The end of 2012 is right around the corner, and many of us are jotting down New Year’s resolutions. There’s the promise to get in better shape, eat healthier and remain calm in rush-hour traffic.

Everybody,  it seems, has advice for those of us wishing to turn over a new leaf for 2013, and most of the suggestions are valid. Who can argue with deciding to forgive our enemies or vowing to keep the house neater.

But sometimes bad advice is shrouded in good intentions. Over the years, I think I’ve received more bad advice than good.

The first piece of bad advice I got was from Ms. Thomas, my high school typing teacher. A no-nonsense woman, Ms. Thomas spent most of her time correcting our posture and lifting our elbows.

Her advice to me was to be a secretary because I could type fast. With that one piece of advice, I decided to follow a two-year curriculum at a small college and become a secretary.

It never occurred to me to question that advice, and although I enjoyed being a secretary, I secretly yearned for a four-year college degree. It took 25 years, but I finally earned that diploma.  

Then there was the advice I got as a first-time mother. Nick was a colicky baby, and I always rocked him to sleep. A friend told me I was spoiling him and I should let him cry in his bed so he’d learn to go to sleep by himself.

Later that day, I put him in his crib and let him cry for about three minutes. When I went in to check on the baby, his little face was covered with spit-up. I cleaned him up, promising I’d never let any of my babies cry themselves to sleep.

In fact, the list of bad parenting advice, especially about discipline, is as long as my driveway. One of my boys loved to bite. I don’t know why he used this form of revenge, but biting was his favorite way to aggravate his brother.

All the parenting books said to never bite a child back.

All my friends said to use time out.

Old-timers said to bite him back.

One day, I was standing at the sink, and my little angel came up behind me and bit me on the back of my leg hard enough to leave a bruise. I turned around and bit him on the arm. He was astonished, and it was the last time he bit anybody.

After that, I vowed to only consider child-rearing advice from people over the age of 65, and that philosophy has served me well.

Relationship advice bombards us from all directions. When I was young, friends told me to never learn how to put gas in my car or fix anything around the house because that was a husband’s job.

If I’d followed that advice, I wouldn’t have known how to fix a broken toilet when my husband was out of town.  

Truth be told, there are advantages to listening to bad advice because those gems of well-intentioned but misguided words of wisdom have provided me with important life lessons over the years.

I learned nothing takes the place of a thirst for knowledge; and once we stop learning, we stop growing.  

I know how to trouble shoot an unhappy toilet and how to maneuver my way through our breaker box.

 I learned to cherish time rocking my babies to sleep and, even though I regret a lot of things I did as a parent, letting them cry themselves to sleep wasn’t one of them.

In 2013, I’ll vow to eat healthier and keep my road rage under control. After that, I’ll toss the advice books on my bookshelf.

And always rock my grandchildren to sleep.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.