Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo was perusing this article from the WaPo about a study put out by UVA which concludes, among other things, “that the overwhelming majority of parents fall into one of four categories: The Faithful, The Engaged Progressives, The Detached, and The American Dreamers.”

Of course, I really have only my own family’s example to go by, but from the description of the study’s findings in the article it seems as if there is some serious pigeon-holing going on here.  As you might imagine if you’ve spent any time over the decanter here,  I would consider the Port Swiller Family to be primarily members of The Faithful:

According to this classification, the 20 percent of parents who are The Faithful are religious and adhere to traditional notions such as reserving sex until marriage.

“The Faithful are distressed by the moral conditions of the society in which they live, determined to defend the traditional social order, and confident that if they cannot accomplish this task, at least they can buffer themselves from progressive currents enough that their families will remain faithful to their traditions.”

This group also responds far more readily to the statement, “It is my responsibility to help others lead more moral lives.”

Yet at the same time, I think it fair to say that Mrs. R and I agree with the Engaged Progressives that “with freedom comes choice and, by implication, responsibility for the consequences of one’s choices. …”  Similarly, like the Detached, we sometimes feel “parents today are in a losing battle with all of the other influences out there.”  Finally, like American Dreamers, we’ve always taken the line that the threat of spanking for discipline was far more important than spanking itself.

So there you are.  I would expect that we’re not alone in finding ourselves primarily in one category but also drawing elements from the others.  Perhaps the article overstates the apparent rigidity of the classifications in the study.  Otherwise, the Groovy-Uvies might want to go back and sprinkle it with a whole bunch of modifiers and qualifications.

And speaking of such things, why the heck does it seem that the gels manage to accumulate among themselves more sprains, tears and fractures in six months than Brothah, Sistah and I got in our entire childhoods?  I certainly don’t think they’re any more rough and tumble than we were, and yet they practically tag-team crocking themselves.   This time around it’s the youngest, who managed to step on her foot sideways going down the basement stairs.  She reports she heard a loud crack as it happened and her ankle is swelling in a way I don’t much like, so it’s hey for the doctor’s this morning.   She claims she was walking calmly when it happened and the middle gel, who was a witness, goes poker-faced when cross-examined and professes to know nuzzink.  But I know that the gel was doing what she always does, cannoning down the stairs like a midshipman tumbling out of the rigging.   Grrrr.

Actually, on reflection I would say that maybe they don’t get any more banged up than we used to.  But back in the day, we were expected to shrug these things off much more, while nowadays the kids are practically getting casts for mosquito bites.

UPDATE:  Well, for once the doc concludes no damage done and no cast/bandage/crutches required.

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