Arnold Schwarzenegger - Total Recall - My Unbelievably True Life Story

Maria and I had been raised in wildly different ways, which meant we could draw on the best of each style for our parenting routine. Meals, for example, were definitely in the Shriver tradition. Both sets of parents insisted that we all sit down as a family every night, but that’s where the similarity ended. In my parents’ house when I was a kid, no one discussed anything at the dinner table. The rule was, when you eat, you eat. Each of us was very private, and if you had a problem, you worked it out yourself. But in Maria’s family growing up, they all shared what they’d done that day. Everybody told a story. I’m good at communicating, but Maria was so much better at creating fun at dinner, explaining everything to the kids. She brought her family’s atmosphere to our table. It was something that I tried to pick up on for myself, to learn and become the same way. It’s very helpful to have at least one parent with those skills.

When our kids had homework, we each went with our strengths. Maria would help with anything involving language, and I would help with anything involving numbers. She is a very good writer, with an unbelievable vocabulary and grace with words. In fact, motherhood inspired her to author books of insight for young people. Her first, Ten Things I Wish I’d Known Before I Went Out into the Real World, tore down the myth of the superparent who can barrel on unchanged at work while raising kids. “Children Do Change Your Career (Not to Mention Your Entire Life),” one chapter was titled, and its takeaway was “At work, you’re replaceable … But as a parent, you’re irreplaceable.” We both strongly believed that.

I’ve always been comfortable with numbers. As a kid, as I learned about math, it all made sense. The decimals made immediate sense. The fractions made immediate sense. I knew all the roman numerals. You could throw problems at me, and I’d solve them. You could show me statistics, and instead of glazing over the way a lot of people do, I’d make out facts and trends that the figures were pointing to and read them like a story.

I taught our kids math drills that my father had used on Meinhard and me. He always made us start them a month before school, and we had to do them every day because he felt that the brain has to be trained and warmed up like the body of an athlete. Not only did my brother and I have to do the math drills but so did anybody who came over to play. Pretty soon a lot of kids avoided our house. I hated all this, of course. But here I was thirty-five years later drilling my own kids. I always gave them the bill in restaurants to figure out the 20 percent tip. They’d add it up and sign my signature. I always checked to make sure they did the math right. It was a whole routine, and they loved it.

When it came to chores, we used the Schwarzenegger tradition. In Europe, you grow up helping to keep the house clean. You take off your shoes when you come in, otherwise all hell breaks loose. You turn off the lights when you leave the room because there is a limited amount of power. You conserve water because somebody has to fetch it from the well. You are much more involved in the basics. I remember my shock when I first got to know Maria, who had grown up with people to pick up after her. She’d come into the house and take off her sweater—it was a cashmere sweater—and if it fell on the floor, that’s where it stayed. To me, even today, I can’t treat a cashmere sweater that way. I’d have to pick it up and hang it on a chair. And even though I can afford it, I would never wear cashmere to go skiing or play sports. It has to be cotton or wool or something cheaper, like a $10 sweatshirt, before I feel comfortable getting it sweaty.

Although Maria eventually became a neat freak like me, I was still the one who brought European discipline to the house—with tolerance added, of course, because I knew I couldn’t go crazy. You have to tone it down, unlike some of my friends in Austria. The way they discipline their kids may work for them there, but it doesn’t work here. Otherwise, when your kids compare notes with their friends at school, they will think that their father is a weirdo. I’d also promised myself, this is the generation where the physical punishment stops. I wasn’t going to carry on that Old World tradition.

Maria and I settled on our own approach, where we pamper the kids a little, but also have rules. From the time they were little, for instance, they had to do their own wash—learn how to use the washing machine, put the detergent in, put the clothes in and choose a medium or large load. Then how to put the clothes in the dryer and fold them and put them away. Also how to time yourself so your siblings have a chance to do their laundry too.

Every day before taking the kids to school, I would inspect to make sure that the lights were off, the beds made, and drawers and closets closed. There could be stuff lying around and a little bit of mess; I was much more lenient than my dad. Nevertheless, those beds were made. I wasn’t looking for perfection, like in the military. But I didn’t want the kids to think that someone else was going to pick up after them. The epic struggle, though, was teaching the kids to turn off the lights when they left a room or went to sleep. It was me against the entire Maria clan, because the kids inherited keeping the lights on from her. When we first got together, she never went to sleep without the lights on. It made her feel secure. Then when we’d visit Washington or Hyannis Port, and I’d arrive late and they would all be asleep, I would walk into a house with the door unlocked and all the lights on. I could never understand it. It was the wildest thing. The next day the excuse would be, “Oh, we knew you were coming in late and wanted you to feel welcome, so we left the lights on.” But even if I was already there, and I went downstairs in the middle of the night, the lights would be on. Everywhere it was like Times Square. I’d explain to my kids, we have a shortage of energy, and there is only so much water in this state. You can’t stand under the shower for fifteen minutes. Five minutes is the limit. I’ll time it from now on. And be sure to turn off lights because when you’re not in the room, you don’t need them anymore.

To this day, my daughters won’t go to sleep without the hallway light on. I finally had to get used to the fact that they feel more comfortable that way. As for leaving the lights on when they’re not in a room, my father would have solved that with a smack, but we don’t hit our kids. When communication fails, our method is to take away privileges: canceling a playdate or a sleepover, grounding, not letting them use their car. But punishments like that seemed over the top for the light-switch problem. One of the boys was the worst offender, so I finally unscrewed one bulb in his room each time I found the lights left on. I pointed out that there were twelve bulbs in his room, and if he kept it up, soon he’d be in the dark. And that is what happened. Eventually my crusade was effective. Now when we’re home, I only have to turn off the lights after the kids maybe two days a week.

Among the joys that kids bring are the holidays that have been mostly missing from your life since your own childhood. Holidays become much more meaningful when you have a family, because now you see them in two ways. I remembered Christmas vividly from when I was a kid: my mother and father lighting the candles on the tree with the toys underneath, holding hands, singing “Heil’ge Nacht,” and my father playing the trumpet. Now I also saw Christmas through a parent’s eye.

I considered myself a tree-decorating expert. It was in my blood. In Austria, my father and the other men from the village would go out into the forest three days before Christmas and bring back trees. Kids were not supposed to know about it because the tree officially came from Christkindl: a female angel like the Christ child who was the Austrian version of Santa Claus. One time my brother mistakenly blurted out, “I saw Dad leaving with an axe,” and my father went nuts because my mother had not kept us away from the window. But normally it was the most fun thing. They decorated our tree with all kinds of candies, wrappings, and ornaments, so that the branches would droop down, with the presents underneath. The tree was always so tall that the highest ornament touched the ceiling. There were real candles mounted with clips on the outer branches, which meant that you could light the tree only for a few minutes each time.