shmoopy

Beth’s thoughtful post from yesterday got me feeling all shmoopy about how all we can do is the best that we can do. It's not in fact crisis week at MYE, as evidenced by certain beautiful boozy lunches out in the tundra. We may have angst here out west, but at least we have sunshine. And rain. Hail. whatever.

Here's my thing: I'm finding it hard to let go of the expectations we had for our children, expectations that were shaped by our own childhoods, despite the fact that our childhoods did not even remotely resemble the lives that our children are leading. I understand this on a cognitive level, I know that the times they are a-changing. I try not to spend too much time muttering about how things were back in the day and whacking unruly whippersnappers with my cane. Get off my lawn!

So I get that it's different now, and that electronics have shifted the scope of social relationships. If, say, some mean spirited little shitbag wants to mess with my kid’s head or heart, she doesn’t have to run through my interference to do so. Back in the day, the shits had to call my house and ask if they could speak with me, they did not have direct access. Now everyone has a cell phone and a wireless device with text plus and the shits have direct and continuous access to each other. It puts a huge burden on them to figure out the things that our parents slyly managed to impart during the brief yet powerful moment of handing over the phone. A look or a tone or an outright warning that I heard loud and clear whenever so-and-so was calling for me:  Watch yourself with this one.  Don’t trust too much.  We parents of today need to find new ways to pass along our wise warnings and unwise utterances. We’ve got to find ways to keep the conversation open.

We've also got to accept the thing that all parents have had to accept, always and forever since the cavemen looked at their spawn with furrowed protruding brow and wondered "who is this?" Our kids are not ourselves.

It's hard to let go of the vision I had of what my kids’ lives would be like, and dreams about the things they would and could want to do as they grew to be young adults. But I’ve come to the realization that it’s time for a new vision. It’s time to let go of remorse about what has changed and regret about what I might have done differently. It’s time to accept who my child is and who he is not, and to celebrate all that makes him him rather than mourn all that makes him not me. 

There is no room for shame, and no regrets. Maybe we'll allow ourselves a brief pause to lament that it's not going to be as easy to grow up as I've convinced my adult self that it once was for my back-in-the-day teenage self.

Yesterday was a difficult day. Today will be better. Right???