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Piercing screams came from the playroom. Happy screams or hurting screams? My mom ears pricked up.

Those were not happy screams.

Abandoning my work I marched up the stairs. My daughters backed away from each other upon seeing me. I could see that neither of them was hurt, but they were still shooting daggers at each other with their eyes.

Dutifully, I launched into a lecture on the reasons why they should treat each other with respect.

There are many valid reasons, so this was not a short talk.

By the time I wrapped it up, I had bored myself to the point where I was tempted to roll my eyes and say blah, blah, blah.

My girls bolted as soon as they sensed they were allowed. I had a sense I’d missed the mark, but, oh well, at least they’d stopped fighting.

Later on, at dinner, one of my kids made a rude remark about another child. My husband and I reacted in sync, and proceeded to tag team a lecture on empathy and kindness.

While we made several excellent points, dinnertime turned into a sort of ultra lecture where the kids ate in bored silence, probably plotting their escapes from the table.

For parents like myself, ultra lectures are fun in the moment, but as with other over-indulgences, like eating a whole tub of Hagen Daz, I tend to feel worse about myself almost as soon as I finish.

I knew that in each of the scenarios above, my children had not gleaned the wisdom I had hoped to convey; those teaching opportunities had been wasted.

Instead of learning valuable life lessons, they felt like victims and learned to ignore my words.

I felt that I had hit the rock-bottom of lecturing.

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“Mom, I have better things to do now.”

When the conversation is about reading, few words cut a librarian to the quick more efficiently. My 13-year-old son and I had first been talking about screen time limits. He had been expressing his thoughts calmly while I mentally congratulated myself on how I was handling this touchy conversation.

It went downhill when I shared my hopes for better use of his time than first-person shooter games and YouTube.  Then came his comment about reading.

“I have better things to do.”

I stood like Wile E. Coyote who has been hit by an anvil but doesn’t realize it yet – mouth agape, eyes wide and uncomprehending. I must have looked stunned, because he repeated that sentence for me. Slowly.

As I looked into my son’s face, this kid who’s been steeped in the magic of books his entire life, my heart sank. I pictured the decline of his reading as the slamming of all those doors that my husband and I tried so hard to open for him.

Then I woke up and remembered he’s just turned thirteen – the game’s not over yet.

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