Remember that old song by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young titled “Teach Your Children?”

Back when it first came out, the idea was simple: raise your kids right, teach them well, and try not to permanently scar them before they leave home.

The concept of raising children has definitely changed. I almost said it’s “evolved,” but I don’t want to suggest it’s gotten better. 

This old fogie writer is not fully convinced we’ve upgraded. We may have just installed a different operating system — one that crashes more often.

I’ve read the articles. I’ve attended the workshops. I raised four children of my own and taught anywhere from 20-90 kids a year for 34 years. After all that, I can confidently say this: children are still a mystery.

One thing I could never handle was hearing my kids cry. It hit some internal panic button. I once told my youngest daughter, “Please stop crying.” She looked at me with complete sincerity and said, “Daddy, I just can’t help it. I’m trying to stop, but I can’t.”

That’ll stop a man in his tracks.

In that moment, I remembered something from my own childhood: sometimes you just need to get the emotions out. A good cry can feel like emotional Windex. It clears things up. It may not fix the problem, but at least you can see through it again.

Somewhere along the way, society decided kids weren’t supposed to cry. Boys were told to toughen up. Girls were expected to squash their feelings neatly into a polite little box. 

You might remember the classic line: “I’ll give you something to cry about.” My parents never used it, but I knew kids whose parents did — and those boys grew up thinking the only acceptable emotion was irritation.

Then the pendulum swung the other direction.

Now we sometimes overreact to every little discomfort. I’ve heard parents say “It’s easier to give in than listen to the fit.” And yes, grocery store meltdowns are loud. They echo. They make other shoppers stare at you like you personally invented misbehavior.

But here’s a radical thought: what if throwing a fit is emotionally healthy?

Hear me out.

A fit usually passes. It burns hot and then fizzles. And if you talk with the child later, once the emotional volcano has cooled, they’ll often tell you what they were feeling. Sometimes they even admit they feel better. Sometimes they apologize. Kids can surprise you like that.

I once had a capital “S” Stinker in my classroom. I loved that boy, but mercy. He stirred things up like it was his life’s calling. If there was a cookie jar, his hand was in it. If there was drama, he was directing it.

When he was reprimanded? Katie, bar the door. The fit would commence.

One day the principal let him cry it out in the book room. No lecture. No dramatic intervention. Just space.

Looking back, that was a good move.

At the end of the year, he handed me a card that said I was the best teacher he’d ever had. I assumed he said that to every teacher before and after me — he was a charmer. But then he added something that stuck with me.

“Mr. Tullis, I know I was a handful this year and I’m really sorry about that.”

Well.

I did the politically incorrect thing and scooped him into a bear hug. We both had a little moisture in our eyes, and not one person told us to “be men.”

That’s my point.

Let kids feel their emotions. Let them be mad. Let them cry. Let them work through it instead of constantly rescuing them from it. How else are they going to learn to manage what’s going on inside?

My grandmother once told me about a cousin who threw fits so dramatic he would briefly pass out. My aunt and uncle didn’t panic. They let it run its course. He doesn’t do that anymore. He’s a grandfather now — and one of the kindest men you’ll meet.

Kudos to the parents who walk calmly beside the cart while their child melts into a puddle in Aisle 5. Who cares if some random shopper “tsks tsks?” The fit will pass. The lesson will stick. And the world will keep turning.

We’ve tried so hard to eliminate discomfort from childhood that we’ve accidentally raised some emotionally fragile adults. And before you point fingers, I’ll admit — I distracted my own kids plenty of times just to keep the peace. I get it.

But I still contend this: kids have to learn. I’ll say it again: Have a fit. Be mad. Deal with it. Then talk about it later. Offer the hug after the storm. That’s when growth happens.

Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.