My Son the Traffic Cone
…and how I learned what authenticity looks like
A few months ago, my son attended a birthday party with his friends in Cub Scouts. These events often included a gathering of dads. We talked about their busy schedules. We lamented their rapid growth. The discussion evolved to discipline and how we instilled discipline in our children.
One dad shared, “My son picks up his own clothes and places it in the laundry. He does the laundry himself.”
I spoke up, “my son puts the clothes in the hamper. I don’t expect him to do the laundry right now.”
He looked up. I felt judgement in his eyes. He retorted, “Oh come on, you haven’t taught him yet?”
I stared at him as the heat around my neck began to rise.
It is not unusual for parents to find themselves judged for their parenting. In a global survey by Ipsos, 92% of American parents with a child aged 0–17 feel judged at least sometimes with 15% reporting very often feeling judged. A Pew research survey conducted in 2022 also shows mothers were more likely to report feeling judged more than others. Yet fathers are not immune to judgement.
I was not a Boy Scout. Going into the woods with other kids did not pique my interest. When my son asked to join scouts, I harbored reservations. I have limited experience in outdoor activities save for fishing. I have a small circle of guy friends with whom I enjoy spending time. The thought of spending time with other dads and their children felt as enjoyable as a root canal. Yet, he joined scouting without my coercion, so I supported him.
My son is quirky, friendly, self-confident, and tenacious. His favorite animal is the mallard duck. He is a natural born performer and is willing to stand in front of a crowd to get their attention. He is, in short, my complete opposite. I am an introvert preferring to spend my time alone or with select friends.
At a recent scout meeting, the den leader assigned the scouts two famous Americans to present. My son drew Sam Walton, the founder of Walmart, and Mark Twain. We researched their biographies and prepared notes with pictures to show to his den.
On the night of his presentation, he wore his standard blue boy scout uniform. To complete his ensemble, he wore his favorite orange traffic cone hat. It was exactly as one imagined. It was a bright orange traffic cone shaped into a hat. I allowed him to wear the hat to the meeting expecting its removal before his presentation. I looked on with surprise as he walked to the microphone wearing the hat on his head.
Then he spoke. His booming self-assured voice resonated throughout the small school gymnasium. He turned the pictures around and showed them to the audience. He provided commentary about each picture and beckoned everyone to pay attention. He continued with each page making side commentaries at each one.
At one point the adults seemed to lose interest. He again grabbed their attention.
“Look at these pictures of this famous American,” he bellowed.
I tried my best to remain composed. A dad who sat beside me, the same one who shared his son’s aptitude for laundry, began to huff, and stared at his phone. The internal feeling of judgement returned. My heart beat rapidly as I tried to ignore it and focus on my son.
I looked at my watch. More than five minutes had passed. He had not yet started his second presentation. My son looked at me as he continued to present and crack jokes. I motioned with my fingers to keep going. I did not dare turn around. I felt all the parents’ eyes boring through the back of my head. His scout friends laughed, as he continued to joke.
He then began his presentation on Mark Twain. The orange traffic cone remained on his head. His narrative continued but this time accompanied with a very southern drawl.
“This here is Samuel Clay-mans,” he started, “he is a famous writer.”
The jokes and side commentary kept coming. Each time we made eye-contact I motioned for him to speed up. He exceeded more than his allotted time. At this point, he spoke faster and, in his distress to finish, let out a nervous belch.
The room fell silent for a split second and then his friends began to laugh. Inside, I died of embarrassment. My face became as orange as the traffic cone. My head fogged; I could not recall the rest of his presentation. At the end of it, I asked his den leader if I could speak to my son alone. I had all intention to admonish him.
Outside, I knelt to the ground and faced him eye to eye. I saw a little bit of concern in his eyes, afraid that I would scold him. As I paused and sat there, something inside me changed.
I found myself praising him. I commended him for his courage. I praised him for his showmanship. The constructive feedback I gave him was next time to stick to the time limits. I gave him a hug and he and I walked back inside to listen to the rest of the presentation.
That night, I realized that people will always judge me for how my children act. As hard as it is to feel judged as a parent, it is more important to love my children and support them. The only thing that matters to me is that my children live their most authentic selves. And isn’t this what we all want for ourselves as well?
