Some say it is my tenacity. My brothers would say I was Daddy's pet. I'd say it was a combination of both. But if you just sit quietly in one corner of your house and listen, you will hear what your children hear. You can leave them to ponder--some will do well on their own--or you can help them learn to deal/relate to their parents.

I am a parent of a grown daughter and grand daughter. (When I was in high school, I became the mother of the house, with six siblings.) I am just now understanding how I got the attention I craved from my parents. No, I'm not a psychologist or anything like that. I can only speak from experience. But I do know this, children, at a very young age are very, very smart, and very adaptive.

When I was 12 I began working with my father, starting at 3 a.m. No, this is not going to be one of those I walked three miles to school stories. (I only walked one-half mile and I loved it.)

In a 12-grade school house, Cescent Consolidate School, I gained a great education enhanced by living off the land. I could not have asked for a better childhood--open fields to roam, elk across the plains, deer in the orchards, a barn swing and a man-made pond for swimming, shared with geese and ducks.

We lived on a 54-acre farm in Joyce, Washington sandwiched between Lake Cresent and Agate and Cresent Beaches.

It didn't take me long to figure out that with 11 brothers, one sister and always a stray cousin or three, the chances of my getting much attention from my parents were slim. It was much easier getting time with my mother, though a lot of hard work. I was often up early to light the wood stove in the dining room. (I hated the cold linoleum floor.) With Mother, my sister and I were always in the kitchen cooking, baking and washing dishes. And let's not forget laundry--16 loads or more. Side-by-side we bonded. But getting time with Dad was a whole lot harder.

You can imagine, with 13 plus mouths to feed, he worked a lot of long hours. Dad had brought the Volkswagon dealership to Port Angeles. Later, he opted for an antique and second hand store which he named Poor Bill's.

It wasn't a term back in the 70s, but Dad was a sexist--old school. He always expected to work with his sons. Even the Volkswagon dealership was name: Duckett Brothers. But in addition to the dealership and later Poor Bill's, he would take the boys to work with him at his extra jobs--janitorial. He had jobs before he went to his regular job and after.

Here's where I come in. One night, I heard Dad giving the boys a tongue- lashing for sluffing on the job. He had had complaints. (Well, I knew my brothers well. They didn't want to do janitorial work, they were jocks and they wanted to play sports, hunt, fish and chase girls.) Me? I was a full-fledged tom-boy who loved roaming the woods, feeding the critters and climbing trees. Most of all, I was a Daddy's girl.

The next morning when I heard Dad get up to go to work (at 3 a.m.) I got up too. As he started the engine of his Volkwagon pick up, I hopped in the passenger seat. Dad looked up in surprise, but few words were spoken. We drove the 16 miles into town from Joyce to Port Angeles. Our first stop was a restaurant called The Salad Bowl. Dad put on a pot of coffee and explained what needed to be done. The work wasn't anything other than housework, except the buffing and cleaning the grill. He showed me the ropes while the coffee brewed.

We sat down at the counter and I drank my first cup of coffee, sitting next to my Dad. And he began to talk to me like I was his confidant. (I guess to some people the liaison might have seemed strange. But you have to understand, my father was orphaned at age 11. He was a self-educated man. So having his 12-year-old daughter at work with him would not be out of the ordinary for him.)

That morning, I admit, I drank more sugar and cream than coffee, but boy did I feel special. And, did I get what I was after? You bet. I had Dad totally to myself.

My mother, sister and I were already a solid unit out of necessity. So we were confidants, but bonding with Dad required some thought, particularly since he was at work a lot. He was of the mindset that women stayed at home and men went out to work.

I had other plans. Instinctively, I just wanted to help. And I wanted and needed to spend time with him. As the days progressed, Dad and I spent day-after-day sipping coffee and talking. I understood when he said: "Sis, we need to tighten our belts"; translation, cut down on expenses.

I suppose a psychologist/therapist would advise against "burdening your children". But I think children are well aware when something is wrong and you should explain some things. Keeping quiet only adds to their anxiety and uncertainty. They begin to imagine all sorts of things. Hearing what's going on from you helps them to put it into perspective. They can begin making some of their own decisions going forward, with your guidance.

"Back in the Day" there wasn't the sensorship we have now. Families made decisions for themselves. I'm sure my father never thought about my being 12 years old--I didn't act 12. I'm sure when we had our discussions, he monitored my comprehension by my responses.

I'm sure he didn't look up communicating with his child on the internet, nor did a neighbor report possible abuse due to my going to work at 3 a.m.

There is no blueprint for parenting, but a large dose of common sense goes a long way. And some times a family's survival depends on everyone helping. What's wrong with that?

An overdose of government control can be very damaging. I watched my brother go through a child custody suit against his drug addicted wife. It wasn't pretty. I even shocked my brother's attorney. Did you ever see bruises on the children? My response was: Yes! I don't know if you can raise a child without bruises... In this case, and many more, the deck was stacked against my brother. His wife had taken the children over the state line and claimed child abuse.

In the end, the children's voices attested to the truth. Again, I say, children are very, very smart.

I love being an "aunty". My three-year-old nephew whom I adore manipulated me into an ice cream cone after his Daddy had said no.

This same three year old, popped the screen of his bedroom and while his mother was sleeping proceeded to walk to the park by way of the "freeway" (a/k/a as Rainier Avenue). Fortunately someone called the police and the police picked him up and not some pervert, thank God. And much to the police's astonishment he was able to tell them his full name and show them where he lived. Children are smart!

I love it when kids play dumb. "Johnny", we'll go to the park after I finish washing clothes. "Mom, when are we going to the park" After I get done with the wash. "Mom, can we go to the park now"? Little Johnny is in the laundry room watching Mom do the laundry, but still he asked: Mom, when are we going to the park"? Finally, you'll say: We'll go to the park when I am ready. Suddenly, Johnny recalls EXACTLY what you said in the first place. "But Mom, you said we'd go to the park when you get done with wshing clothes". Children are always testing you.

I bet if you think about it, you can come up with more situations as I just mentioned.

Kids are smarter than you Know. Are you as smart as your children?

At the tender age of 12, I not only knew my father loved me, trusted me and needed me. I knew I had a choice. I could ignore his needs or I could help him. I chose to help my father, and also helped my entire family.

Oh my, was I deprived of my childhood? Was it cruelty? Absolutely NOT! At the age of 12, I made the decision on my own. (I was never asked.) I underdstood my father needed help. And I needed my father.

I will forever treasure those days, and what I learned. From working with my father, I learned I had choices outside the kitchen and and laundry room. He shared with me how he made the decisions he made and why. I learned decision-making skills.

Don't underestimate your children. You don't have to "tell all", but "tell it like it is".