My teenage son came home the other day talking about Napoleon Dynamite, an (as he described it) "incredible" movie that had just come out on DVD. He was so excited about the film that he announced he wanted the whole family to sit down and watch it together.

This sort of desire for household bonding is not exactly a regular occurrence with teenage sons, so my wife and I nearly jumped at the opportunity. Pop some popcorn and round up the rest of the kids-the sixteen-year-old wants to hang out with us!

So that night we all grouped together in a half-circle around the television. The moment was beautiful, worthy of a Hallmark commercial.

And then the movie started.

No more than five minutes after the opening scene, my wife and I were exchanging looks of utter confusion. This was classic cinema? This?

There was hardly a glimmer of plot anywhere in the film, the characters were completely berserk, and the dialogue didn't make any sense whatsoever. Overall, I was convinced it was one of the dumbest things I had seen in my whole life.

During one part of the movie, we began interrupting. "Hey," one of us asked my son, "is there a plot here somewhere?"

He smiled. "This is pretty much it."

"At what point," we asked a few minutes later, "does the storyline develop? And, by the way, why does Napoleon wear moon boots?"

My son chuckled and just kept watching.

So we sat there-all of us-with the blue lights of the TV flashing across our faces. And suddenly I found myself doubting my son's intelligence and his better judgment. Surely movies like this were slowly frying his brain cells into oblivion.

"You're sure nothing else happens?"

Ninety whole minutes passed until the movie ended. When the credits finally rolled I felt certain my IQ had dropped at least fifteen points.

But I have to admit, in the end I was glad I had stayed.

Years ago, a mother of three teenage children told me she would often get up in the middle of the night-one, two, and three in the morning-just to talk to her kids. If one of them needed a listening ear, the woman wouldn't go to bed until her teenager had been heard.

When I initially learned of this, I responded by saying something eloquently profound, like "Lady, you're nuts. Why in the world would you do that?"

Her answer was simple. "Because," she said, "when they want to talk, I want to be available. That's what good parents do."

Her viewpoint seemed ludicrous at first-after all, parenting is about setting the rules, right? And that means I shouldn't have to bend my schedule around somebody I claim as a tax dependent. Right?

Not exactly.

I wish you could've seen the look on my son's face after we all finished watching Napoleon Dynamite. As a sixteen-year-old, his emotion was minimal (of course) but I knew he was grateful and pleased and happy.

Trust me, it was worth ninety minutes of moon boots.

Sometimes good parenting means doing things you're not necessarily crazy about. Sometimes it means cheering on a mob of four-year-olds as they chase a soccer ball around a field, brushing Barbie's hair again, enduring those middle school orchestra "concerts," or renting a hotel room just to go swimming.

Good parenting will put bags under your eyes and make you wonder if the Veggie Tales theme song will ever stop playing in your head. But it's all worth it, because it also gives you kids who are grateful and pleased and happy.

So spend some time doing what your kids enjoy. Pull out the soccer equipment or grab the nearest Barbie. And if you've got teenagers, rent Napoleon Dynamite.

I've watched it three times now, and it turns out it's a pretty good movie after all.

Dan Seaborn is the founder of Winning At Home Inc., a nationally-known organization designed to assist and encourage people of all ages and stages of family development. E-mail your questions or comments about this article to hometeam@winningathome.com.

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