Jim Daly - The Best Advice I Ever Got on Parenting: Incredible Insights from Well Known Moms & Dads

Jim Daly

F or the first thirty-nine years of my life, I was a detached observer of the parenting scene, even though for much of that time I worked for a Christian family ministry! Not yet being a father, I wasn't especially motivated to absorb every tip and lesson on how best to raise the next generation of children. And, to be honest, I probably assumed I was readymore or lessto be a father if the Lord so willed it.

And on August 12, 2000, I did become an active participant in the parenting scene. If I close my eyes, I can still see the hospital room and feel the excitement of the big moment. Trent arrived on that golden summer day, and my wife, Jean, and I were thrilled beyond words.

Imagine! Me, a dad! Having been abandoned by my father, I was determined to be everything he wasn't, but I was not entirely sure how I would pull it off.

I began eagerly absorbing every bit of wise parenting counsel I could find. I read the classic books on parenting. I listened more closely to the Focus on the Family Daily Broadcast. I talked with my friends and observed with great interest the admirable parents around me. Parenting was no longer a theoretical exercise: I was a father. And I was determined to be a good one.

How have I done? Like everyone else, I'm still a work in progress.

As I'll share in a minute, the best advice I ever learned did not come from the terrific influences and influencers around me. I didn't read it in a book or hear it in a broadcast or from a friend. I learned it years before from my mom.

OWN YOUR MISTAKES

The arrival of your first child is a reflective season of life. There is the sheer wonder of it all, of course, but many parents also tend to wander back in memory to their own childhood. I was one of those. After Trent was born, I found myself looking back and trying to glean some insight from my tumultuous childhood days in Southern California.

My father walked out on my family in the mid-1960s, and my mother became my rock. She was the one person I could depend on. She modeled for me the importance of a parent keeping his or her word. But she taught me so much more, including one lesson I'll never forget.

As a single mother, she had her hands full. Put bluntly, I was a bratty kid, and I probably acted out on several occasions for lack of a father figure. However, one particular incident stands out in my mind above all the others.

My family never had much money, but I grew accustomed to receiving a little toy each time my mother and I went to Crawford's Grocery and Department Store in Alhambra, California. The routine was always the same. She and I would start shopping, and a few minutes into the visit, Mom would let me walk over to the toy aisle to do my shopping. I looked forward to that treat, but I came to expect it too. Before I scampered off, she always assured me that she'd stay where she was, allaying any fear that I wouldn't be able to find her upon my return.

On this particular Saturday my mom was shucking corn over in the produce section. After happily picking out my G.I. Joe outfit across the store, I began walking back toward the corn. Suddenly I saw her standing with her back to me in a different aisle. For some inexplicable reason, my young mind couldn't handle it. My mother had lied to me! I flew into a fit of rage. Charging down the aisle toward her, I clenched my right hand and formed a fist. Angry and out of control, I lunged toward her and planted my fist in the small of her back. A hollow thud echoed in the air, and my mother stumbled forward in a daze.

Only it wasn't my mother.

It just so happened that this particular woman was wearing an outfit identical to my mom's. In shock, the stranger twirled around. Looking up, I stammered and mumbled and slowly backed awayand then took off in search of my mom.

When I found her, she was exactly where she told me she'd be. Noticing my tears, she asked what was wrong.

I just hit a lady.

Why in the world?

Because I thought it was you.

Mom didn't waste time asking questions. She grabbed my collar and dragged me back to the scene of the crime. By now the other woman had composed herself and was again shopping. Mom and I spotted her at the end of an aisle.

My mother stopped moving. you will apologize to that woman! she thundered.

I dragged my little feet along the linoleum floor and down the aisle. When I reached my victim, I looked up at her and cleared my throat, shuffling nervously from side to side, wanting to talk but struggling to get the words out. Biting my lip and fighting back tears, I offered an apology. Understandably, my words fell flat. She glared down at me. After I was done talking, this bewildered lady twirled around and muttered something under her breath. Looking back now, I don't blame her. She was rightfully miffed. I can only imagine what she was thinking.

My mother taught me a valuable lessonsome best advicein the peanut butter aisle of Crawford's Grocery. I've attempted to pass on this wisdom to my sons, Trent and Troy: Own your mistake. Admit it. Apologize. And try to right the wrong.

FORTY-FIVE YEARS LATER

Washington, DC, is a long way from Crawford's. But on a recent trip east with Jean and our two boys, I found myself incorporating into my parenting that painful childhood lesson learned in that California store many years ago.