My daughter, who was six at the time, looked at me expectantly as I opened the book and began to read aloud: «Of course, Conni doesn't want to bring anything for the children at nursery on her birthday. So, the day before, she refuses to help Dad bake banana muffins. Conni won't help find or weigh out the ingredients for the muffins. She throws the finished batter about the kitchen with a big spoon.»
By this point at the latest, she was doubled up with laughter.
Singing «Meldoien» deliberately out of tune
Many children in German-speaking countries are familiar with Conni, the girl with the red bow in her hair and the striped jumper. Conni is a curious, yet well-behaved and cooperative child. The Conni stories recount typical everyday situations that the girl experiences with her family, her friends or at school. These popular children's books explain the world to nursery and primary school children in a simple way, with the educational aim of providing guidance and a sense of security.
Telling stories backwards was great fun for our children. It worked best when they'd heard the original version countless times beforehand. The same went for the lullaby we sang at bedtime. Deliberately singing the tune out of tune and creating dreadful harmonies together turned the bedtime ritual into a special moment of joy. A touch of irreverence towards anything that was too serious or well-established felt like a tickle.
Being «picture-perfect» parents is a goal that is as unattainable as it is impractical for both fathers and mothers.
Parenting and bringing up children can sometimes become a terribly serious business. Most parents know that there is no such thing as the perfect father or mother. Yet we are regularly confronted with exemplary figures. Take Conni's parents, for example: they always react calmly, sympathetically and in perfect harmony.
They explain everything patiently, set clear, well-balanced boundaries and are always emotionally available. What's more, they are successful in their careers and happily married. Everyday stress, if it exists at all, is in a very diluted form and is reliably resolved through conversation, understanding and parenting skills. And we don't just come across this idealised image in the Conni books.
Fortunately, no family's daily life runs so smoothly. Being picture-perfect parents is a goal that is as unattainable as it is impractical for both fathers and mothers. And although most of us have long since come to terms with the concept of the «good enough parent’, we still feel inadequate from time to time.
For even the ideal of not wanting to be perfect can become a burdensome yardstick. Namely, when even that calm acceptance of imperfection becomes an expectation in itself. We must resist this – preferably with a sense of humour.
By creating an ironic distance from reality, from social norms or from oneself, one sets oneself free.
Irony allows us to expose excessive seriousness. The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard described irony as a means of creating distance when something becomes too heavy, too contradictory or too absolute.
By using irony to create some distance from reality, from social norms or from oneself, one liberates oneself. One does not have to submit unconditionally to reality, but can question it and rise above it. In this sense, irony acts as a «defence mechanism» that prevents one from being overwhelmed by the gravity or absoluteness of a situation. Irony shows that things which appear immovable are often not so fixed after all.
A moment of self-determination
The psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl described humour as a moment of self-determination – even in extreme situations: humour creates a tiny inner space between the individual and the circumstances. In this space lies dignity. In this context, irony is not mockery, but self-assertion.
For most fathers and mothers, bringing up children is not an extreme situation. Nevertheless, all parents reach their limits at some point – the limits of their patience, their empathy, their attention, their self-control, their resilience and their selflessness.
«Motherland»: laughter instead of tears
When parents come face to face with their own shortcomings, they often feel shame or guilt. In such inevitable parental experiences, it can be a relief to take a step back and try to recognise the absurdity of the situation. Social satire can also help us with this.
This makes me think of my good friend, whose family life is often particularly challenging. She is the mother of two adopted children of nursery age, a single parent through no choice of her own, and works part-time. My friend's daily life regularly pushes her to her breaking point. She recently told me how the ironic, satirical British comedy series *Motherland* brought her comfort. Certain scenes helped her to laugh away her pent-up tears, rather than cry them out.
Parents are under constant pressure to be there for their children, successful in their careers, socially engaged and perfectly organised, all at the same time.
The series portrays everyday family life today as a satirical microcosm. It highlights how unspoken expectations and social comparisons shape parents’ daily lives. Parents are under constant pressure to be present, successful in their careers, socially engaged and perfectly organised all at the same time.
The dynamics in *Motherland* are deliberately exaggerated and expose the absurdity of many social norms. With dry British humour, the series shows just how burdensome and, at the same time, contradictory today's expectations of parents have become – and in doing so offers some relief to all those who are themselves groaning under the pressure.
The mischievous Pippi Longstocking
Different eras give rise to different forms of satire. What *Motherland* does for today's parents, Pippi did – in her own way – for children. When Astrid Lindgren's *Pippi Longstocking* was published in Sweden in 1945, the character was also seen as a challenge to the prevailing ideas of the time about how children should be brought up.
At the same time, she was hugely successful with children. All the aspects that adults regarded as educationally dangerous had a liberating effect on children: Pippi is rich and physically stronger than any adult. She doesn't need anyone to tell her what to do. In doing so, Lindgren effectively stripped adults of every traditional means of exerting pressure: money, physical superiority, authority and dependence – a radical idea at the time.
The Limits of Irony
Let's return once more to the philosopher Kierkegaard. For him, genuine irony is not an end in itself, but merely a stepping stone. It helps us to take a step back and create some breathing space, so that we can lead our own lives – in a way that suits us, rather than simply following the rules or expectations of others. Anyone who remains constantly ironic becomes embittered over time. When irony tips over into cynicism, it loses its liberating effect and no longer helps us move forward.
When we parents react inflexibly, our teenage daughters skilfully expose our stubbornness with an ironic remark.
Our second and youngest daughter also found the twisted stories funny. At four years old, however, she wasn't yet old enough to appreciate anything beyond the humour of the situation. The little one was mad about donkeys. When it came to her favourite animal, the fun stopped for her. Nothing cheeky was to be said about the grey-eared donkey in her favourite picture book. Unlike Conni, the donkey didn't convey any moral or educational message either. Twisting the beloved donkey stories wouldn't have been funny. Our child would have found it derogatory and mean.
Staying active in everyday family life
Irony still plays a positive role in our family life. These days, it's increasingly our teenage daughters who provide it. When we parents get bogged down in our own ideas or react in a way they see as inflexible, they know just how to expose our stubbornness with a witty remark. Our values can be challenged, so that they remain flexible.
Don't get me wrong: not every idealised educational model is inherently restrictive. Back then, I thought the Conni stories were educationally valuable – they conveyed a sense of reassurance. Nevertheless, the Conni who, instead of helping out, throws the dough about in the kitchen still strikes me as refreshing to this day.
