theatre? Pomp and circumstance? Long speeches? Lists of names read out with solemnity? They’d have a meltdown! Maybe they’d take turns having temper tantrums. I’d have to leave the ceremony, ply them with bribes, tote a toybox full of distractions, annoy my family, earn the glares of the people seated around us.

Or would I?

I decided to forget trying to arrange complicated pick-up-and-drop-off babysitting situations, and just take Daniel and James, for a couple of reasons. First, I had a hunch they would like it. Not the speeches, certainly, but the train ride, seeing their aunt and cousins and grandparents, and the very fact of a Friday unlike most Fridays. Second, and as it turned out, more important, I wanted them to experience something “grown up” like this. I wanted to make the point (not for the first time, and hopefully not for the last) that not all events revolve around them. That not all places we take them have bouncy castles and goody bags and pizza and fruit punch.

Plus they just adore Tara (she’s easy to love).

There I go again. Sorry! What I really wanted them to understand was that there are going to be times that a different kind of behavior would be required of them. And a day with a festive undertone (and plenty of help in the form of said aunt, grandparents, and cousins) seemed like a good opportunity to make that point.

The day started with the most fun (for them) part: the Long Island Rail Road trip into the city. Here they are:

Daniel, making like a commuter and reading.

James preferred gazing out the window.

After the flurry of Penn Station and the subway ride uptown (Daniel insists on standing and holding a pole, like a real New Yorker), the Good Behavior Requirements began. They had to: sit (not stand) in their seats in the auditorium; not whinge above a whisper; not step on feet; and so on. I did have some quiet snacks on  hand, and books to look at. I gave Daniel a pen and let him scribble on the program (this makes him feel important), and James got to take some random photographs of my legs, the floor, and head of the man in front of us, and eventually fell asleep in my mom’s lap.

And that was it: they made it through. Without a GameBoy (we don’t have those — yet) and without tears or trauma.

I don’t believe, of course, that children should be seen and not heard. But I also don’t believe that we have to keep young kids in a kind of child-friendly bubble, constantly worried that if we expect behavior that’s a bit of a stretch for them, we’ll all fall apart. There has to be a middle ground between expecting a 6-year-old and a 4-year-old to sit in an auditorium for three-plus hours with their hands folded in their laps, and letting all hell break loose while anxious adults put aside their own attention and enjoyment of an event in service of a child who might whine.

I think there’s something to expecting good behavior.

Here’s me and my boys at Becco — the theatre-district restaurant where we had our celebratory dinner.

Even upscale restaurants serve pasta with butter!

Listen, I’m not saying my sons are better (or worse) than any other kid, and certainly they’ve had their share of “mommy wants to hide under the table” bad-behavior moments. But I’ve learned that there’s something to the idea of expecting good behavior–and to exposing young children to events and situations in which they can rise to the occasion. After all, if they’re never given a chance to display their Very Best Behavior, they never will, right?

After the graduation ceremony, we walked 20 blocks to the restaurant (that’s a mile, a lot for suburban boys). At one point, I asked my little guy if he was okay (thinking that if he wasn’t, I’d carry him for a block or two). My mom, holding Daniel’s hand next to me, silenced me with a sharp “shhhh!” Her point: If you ask if they need help, you’re just inviting a “please carry me” whine. She was right: James was so busy swiveling his head this way and that to take in the sights (horse and carriages, taxi cabs — possibly 100 of them, he said — dogs on leashes, and all kinds and sizes of people), he didn’t have a chance to decide he was tired, or wanted a treat, or needed to be carried.

In a phrase, he rose to the occasion.

What’s your take on expecting good behavior?