Someone was really thinking when they created the idea of going to college and moving away from home. Not to say that everyone needs to go to college, or to judge anyone that lives at home for their post high school studies, but you get my point.
My parents are wonderful people. They are kind, generous and loving. The spent years of their lives sacrificing for me and my brother and continue to do so even though we are both grown with our own kids. My childhood was spent playing, learning, traveling, and truly experiencing life to a degree that has allowed me to be a well traveled adult with a good mind for analytical and intellectual thought. However… yes, you knew this was coming.
My parents didn’t have the luxury of being raised by calm parents. Each in their own ways, they were raised by well meaning and inconsistent parents. They often didn’t know what would happen next and found life to be an unpredictable force, one that they could not control or anticipate. When they found each other, married and had my brother and me, it was a match made in heaven. They understood each other perfectly and they agreed wholeheartedly to wrap their protective and worried arms around the two kids they loved so much. They were successful. We were rarely ignored long enough to get hurt and climbing trees was entirely out of the question. What if we fell? Every need we had was met, and I do mean every need. No child of theirs was going unheard or unattended to. No, no, no…
Many years later, having undone so much of the worry that they fostered in us, I find myself in the unfortunate position of growing irritated at their inability to relax when I find it so much easier. I find myself snapping at them when I feel they are creating unnecessary chaos in a situation that has the potential to be so simple.
And it makes me feel sad, because at the core of my heart and mind I know that I have the luxury of this calm due to their hard work to not repeat the sins of their parents. My childhood was not inconsistent. If anything, maybe there were elements too much the opposite. Everything was taken care of for me. While they had to fend for themselves unnecessarily, I was protected.
This has especially come to the surface with the arrival of my children. While visiting with my parents, my son ran into the kitchen table and hit his head. It’s a glass table, but it’s round and there aren’t any very sharp edges. While I certainly don’t think he enjoyed the experience, it also wasn’t going to send him to the ER. I heard it happen and heard him whimper. Just as I was about to come out, my mom intervened. She began making noises that would make me think he was going to bleed out in a matter of minutes. (There was no blood, for the record). The whimpering turned instantly to wailing and I lost my cool. I snapped something about not telling him he was dying, picked him up, kissed his head and asked him if he was ready for his pizza dinner. “Pizza!!!!!” he exclaimed with glee, forgetting his head, and wiggled into his chair to bang his fork in anticipation. Injured child? I think not…
Was I right? Hmmm…. Was I correct in my assessment of his injuries? Probably. Was I fair to my mom? Probably not. But where’s the balance? And how do we maintain the focus that enables us to behave well, treat others well, even when we are so busy we don’t have time to take care of ourselves?
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