"We'll see"

I've stopped making anything that can be construed as a promise to my children. This is because they are all budding attorneys who view any failure to perform as a prosecutable breach of contract. It doesn't matter if I said we would probably go to the park, only to have a tornado subsequently level the park. If I said we would go to the park and we don't end up at the park, I am the Grinch who steals parks from sweet innocent children.

My instinct is to tell them "tough toenails, too bad so sad, get over it, the world is full of disappointments and suffering." This is because I am often grumpy yet with a dash of melodrama. What I try to keep in mind is that small children are very literal-minded. When Dad promises something, it's like Holy Writ. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that they believe I have that much control over the time-space continuum.

Instead I get irritated. I don't know many people who teach well from a state of irritation. These little ones do have to learn, of course, that there is a difference between a promise, on the one hand, and a well-intended plan that goes awry for lack of time or some intervening circumstance. I'm finding that I have to separate out the promise part, so that the trip to the park is a "We'll see" or a "Maybe." Then if something intervenes, we can still have the lesson about how life is filled with uncertainties (especially in a family with four boys) but without the part where they look at me with disgusted faces like I am the biggest disappointment since Godfather III.

I'm learning, however, that even my most careful hedging gets parsed like I am the chairman of the Federal Reserve. Recently when I responded to some request or another with a very neutral "We'll see," I heard 6-year-old Eli lean over to explain to 4-year-old Isaac, "'Maybe' means 'No,' but 'We'll see' means 'Yes.'"

This is how I know I would never do well as a famous person, because I can barely stand the pressure of being scrutinized by four munchkins, let alone a mob of entertainment reporters who know for a fact that I am not perfect. At least my kids only suspect it. For now.

So I will continue to hem and haw when it comes to whether there will be dessert tonight or fishing tomorrow or building in our barn this weekend that big go-cart we've been talking about for months. At the same time, I'm trying really hard to keep the promises I do make. Maybe they forget most of my foibles and fumbles, but I think they remember whether or not my word meant something. I don't know what the current estimated values are in the Woodlief household of my "Maybe later" and "We'll try" replies, but I figure if nothing else my "Yes" and "No" should be 100 percent guaranteed. That would be a decent legacy for any man.