kindness

“I want a dog,” Caroline begged. “Please.” Our daughter was seven years old and had made up her mind.

“Someone will have to take care of the dog,” we told her. “It’s a lot of responsibility.” I had a full-time job and we had two children. We already had enough responsibility.

“Then let me get some kind of pet,” Caroline pleaded. “Any kind of pet.”

So we all talked about what kind of pet Caroline might get. It would have to be easy to care for and inexpensive. A cat? Too stinky. A bird? Probably too noisy. We decided on a goldfish. You never had to walk a goldfish. They never barked or whined in the middle of the night. They could swim around without a collar or a license.

Caroline really loved her little goldfish. She named him Rainbow. She sprinkled food into his fishbowl once a day and cleaned it once a week. She wished Rainbow good-morning and good-night and asked him how he was doing. She even asked him if he had enough light to see where he was going and if he preferred a different location in her bedroom. A more dedicated owner no pet goldfish ever had. Given the chance, I’m sure Caroline would have taken Rainbow out for a walk too.

But then, just a few weeks later, Rainbow died. My wife and I discovered him dead, floating without a flutter on the surface of the water in his bowl, and had to tell Caroline. That was hard for us to do, just as we knew it would be. She broke down in tears, and we had no success comforting her. We offered to get her another goldfish, but she said no thank you.

How and why Rainbow died we have no idea. But no foul play was ever suspected. Maybe he was old or sick. Maybe he missed his pet-store friends.

Now came another tricky issue: what to do with the body. As it happened, it was summer, and we belonged to a beach club on the Atlantic Ocean. Caroline came up with the idea: we would bury Rainbow at sea. 

So off we went to our cabana, Rainbow adrift in a plastic bag filled with water. We shuffled in our sandals on the hot sand toward the shoreline. Caroline stood there with us holding the bag.

She told Rainbow she loved him and was sorry he had died and would miss him. Then she said good-bye and dropped Rainbow into the surf. The waves quickly wafted her pet goldfish out into the ocean and out of sight. Caroline slowly waved good-bye, crying.

Losing Rainbow was how Caroline first learned that nothing is guaranteed to last forever. It also showed us just the kind of daughter my wife and I were lucky enough to have. Sensitive to the suffering of others, particularly the helpless, such as babies and other small creatures. She hated to see the vulnerable hurt.

Empathy and compassion are hard to teach, if they can even be taught at all, but maybe they can be learned from experience. Caroline knew how it felt to be hurt. Sometimes kids in school made fun of her because she was small, just like Rainbow. She never told me about any of that; I had to find out from Mom. Now maybe her sympathetic nature came naturally. But more likely, it was early on that she came to understand and identify with anything small.

That’s also why Caroline grew her hair and gave it to Locks of Love for children who go through chemotherapy. It’s why she breaks into tears at scenes in certain movies about a hardship—Dumbo separated from his mother, for example—and at the sight of a dog limping along missing a leg.

Caroline is still like that today. Just ask Coco and Edgar, her two rescue dogs.

Do kids value kindness? According to the Highlights 2017 State of the Kid survey, they do!

We polled 2,000 kids ages 6–12 to get their views on kindness and empathy. When we asked, “What would you change in the world if you could change one thing?” more than half of the responses related to kindness.  

But when we asked, “What do you think is most important to your parents—that you’re happy, do well in school, or are kind?” only 23 percent of the kids said that it matters most to parents that they are kind. Almost half responded that their happiness matters most, and about one-third said that it’s most important that they do well in school. But, when Making Caring Common, a project of the Harvard Graduate School of Education, surveyed parents and asked the same question, the majority of parents said that what matters most is that their children are kind. The dissonance is concerning.

Is the message that kindness matters getting lost in the swirl of other messages kids are receiving about achievement and personal fulfillment? Is the importance of having concern for others getting buried in the noise of our me-first culture? So it seems.  

If you want to be clear with your kids that kindness truly matters—and that, indeed, they can make the world a better place with acts of caring and kindness—try teaching more intentionally. Here are five suggestions for activities that will raise your family’s kindness quotient:

1. Foster gratitude, a key ingredient in kindness. Gratitude cultivates positivity. It brings into focus the things in life that truly matter, and primes us to be kinder. One good way to practice gratitude is to keep a family gratitude journal. Once a week (whatever cadence works for you, but it shouldn’t feel like a chore), invite family members to make an entry—a note about something for which they are thankful. Young kids can dictate their entry to you, draw a picture instead of writing, or paste in a photo. Try to keep the focus on people or events rather than on things. For example, rather than “I’m thankful for my toy truck,” try for “I’m thankful for Grandpa who knew I’d love the truck he gave me.” Or take an occasional Gratitude Walk, observing your surroundings and naming things for which you are grateful (your helpful neighbors, the friendly dog next door, or playmates down the street).
    
2. Mix up the dinner-table conversation. Instead of asking your kids “How was your day?” invite them to tell you something they did that day that was kind or describe a kind thing someone did for them. This can lead to some great conversation that will give you a chance to reinforce the value you place on kindness, compassion, and empathy.
    
3. Give kids practice being kind. Before leaving on an errand or outing, decide as a family to look for opportunities for random acts of kindness. Encourage your kids to hold a door open for someone or return someone’s shopping cart to the store. Leave a quarter in the gum ball machine, or pay for another customer’s coffee at the coffee shop and see how pleased and excited that makes your kids!
    
4. Read good children’s books and magazines together. They can throw open windows to the world, introducing us to unfamiliar places and new ideas. Choose stories with characters who are kind, who exhibit moral courage, and who are sensitive to the needs of others. According to research, fiction is great for helping readers see a situation through the eyes of someone else, and that’s how we learn empathy. Here’s a list of books to get you started.
    
5. Schedule Family Game Night, with a twist. Leave the old stand-bys on the shelf and instead choose games that help foster empathy and caring. You can find countless suggestions online for both making and playing kindness-themed games. Try “Kindness Bingo,” a game you can play all week. Create a “Bingo” card to hang on the refrigerator. In each square, briefly describe an act of kindness that would be meaningful to your family: Call Grandma to see how she’s feeling. Help the neighbor rake his leaves. Make a thank-you card for the school crossing guard. Bake cookies to take to the neighborhood fire station. When your family completes enough kind acts to call “Bingo!” offer a small, fun reward. The reward should be simple—think “extended bedtime” or a favorite dessert. Emphasize the intrinsic reward—the happiness that comes from knowing you’ve made someone’s day.  

The more opportunities we give kids to show caring and concern for others, the greater the likelihood they will become the change agents they want to be, helping to create a kinder world.  

My name is Carlie, and I am 13 years old. My mission is to change the world with kindness, and my motto has always been “It doesn’t matter how old you are—you can make a difference!”

I choose projects that are close to my heart and enlist my community’s support to help spread kindness! I started Carlie’s Kindness Campaign when I was 9, and it recently became a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. So far, through my projects, I’ve raised $2,500 worth of toys and games for kids going through chemo, sent Christmas gifts to our military servicemen and servicewomen overseas, delivered homemade baked goods to local fire and police departments to thank them, created a program at my school to promote respect for people with special needs and disabilities, organized the first annual Kindness Rocks 5K family fun run and walk to benefit the Make-A-Wish Foundation, held a hurricane-relief supply drive for the victims of Hurricane Harvey, and hosted a Veteran and Active Duty Appreciation Lunch on Veterans Day! 

Now, I speak at schools, holding assemblies to promote how awesome volunteering is, and to show kids that being kind is cool! I also do special random acts of kindness when I hear stories of people who need some kindness in their life, like a little girl diagnosed with osteosarcoma, or a single mom who has breast cancer, or a family who lost everything in a house fire. I send them a little something, like a gift card or a coloring book, with a note, to brighten their day.

I feel like Carlie’s Kindness Campaign has created an easy way for people in my community and surrounding areas (I call them Kindness Fans) to spread kindness and actively participate in making the world a better place. Because my organization helps with all kinds of issues and needs, each project is new and exciting, and draws people of all ages, backgrounds and lifestyles to help me make each project happen.

My hope is that I inspire people to do good things for others, and show them that when people come together to help, amazing things can happen. 

Carlie’s Kindness Campaign is about getting people to spread kindness, in any way, shape, or form. It is fun to see kids and grown-ups excited about getting involved, and if I can be the person to spark their interest or help them along the way, then my mission is being achieved. It is easy to help others if you’re willing to put in a little effort. Acts of kindness don’t have to be big or elaborate; they can be something as simple as holding the door for someone, helping your parents carry in groceries, telling a teacher or coach thank you, or shaking a veteran’s hand. I love giving kids ideas for possible projects in their own areas, like organizing a blanket drive for the homeless, collecting food for the food bank, writing letters to our troops, or playing games with people at a retirement home. I have a notebook filled with ideas for future projects! 

I’m proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish and thankful for those who are always ready and willing to help make things happen, and I love seeing faces light up when kindness comes their way. It really is my mission to try to make a difference and build relationships in my surrounding communities through giving, awareness, outreach, service projects, and acts of kindness. Our family doesn’t have a lot of money, but we do have a lot of love to spread around, and being kind doesn’t cost a dime! How are you spreading kindness in your community?

In school, our children are focused on learning facts, how to do math, and how to write. This type of intelligence helps propel them forward in school, earning high grades and college acceptances. But…what if IQ alone isn’t enough to make your child successful in life?

Emotional Intelligence (EQ) is the awareness of one’s feelings and the feelings of others. It is the ability to understand and manage one’s emotions and utilize this knowledge to connect with others. Empathy is a central element in EQ.

In the 2017 Highlights State of the Kid™ survey, Highlights asked 2,000 kids ages 6 to 12 what it means to “put yourself in another person’s shoes,” and 67 percent of responders understood the idea of empathy (with only 14 percent, higher among younger kids, responding that they did not know). This is promising news!  So, as adults, how do we continue to encourage empathy in our children?

Parents and other trusted adults are the main sources of information in a child’s life. We are the role models, and as such we can start the empathy conversation by displaying an awareness of our own feelings. Children are not born with an innate ability to name a feeling and connect that to an action or experience. But we can help teach them. When rushing to work in the morning, let your child know, “I am worried about getting to work on time, and I am sad that we don’t have time to play a little longer.”  When we make a mistake, like forgetting something at the store, we can tell our child, “I am mad at myself for forgetting the milk at the store, and I am frustrated that we will have to go back.” This allows your child to recognize feelings and the situations that cause them, the first step in building empathy.

You can also start a dialogue when you see your child having a feeling. For example, “It seems that you are feeling sad/mad/frustrated. Am I right?” Starting the conversation about your child’s feelings provides an opportunity to validate his experience and can lead to brainstorming possible solutions and/or coping skills. Identify. Validate. Implement skills. Let your child know that a feeling is never wrong. Though once we are able to identify it, we can then choose how to move forward. Do we need to take an action? Do we need a distraction? Helping your child identify what he may need in response to his feelings can make a situation seem more manageable.

We don’t always have to be focused on the less favorable emotions either. We can ask our children how it felt when they earned a special award in class or when a friend asked them for a playdate. Encourage recognition of feelings such as pride, happiness, and contentment.

The next step is connecting this knowledge with respect of feelings toward others. A great way to start is by sitting with your child as she watches a movie or a television show. Talk to her about how a character may be feeling, why she might be feeling that way, and what might help her in the moment. Using real-life examples is also a perfect way to teach children how to observe others in a nonjudgmental and open way.  

Creating a loving and safe environment for your children will allow them the space to explore their emotional process and in the end, be better equipped to connect and respond emotionally with others.

It was the morning rush and, as usual, we were racing the clock. The children were slow to put on their shoes, I left my coffee on the steps, and we got stuck behind a garbage truck. When the car in front of us stopped in the middle of the street, I honked my horn and swerved around the double-parked car, muttering unsavory remarks under my breath.

My first-grader piped up from the backseat. “Mama,” he said. “That wasn’t very kind of you.”

I looked in the rearview mirror and, as his big brown eyes met mine, felt a wave of shame. He was absolutely right; I had been unkind. My mind flooded with excuses, but before I could piece words together, his small voice interrupted my thoughts. “Light’s green!” he announced. 

I returned my eyes to the road. My children chattered cheerfully the rest of the way, but I remained silent, still struggling to formulate a response to explain my unkind behavior. We pulled up to school with seconds to spare and my children scrambled out of the car. As they sprinted to the door, I called out my routine farewell: “Bye. I love you! Be helpful. Be kind.”

The car door closed with a slam, snapping me to attention.  My words hung in the air and echoed in my thoughts for the rest of the day. I tell my kids it’s important to be kind nearly every day. But when I myself was unkind, I was at a loss for words.  Why is it so easy to tell them to be kind, but so hard to speak when I myself am not? 

Like most parents, I aspire to model kindness for my children. Yet, this wasn’t the first time my children had seen me act unkindly and I am certain it won’t be the last. There are inevitably times when we don’t live up to our own expectations. In fact, most kids see adults acting in unkind ways, as the 2017 Highlights State of the Kid™ report demonstrates. In these moments, we need to be gentle with ourselves, remember that we are human, and reset our intention to be kind.

But we can’t stop there. It is these moments, perhaps, that are the most critical to talk about with our children. Like my son, children are keen observers and they notice when our words and actions don’t align. Instead of staying quiet, I could have been honest with him. “You’re right,” I could have said. “That wasn’t kind. I was so frustrated that I lost my temper.” I could have said I’ll try to do better next time. These moments offer an opportunity to reaffirm our values deliberately and intentionally. 

These days, there is no shortage of people acting in unkind ways. Kids see adults treat each other with disrespect in cars, on sports fields, and in the media. It’s not enough to remind our children to be kind and then let these moments go by unnoticed. We need to call out unkind behavior when we see it. We need to show our children examples of standing up for what is right, even when it’s hard.

That way, someday I will meet my son's eyes without flinching, and know I did my very best to show him that I strive for kindness always, that I admit I’m unkind sometimes, that I want him, like me, to be his best kind self as much as possible—and that we’ll always be able to talk about it.

News flash: Parents aren’t perfect! 

All right, this isn’t actually news. Any parent who has lain awake at night replaying in his or her mind a regrettable lack of self-control—a harsh tone, a sarcastic comment, a slammed door, or worse—knows this all too well. Parenting is hard, and not one of us does it flawlessly.

But if we think our kids don’t notice when their parents or other adults behave unkindly—and that it doesn’t affect them—we’re kidding ourselves. In the 2017 Highlights State of the Kid™ survey, Highlights asked 2,000 kids ages 6 to 12 if they have ever seen their parents or other adults acting unkindly or saying mean things. A majority of respondents—67 percent—told us that they have indeed.

We also asked kids how this made them feel, and 93 percent reported a negative reaction. Forty-nine percent said it made them uncomfortable, with 43 percent saying they felt sad. Other answers were “scared,” “confused,” “embarrassed,” “surprised,” and even “angry.”

When we asked kids where they had seen adults acting unkindly, 37 percent said they observed it in the car, 27 percent said they heard it when adults were on the phone, and 24 percent said they saw adults behaving unkindly on television.

Make no mistake: kids don’t miss much.

They are watching when a driver in another car gestures rudely when he speeds past us. They hear us when we angrily hang up on a telemarketer. They can detect the snark when we’re arguing with our spouse. And, increasingly in today’s growing culture of incivility, our kids observe people with power and fame publicly insult or belittle others. Wherever it’s happening—from the White House to the local athletic field—incivility is registering with our kids. Yet, we know that it’s what parents do that leaves the most lasting impression.

It can be a strain to model kindness and caring in times of great political divisiveness and a growing me-first culture. Parents are busy, stressed people. When a plan or schedule goes off the rails, the wish to kick the proverbial cat or react with another negative emotional response is understandable. But if, as the old adage goes, trying to take back unkind words is like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube, what can we do after we deliver a regrettable outburst or a thoughtless comment or deed within the earshot of our children?

Tempting as it may be to let it go and hope they forget, we should own the mistake and create a teachable moment. If we can circle back with our kids and confess that, upon reflection, we realize that we blew it, we can turn a negative example into something good.

By naming the emotion we were feeling at the time (“I was angry that we were going to be late”), we can help our kids learn to identify the emotions in themselves that might trigger unkind behavior.

By acknowledging that we behaved inappropriately (“It was rude to call the other driver a name”), we can admit that the situation actually called for self-control and better problem solving (“I should have left the house earlier to allow enough time”).

And to show we plan to walk the talk, we can tell our kids how we plan on making amends—whether that’s an apology to the offended party or a vow to do better next time.

As a parent, it can be difficult to admit to our kids that we behaved unkindly when we insist that they be kind. But it can be very powerful for a child to hear a parent say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t show much self-control in that moment.” An apology can convey both humility (“I’m not perfect”) and strength (the courage to admit a mistake and a resolve to do better)—two attributes we hope to instill in our kids. As writer Margaret Lee Runbeck once said, an apology “can transform the clumsiest moment into a gracious gift.”  An honest conversation like this can help kids understand that we are not perfect and we don’t expect them to be perfect. But we do expect them to try always to be kind.

The good news is that kids want to see more caring and empathy in our culture. When we asked our young State of the Kid survey respondents to name the one thing they would change in the world, more than half of the responses related to kindness. We can help kids see that they can be agents for change by positively engaging in the world—if we remember that they learn best by watching us.

My daughter shares her millennial generation’s intolerance for all non-instantaneous forms of communication. That includes voice mail. If she calls and I don’t answer, she simply hangs up, leaving me to speculate whether she’d merely wanted to chat, or been kidnapped. So when I saw that she’d left a message on my phone a couple of weeks ago, I wondered what she had considered important enough to merit the effort. It turned out that she hadn’t felt either chatty or imperiled, only unhappy about having snapped at me before she’d left the house that morning. “I’m sorry I was so cranky, Mom,” she said, sounding contrite. “I was just in a bad mood; I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Please forgive me.”

It wasn’t hard to do, especially since it had been she and her brother who’d taught me how to do it by always forgiving me for my own intermittent crankiness when they were growing up. In fact, if I’d been the one to teach them how important it was to apologize—to say they were sorry for calling another kid “stupid head,” or for accidently riding a scooter up some unsuspecting pedestrian’s leg—they’d been the ones to teach me how important it was to forgive.

I remember one particularly fraught morning when my daughter, then age seven, and I exchanged this bilateral lesson. I had an early appointment to get to, but despite my urging her to hurry, she was still dawdling dreamily over her bagel only minutes before the school bus was due to arrive.

Exasperated—and suddenly noticing that the feet she was swinging languidly under the kitchen table were bare of shoes and socks—I went into overdrive. In a loud, angry voice, I let loose a string of accusations about her total lack of cooperation, her nonexistent sense of responsibility, and her general inability to focus on anything important. The feet abruptly stopped swinging, and a hurt and startled face turned in my direction.

“Now go and put on your shoes,” I finished sternly, and she quietly left the table. But the image of that wounded little face remained, and I realized almost immediately that I’d reacted too fiercely to her lackadaisical, but hardly criminal, behavior. A moment later, I followed her into her bedroom and sat down next to her as she pulled on her socks.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said. And then, realizing that “sorry” wasn’t enough, I explained my behavior and took back the global accusations that I had made about her character. “I think I got so angry because I’m worried about getting to an appointment. I know you can be very cooperative, and I apologize for saying you’re not.” I put my arms around her, and was relieved to feel her squeeze me back.

A year or two earlier, my still-gangly adolescent son unaccountably decided to join his high school’s wrestling team. When he asked me to buy him a $40 team sweatshirt, I flatly refused, reminding him that he was already in possession of a school sweatshirt, and that money didn’t grow on trees, at least not on our trees. I ended this non-discussion by admonishing him not to ask me again.

Two weeks later, his dad and I went to see his team compete against another school. I watched as, one-by-one, his teammates trotted into the gym wearing dark blue, zip-up sweatshirts, with the name of their high school and “Wrestling” spelled out in gold lettering on the back. In contrast, my son’s old pullover—faded from many washings, a bit short in the sleeves—looked pretty pathetic. I realized how embarrassed he must have felt in it, and on our way home after the match, I whispered an apology (of sorts) in his ear: “Order the dumb sweatshirt!”

Whenever I apologized to my children—for flying off the handle and saying hurtful things I didn’t really mean, for overreacting to some annoying piece of behavior, for answering no to a request without considering the reasons behind it, for any piece of unjust behavior that I regretted—I was trying to convey to them several important messages. Above all, I was trying to make it clear to them that I cared about their feelings, that I cared enough to take the time to judge my actions, to ask myself whether I was being too harsh or unfair, to check whether my behavior stemmed more from my own stress than from their misdeeds. My apology told them how important they were to me, how high a priority they had in my heart.

It also modeled the sort of behavior I wanted them to make their own, showing them what it meant to listen to the stirrings of regret they would inevitably hear from time to time for having treated another person badly. I wanted them to see that being in the wrong wouldn’t kill them or irreparably harm their relationships with those they cared for, not if they took the time to make things right.

I know I can’t protect my children from all the injustice in the world—but I can protect them from my own. By apologizing to them, which I still do now that they are grown, I’m letting them know they can count on me to be fair, to recant an undeserved rebuke, or rethink an ill-considered decision. I’m illustrating how acknowledging hurtful behavior toward others is an important way of maintaining their trust. People you apologize to learn they can count on you to be on the up-and-up with them, always. And isn’t that the way we want our kids to feel about us?

My son was a sophomore in college when he brought his first serious girlfriend home for his birthday dinner. She was pretty and petite and well-spoken, and my instinctual wariness (What does this girl want from my precious son?) ebbed as the meal progressed. At the end of the evening, as they were getting ready to leave and I was carrying dishes from the table to the kitchen, I passed the two of them standing in front of the hall closet. She had just finished buttoning her coat, when my son—a 6’1” bruiser, with shoulders that barely made it through our front door—flipped up her collar and said, “It’s cold out there.” His hands lingered under the cloth, cupping it to her cheeks, and he gazed down at her with a look of tenderness that, until then, I’d only ever seen him bestow on our dog. The object of his gentleness, whose blond head stopped just short of his overworked biceps, turned her face up to his. Her expression, which I remember clearly to this day, was one of complete trust and adoration.

Their emotional transaction lasted for no more than ten seconds, but that was long enough to convince me I had raised a son who could do more than simply consume a houseful of food in one afternoon, or emerge from a rugby match with a black eye and a grin. What I saw was that I had brought up a young man who could both inspire, and return, love.

It’s memories like these, I find, that I treasure most about my kids, not their public triumphs, but the intimate moments in their lives when, without knowing it, they showed me they were becoming the kind of open-hearted people I always hoped they’d be.

My daughter was seven years old the day the soccer team she played on after school lost a close game at the last minute, when their goalie was unable to stop a ball kicked swiftly into the net by one of the players on the opposing team. The loss was a big letdown for our side, so I prepared a consoling speech as I watched my daughter walk dejectedly off the field. All at once, I saw her lengthen her stride so that she came up beside her team’s goalie, who looked dangerously close to tears. I watched as my little girl leaned in and said something to her fallen friend, who shrugged her shoulders and seemed to brighten up. They gave each other a quick hug, after which my daughter skipped over to where I was waiting.

“What did you say to Natalie?” I asked, as she put on the jacket I held out to her. She brushed away the bangs that were forever flopping into her eyes and began to zip up. “I just told her that I thought the last ball had been a really hard one to stop, and that probably no one else on the team could have done it.”

“That was nice of you,” I said. She shrugged. “Yeah, well...” She didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence. I guess a seven-year-old doesn’t have the dictionary definition of empathy at her fingertips. No matter. Her behavior was proof enough that she knew it by heart. 

Look, there are many things my children are not and never will be: Rhodes Scholars, Silicon Valley billionaires, Nobel Prize winners, or Olympic champions. But does this mean they are less than they should be? Of course not—not if I remember that their value isn’t based on what they achieve, but on who they are.

I think we parents often forget this. I know I did all those nights I lost sleep agonizing over my son’s listless test scores or my daughter’s lack of direction, his carelessness, her dreaminess. It took me far too long to see that the question isn’t whether a child makes valedictorian, but whether he makes other people happy. It isn’t whether he gets into the college of his choice, but whether he makes the right choices. It isn’t whether he keeps his room clean, but whether he keeps his word.

As I see it, we parents are in the manufacturing business. We’re on the assembly line every day, reminding our kids to say please and thank you, not to hurt other people’s feelings, to work for what they want, to be good sports. And after putting in countless hours of unpaid overtime to get the job done right, our rewards are found not in diplomas or trophies but in the everyday feats of kindness and courage by which our children show us that we’ve turned out a quality product.

We just have to keep our eyes and our ears wide open.  

A friend remembers her mother trying to teach her and her sibling good manners at the breakfast table when they were young. “What’s the magic word?” their mother asked before sliding pancakes on their plates. The younger sister thought and then answered triumphantly, “Bippity-boppity-boo!”

Well, that was then and this is now. As challenging as it’s always been to teach children to be courteous, many parents think it’s much more difficult today.

In the current climate world, rudeness often reigns. Cyberbullying is all too common. Television reality shows depict backstabbing behaviors and bickering. Politicians—even some of those running for the highest office in our land—hurl insults. Kids observe road rage, toxic interactions on playing fields and in sports arenas—and even in their own homes. (OK—who hasn’t slammed a door or otherwise shown a regrettable lack of restraint or decorum in front of our children at least once?)

An overwhelming majority of Americans across all generations believe that lack of civility is a major societal problem today. And most of us think the problem is only going to worsen, because kids need to see civility modeled in order to learn it and that’s increasingly a tall order. Parents have to work harder than ever, it seems, to teach kids what they need to live peacefully with one another—things like self-awareness and self-control, empathy, an understanding of the importance of thinking not just about ourselves but also about the common good.

Where to begin? Here are a few suggestions.

• When your children witness or observe incivility, don’t miss the opportunity to talk with them about it. Explain why what was said was inappropriate. Encourage them to put themselves in the shoes of the recipient of the mean-spirited words or behavior. Teaching them how to look at the situation through the lens of the other person is one good way to teach empathy.
• Monitor your kids’ media consumption, and balance the incivility they may be seeing in news, TV shows, movies, and video games with good literature. The world is full of excellent books featuring characters who are worthy of emulating. Even fictional characters can model how to treat others with dignity. Don’t underestimate the power of literature to teach your children how to live life well!
• And try to avoid becoming desensitized to incivility. Speak up when you or your children experience or witness it. Sometimes a small incident can teach a big lesson. When some teenagers intentionally cut in front of younger children lined up for a ride at a local fair, an adult spoke to the kids, pointing out that their behavior was rude and asking them to move to the end of the line. The chagrined kids did so, to the murmurs of approval from onlookers. Another mom I know once asked two customers in a reception room to bear in mind that children were present, listening to their conversation, which was peppered with inappropriate language.

Let’s refuse to view mudslinging and name-calling as accepted (and expected) political rhetoric. Write letters to these politicians and public servants. Sign petitions. Use the power of your vote to communicate your disapproval. After all, our children are watching and listening.

When I was in elementary school—way back when—my parents would give me a dollar if I received an A in “Behavior” on our quarterly report cards. They didn’t pay for good academic grades—although it was clear that they expected my very best effort. If that best effort resulted in a B instead of an A in a particular subject, that was OK. But anything less than an A in Behavior was inexcusable.

When I became a parent, I thought about this practice a lot, particularly around the arrival of my kids’ report cards. Never completely understanding my parents’ rationale and feeling funny about rewarding good behavior with cash, I decided not to pay my kids for good conduct—or for good academic grades, for that matter. But results of a recent study from the Harvard Graduate School of Education made me think harder about what, exactly, my parents may have been trying to accomplish.

The startling take-away is that more than 80% of the 10,000 students surveyed ranked achievement or personal happiness over kindness. Yet, in the same study, 96% of parents indicated that it’s important for their children to have a strong moral compass.

The researchers in this study call this a rhetoric/reality gap—a gap between what adults say and what they do. And it sends, at the very least, a mixed message to kids about our core values.

How have we arrived at this place? Is the emphasis on high-stakes causing us to overly focus on scholastic achievement? Are we so intent on trying to ensure that our kids are “happy” that we forget to remind them to be kind—that we forget to talk about (and demonstrate!) that sometimes we must set aside our self-interests for the common good or the good of another?  

Kindness matters. It matters globally, as a healthy society needs people who care about the needs of others as well as their personal happiness.

And it matters to each of us personally. To raise happy children, we must cultivate kindness in them. People can’t be truly happy if cruelty and insensitivity are part of their make-up. To raise successful children, we must cultivate kindness. Kindness and empathy are components of a strong social-emotional IQ, which other research shows, is as critical to success in life as is intellectual IQ.

So how can we let kids know that, yes, doing well in school matters—but so does being a person of good character?  I think that’s what my parents were trying to help me understand. My report card probably had a dozen letter grades measuring scholastic achievement—but only one for conduct. Pulling a dollar out of his wallet every grading period may have been my father’s way of balancing the scale—making sure that the one important grade buried on the back of the report got its due. Playing well with others, respecting authority, being helpful—these things, like math and reading, must be learned.

A friend’s son was recently recognized at 8th-grade graduation with an award for showing leadership in tolerance and kindness. His mother was happy and proud—but also conflicted about how much fuss to make over it. Would a celebration or reward suggest that he went above and beyond, when really he had behaved exactly the way he’d been taught? I think a little fanfare underscores the message that we value being nice as much as we value accomplishment.

Intentionally giving kids opportunities to practice kindness surely helps as well. One parent I know helps her kids organize a charity toy drive now and then, urging them to donate the toys they no longer use. Another parent took her daughter to a free community luncheon to help serve. Another family regularly assists elderly neighbors, who repeatedly try to pay the children for their efforts. But the firm family rule is “no payment,” and the kids learn the difference between a job and service to others.

Of course, the message that speaks the loudest is we adults rolemodeling the behaviors and mindsets we want kids to adopt. When we parents illustrate our words with our own actions, the message is least likely to be misunderstood. Let’s try in every way to say to our kids, “Yes, we want you to be good students, but we also want you to be good people.”