We visited the Washington Monument, something Scott still remembers, or rather, he remembers the kite he watched and chased, as we approached the icon.

After that, we went to see the Lincoln Memorial. We had to climb steps and steps and steps to get to it. Scott was so little that he only saw the steps ahead of him. It wasn’t until we got close to the huge statue of seated Lincoln, that Scott stopped, looked up, sat down on his fat little haunches, threw his hands to his cheeks, and said, “Mommy! Lincoln Memorial so-o-o-o-o-o big!”

While we were gone, we talked about who we missed. I told him I missed Daddy. He said he missed Daddy, too, and Abba (Albert Elkouby) and Ema (Carmella) and Grandma and Uncle Jon and Aunt Mary and Uncle Steve. It wasn’t until he was twelve that he learned that Abba meant “daddy” and Ema meant “mommy” in Hebrew.

When he was about two years old, Scott came down with a very high fever late one night. I strapped him into the infant seat beside me. (Small children could sit up front then.) I was very worried and was driving probably faster than the speed limit. He looked over at me, and nodding his head up and down, calmly like an old soul, said, “Mommy, two hands on the wheel. OK?”

Even though I am a devout Zen Buddhist, and his father loves Zen, himself, we never intended to teach Scott what to believe, only to love the truth and to treat people with respect. We “Faith Parented” him, so he would become an independent spirit. He was not willful or disrespectful, but he was used to following his curiosity and to being trusted.

When Scott’s Uncle Howie died, we went to the funeral without him. Only four years of age, he had many questions about what happened to Uncle Howie. We explained, death, as best we could. He asked, “What happens to us after we die?” Not sure how he could take it, I dared what I believed to be an honest answer. I said, “We go back to the Universe. It’s sort of where we came from before we were born. We go back to the raindrops and the flowers.” He seemed satisfied, I noticed. When we returned from the funeral, I brought him a flower as a symbolic representation of Howie. He took the flower to his room.

I overheard a conversation he had with a little friend who was telling him all about Heaven, to which he said, “That sounds absolutely silly. When we die, we go back to the flowers.” While I felt bad for the little girl, I was pleased he was comfortable with dying and without need for a story which would perpetuate his “life,” identity or ego. I didn’t foretell how providential this conversation was, since he’s become quite a debater.

Faith Parenting is a concept I discovered or identified when Scott began to explore the world. I intuitively believed his adventures were sacred, while I understood it was my responsibility to keep him safe. I reminded myself that he had soft bones, a reflex to relax upon falling or being thrown, and that he was built low to the ground. His dad and I were on the same wave length.

While we felt very protective of our little Buddha, we considered our options. If we over-protected him, he might never become as great as we envisioned. If we under-protected him, there might be an unforeseeable risk. You know what we chose. Honoring him, we really had no choice, which is why I call it Faith Parenting. I suspect that many people along the way were shocked at the trust we put in Scott’s process, but it paid off.

We both believed it was important to have faith in Scott. When he was a little over one year old, he scaled his high chair to the kitchen counter to get cookies from the top of the refrigerator. He also had taken to bouncing on the arms of his stroller, as well as on our bed. I thought it might be time to buy a king size bed and box springs.

Scott and I went to Macy’s Department Store. While speaking with a salesman, Scott was standing on both arms of the stroller with two hands on the handle trying to rock it. The floor was carpeted, and I was within reach of Scott. A nervous woman rushed over to tell me with alarm that he might fall. I looked at her calmly and responded, “Yes, he might,” putting my hand on the stroller to indicate to her that I’d brake his fall, even though I was willing he have that experience.

I was buying a bed upon which I anticipated he might jump hundreds, if not thousands of times. We planted it firmly on the floor without legs. His friends came to love their visits to our house, because they too were allowed to jump on his parents’ bed. I can report to you that the bed took the abuse well. We retired it only because there came to be two ruts where Ron and I slept.

The day came when we had to get a pogo stick and a trampoline. Before we retired the trampoline Scott could do flips backwards and double flips forward. As an actor, he livened up his “choices,” often jumping over a fence or furniture against one hand, or flipping himself across a bed to the other side. He was agile.

I taught Scott that life was an adventure. Once when he was about three or four, we took a bus, just to take a bus. I told him we were going to get on the next bus to come along and take it wherever it went. We did. We ended up at Chuck E. Cheese about an hour away. We visited there, and turned around.

When we went hiking, he danced circles around me and scaled ledges with ease, passing to the front of me, walking backwards for awhile, prodding me, “You can do it, Mom. You can do it.” Then, as if showing off, although he wasn’t, he’d drop back by scaling cliffs to the side of me, and push me from behind. “Just a little farther, Mom. We’re almost there.” I hate revealing how out of shape I was that he thought I needed shoring up, but these were hot, steep, long hikes. Scott treated them like a stroll in the park.

Allowing Scott to bond with the Elkoubys was faith parenting, especially since we could tell they naturally faith parented without hearing of the Causal Theory. Remaining close by, they let him climb up and down their carpeted staircase, up and down, up and down, up and down. They delighted in his practicing. They introduced him to sushi, and he learned to love Moroccan food, which to this day, is his favorite food. To this day he loves them, and to this day they love him as a member of their family. They are his other family. Their daughter, Vared, recently held a Bat Mitzvah for her oldest daughter, Nicole. Scott was invited to light a candle. I have had an experience sharing my son with another family, so as a child custody evaluator, I have experiential knowledge with sharing custody, and I have seen that attitude is everything.

So, when Scott was about two, we got him his own television and VCR. When he was about three, we got him his own video game setup. When he was four, he had his own telephone. When he was five, I got him business cards to give his friends with his phone number on them. When he was six, he was allowed to sit at a separate booth and pretend he didn’t know us. (We’d secretly tell the waitress that he was our child and ask her not to let on that she knew.)

A few months ago, my adult Scott invited me over to his home, as he often does around midnight. It takes me about five minutes to get out of my pajamas and dressed again and another forty-five minutes to get there. He usually plays me a few songs he’s recently written to see what I think, tells me about new events in his life’s adventure, wonderful quotes and stories from friends and acquaintances, and we talk a little philosophy. This time, as Scott was retiring to bed, leaving me to the comfortable living room sofa, he put on a video for me to watch. “There will be a test in the morning,” he teased. But, he was also serious.

The next morning while we were eating breakfast, he asked, “How did you like Finding Nemo?”
I loved it,” I glowed.
“What was the last line?” he questioned me. “Ut oh,” I thought. “I’m going to disappoint.”
It really was a test. “I give,” I confessed.
“Go and have an adventure,” he reminded me with glee. “Oh,” I mused. “You’ve told me that my entire life, and now it’s the way I live,” he said, as though he were proud of me.

Scott spent hundreds of hours quietly in my therapy office in my arms or under my chair while I worked. Of course, I offered a reduced rate for this freedom. It often brought up issues of my client’s childhoods, which I used to help them.

At about four years of age I began to take him to Montessori School part time, because he was not as patient with my clients as he had been in the past. As we rode to school one day, my little sage asked, “Mommy, do I have to go to school forever?” An alarm went off in my head.

With some effort, I found a preschool, Buonora Child Development Center, which would work with my precious child. They would allow him to keep his “blue blanket” as long as he wanted. He could nap when he was ready. He could draw as much as he wanted. As precocious as he was about learning the ways of the world, he was still a child who needed to securely complete every emotional stage. I was in no rush for him to give up his blanket.

When I went to pick up Scott’s records of inoculations from the Montessori School, the owner said to me, “I don’t understand why you’d take him to Scott still relishes his blue blanketanother school now, especially since we did all the work to Scott with his blue blanket, stillnormalize him.” I was glad I had heeded my intuition. Now I knew why.

It was at Buonora that Scott had the best teacher of his entire education. Under Nancy’s tutelage, Scott loved learning.

Scott spent his first moments of life in front of a camera, and we began to video tape him when he was nine months old.

Scott and his dad used to sit on towels in the middle of the kitchen and paddle around the world with wooden spoons for paddles. Scott studied videos of movies and cartoons and re-enacted them often, especially when daddy would sword fight with him. People often ask me about whether children should get to watch television or play with toys of violence. My answer is that television is fine if they get enough quality time with you, and toys are only expressions of what’s in the heart. Sword fighting was truly playful with his dad. We never saw any aggression. He had none inside.

Angry children who have been neglected, left in daycare, physically abused or seen for who the parent wants them to be rather than who they get to be, are going to reveal hostility which was already lurking by playing with violent toys. Their parents should get help to heal their children, and in the meantime, no violent toys.

Scott had his favorite videos. He studied his videos, especially Robin Hood which he really loved. He memorized lines and practiced accents. He developed some favorite characters. His most favorite character was Superman.

We had two pair of Superman outfits, one pajamas and one costume. The costume was sort of spandex, looking more genuine than the pajamas in this photo. Scott loved his costume. His daddy would lift him into the air and fly him around the house tirelessly. One very warm day, I laid his flushed face and tired body down on his bed, and tried to take off his costume. He became outraged. He was clearly beyond indignant that I would disrespect Superman so. I got the message and waited until he fell asleep before I tried to take off his costume. When he woke the next morning, he was furious with me. My little tiny two-and-one-half-year-old said to me sternly, “You must never take away Superman’s power, ever! It’s wrong.”

Scott was also a huge fan of the Ninja Turtles. We saw the movies, owned the videos, and he had the action figures. Daddy got every action figure as soon as they came on the market, sometimes waiting for the store to open. Other times he went from store to store to find the newest Ninja Turtle action figures which Scott said he wanted. Other times he made friends with the sales people, so he could be notified. Needless to say, Scott had the costumes, the masks, and the swords. It was pretty cool for us too, because it seemed that the rat, Master Splinter, taught his ninja students some Zen-like theory. (Zen was our philosophical point of view, if not our religion.) Once another child asked Scott what his religion was. He said, “I’m Zen.” He certainly was.

I started to teach parenting when Scott was four. At one of my first classes, I lifted him up and stood him on the table in front of the parents. I said, “Scott, these grown-ups have come here to study how to be the best parents for their children they can be. As a kid, do you have any thoughts about what children need from their parents?” Scott thought for a second, and then said, “Love your children, never spank them, and always give them plenty of cookies.”

When Scott was about ten I picked up a book of Shakespeare. I brought it home and explained that Shakespeare was probably the greatest poet of all time. I told him he was a great playwright, that he lived hundreds of years ago, and that he had a remarkable insight into people. I picked a monologue which started with “To be or not to be,” and gave it to Scott to learn. I was delighted. He read it and memorized it, reciting it back to me with a British accent he learned from watching his Robin Hood video again and again and Scott again.

Shortly thereafter was the Oscars. We, Snyders, were movie goers and loved to watch them. A member of my relationship skills workshop had an Oscar party for the group, and Scott, about age 10, was invited because he loved movies, too. After dinner, I asked if they would like to hear Scott recite something from Hamlet. Everyone was gracious. They enjoyed it, except one of the guests, a real actor, took Scott aside. “You can recite Hamlet or you can act. If you want to learn to perform Hamlet, I can help you.” Scott was very excited.

Joe Carberry coached Scott privately for about a year, and then Scott asked if he could go to real classes and act with other students. He also asked for an agent. It wasn’t long until he had one. I remember Scott going to the children’s class at about eleven. They asked the kids to perform something, either imitating a favorite animal, actor or a character.

I told the teachers that Scott could do Hamlet. They seemed very interested, but Scott was quite miffed with me. It had been more than a year since he’d done Hamlet, and he said he know if he could remember it. He felt set up. He became very angry at me for butting in. He withdrew from the room into the hallway. I went out in the hall to apologize to him. He remained upset with me. I came back to tell the teachers I had made a mistake, and he was probably not going to be performing anything that day. Suddenly, he burst through the door in full character. He did the entire scene without a hitch, including his British accent, only he did it as if he were Jim Carrey performing Hamlet. The teachers were so blown away, he was advanced immediately to the teen class. “That was the best child acting I’ve ever seen,” said one instructor. “I wished we’d taped it.”

When Scott was about four, he appeared to pale from so much freedom and adoration. One night on our way home, after he and I had spent two days and nights at the Disneyland Hotel, my little Buddha sat in front all buckled up in his car seat. He looked so small. He said to me, “You know, if I ever do anything wrong, you could always take away my Nintendo.” He paused, and then backtracked, as if he’d reconsidered just a little. He said, “Or you could trick me. You could just tell me you’re going to take it away.”

Of course, we have to interpret what our children mean sometimes. I believe Scott had told me in his way that he relied on me being strong enough to make sure he was good. I was right. One day, he tested my limit. I told him to go to his room and stay there until he could explain to me what he had done wrong. He went to his room and turned around again. Bravely putting one foot outside of his door, he asserted “You call yourself a therapist? You’re a child abuser!” He then quickly jumped back into his room, choosing to take my authority very literally.

It’s very difficult to explain to parents how to see their children. Many parents who are not good at seeing have tried to imitate the way we raised Scott, and have ended up creating narcissistic personalities who are over-indulged and under-disciplined. Scott required very little discipline, because he was so completely seen and because we dialogued with him continuously about values and choices. We shared thoughts and autopsies on ideas. We shared internal dialogues and thoughts about self-awareness. We saw his soul, so to speak, rather than our idea of him. This is an art, and it cannot be done, unless one has self-reflected enough to become authentic.

Ron and I had different ways of getting him up in the morning. I would get dressed first, so I felt no pressure to rush. Then I’d bring orange juice. I’d lightly stroke his forehead and his wispy head of blond hair. “Good Morning, Sleepy Head,” I’d say softly. Sometimes, I’d call him Sunshine, other times I called him Golden. “What did you dream?” Scott always knew his dreams. They were happy dreams. I was amazed to hear how much he loved life by listening to his dreams. Rarely did he seem to be working out troubles. After he told me his dream and drank his orange juice, I’d playfully dress him under the covers. When he got up, I’d pour him some cereal. I did this probably until he was eight years old, even though he fully well knew how to dress himself and liked dressing himself as much as being pampered.

Ron, on the other hand would turn on cartoons. He’d tell Scott that as soon as he was up and dressed, they’d go to McDonald’s. At around nine Scott began to let me get some sleep. He took over his mornings on his own initiative. From then on, he set his own alarm on his own accord in time to get the bus. Today, he always wakes up in a good mood and on time, even if he burned the midnight oil.