I was terrified to find two such books in my own house. I was even more confused, being confident that my own family and the relationships therein would not come short of appalling the authors of these books.
Having calmed myself down, and in truth kind of intrigued, I read a bit.
The books suggest that families spend quality time together, recommending for example, a family game of Scrabble. In reality, this usually entails long periods of exhausting and artificial interactions.
This Thanksgiving, my family too was confronted with the task of having to sit stationary with one another for the time it takes to travel the length of Long Island. Our choice of vehicle is the Chrysler Town and Country minivan, which, despite being a rather spacious and formidable metal box, does not alleviate the burden of one another’s presence.
The result was interaction that was admittedly exhausting, but not at all artificial.
The trouble in my family is that there are too many people named Louis. In the car with us, we had two of them, Louis my father and Louis III my brother, both of whom are always right. So, after seven spirited rounds of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” the Louises have taken to a lively discussion of politics, public health care to be specific. While the books promote conversation, on the list of recommended mundane discussion topics, politics is nowhere to be found.
The contents of this discussion, however, are less important than the fact that there were four hands gesticulating in the air in the front seat, leaving our Chrysler Town and Country to its own devices.
Back in the car, my mother’s pleas for them to stop poured in from the back seat and went unheeded, while the emotions of the steering Louis quickly translated into his driving.
In other words, Louis’ driving became utterly nauseating, particularly for me. “Please, you’re making your sister sick!” became my mother’s new mantra. The Louises, in turn, pounced on the opportunity to use my illness as currency, each claiming that the other was making me sick.
At this point, an outsider (and the authors of the books) might believe that some sort of schism exists between the Louises. This is not the case. In fact, at this very point, the Louises united in a concerted effort to frighten my mother by inciting and pretending to rage on the road.
The conclusion: functional families don’t play Scrabble.
They happily argue in cars and throw things at one another in a healthy manner. Real families aren’t forced into contrived family bonding activities, whether they are board games, camping trips or potato sack races.
Considering this, I realized that perhaps my Thanksgiving experience wasn’t idyllic, but it was most certainly ideal and a lot of fun. The natural unforced experiences are what truly define the family experience, despite the wisdom of familial self-help books.
Then there are the books that deal with college-age students specifically, both at home for holidays and at school; they have titles like “Letting Go” and “The Essential Parenting Guide to the College Years.” But they not only support contrived Thanksgiving activities, but also aim to continue the labored and affected relationships at college.
Thumbing through one of the books, I stopped to examine the do’s and don’ts for when your child is stressed. For example, “Do: Ask if she’s thought of any ways she could make her life more manageable.” Rather than providing any new or useful information, this book compels parents to articulate unhelpful and even irritating information.
If such an explicit outline of the appropriate parent-child relationship is necessary, did any authentic relationship exist before the child went to college? The books instruct when to call and what to say. So, are calling these parents anything like calling the parents you left at home in September? Since kids don’t grow extra limbs or scales at college, relationships shouldn’t mutate either.
My own parents leave me sad voicemails when I don’t call them. Perhaps we don’t speak as regularly as we’d like, but our little bit of communication is unrehearsed and friendly. My dad likes to text me whenever he’s eating particularly good food to make me jealous.
Our food banter is authentic. Throwing objects at one another in the car is legitimate. Fighting over the dark turkey meat is real. We sing in the car not to encourage family bonding, but to keep my brother in the back seat from happily falling asleep. These are the activities that define holidays and family, not laborious forced games of Scrabble.
Monica Greco is a freshman from Brooklyn, New York. She can be reached at mgreco@princeton.edu.
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