It‘s a miracle that they grow up at all. Really! I don’t care how much babysitting experience we claim to have had as a teen, it’s totally different when it’s our own. We give birth to these wonderful little people expecting to know just what to do with them, and then when they arrive we just don’t have a clue. And, we have vowed that we will do it differently than our parents did. They also vowed that they would do it their own way, and not the way their parents did. They (our parents) did what they considered to be the right thing to do. How utterly miserable! How in the world did we make it? What we don’t take into consideration, is that we arrived at this point in our lives in spite of how we were raised. And, we’re okay because of them and in spite of them … believe it or not.
These babies don’t come with an owner’s manual, a “sell by date”, or an “expiration date”. We are totally green on this, learning as we go. We have fallen in love with these little people, and we try hard to protect them from all ills and evils. Your mom tries to give advice, but it is ultimately our own call, and it doesn’t take long to realize that Mom can only make suggestions from her own experiences, and we probably just don’t want Mom’s advice anyway. Remember? It’s going to be our own way. Anyway, she’s on par with Dr. Spock, who can only offer advice.
But, grow up they do. The miracle is the actual unfolding … the actual forming of the individual child. We hear things like; she’s just like her mother. Or He’ll be a doctor…just like his dad. If we only knew then what a crock that is. Men like to name their sons after them “in their own image” to carry on the family name. But that doesn’t guarantee that the boy will be anything like his dad; just that he will carry on the family name. As a matter of fact, Dad is likely to be disappointed that his prodigal son has taken a much different path. How could he?!
I’ve always thought that children are different and separate entities, and they are. We watch to see what gifts these children have. Granted, we have more in common with our siblings than we have with our parents (individually), but we are still separate souls and spirits with separate agendas. Right before our eyes, these babies start forming into real people. They are on their very own path of learning and development. It is our job to protect them and guide them, impart our wisdom and hope they use their own best judgment as they grow older. We try to mold them, but their very own mold has already been designated and formed.
My own mother decided that I would be an artist, and I guess I am … in a way, but not as she had envisioned. In the first grade, I had painted a picture of a horse in a barn; just the head sticking out of its stall. Several renderings were chosen from various first grade students to go on exhibit in a local gallery. Actually, it was at a bank. Mine was among those, and apparently, Mom regarded me as art prodigy material. She and my Aunt Ollie took me to visit their favorite local artist, Josephine Mahaffey, who talked to me about art education, practice and dedication.
I truly wanted to please these people, but I felt that I disappointed them horribly. And, though I did a few pieces during my junior high and high school days that seemed promising, it just wasn’t my bailiwick. It wasn’t in my heart, though I still wasn’t aware of what exactly was in my heart at that junction of my life. I also took some classes at the art museum, and some of those pieces were admirable, but not exceptional, and again, my heart wasn’t in it. Even some of those were promising.
I ended up modeling for the artists. Barbara Goldstein was among those artists, and she and I became friends. I modeled for her first attempt at a portrait. Still, there was no calling for me to put anything on canvas or to throw a pot. Alas.
I suppose that art talent manifests itself in other ways. After all, I have become very creative. I love to write, sketch and make playful stuffed toys for the children and adults in my life. I putter in my garden and cook. There is art in all of that.
Still, I consider my best endeavors are my daughters. Let it be said that I did not have anything to do with who they are. I cannot pat myself on the back for any of that. Actually, I more than likely contributed to the hell they regarded as their up-bringing, as I regarded my own up-bringing. Who they have become was determined well before they were born. These two girls are as different as night and day, and they have made me very proud of both of them. I’ve donated half of their genes as did their father, and they have come into their own because of us and in spite of us. They are my Snow White and Rose Red. They will raise their children their own way. Not like their parents did. And, that’s not a bad thing.
We don’t see our own lives unfolding or opening up. It just happens. It’s in our paths, but we don’t even see it that way. We’re just moving in a direction to something we’re supposed to do. As my path was fraught with thorns and detours so were their paths. When it’s our own children, it’s different. We see early in their lives what potential they have, but we can’t guess what they will ultimately do. We do see, however, the unfolding and opening up of the lives of our children and our grandchildren. And, it’s a awesome thing to observe.
At what point do we start giving them the reins? When do we start to trust that they will be alright? When do we actually feel that they will take the ball and run? We don’t let go easily, and I don’t think we ever quit giving them advice. There is one constant here that I won’t deny. We don’t ever stop being a mother.
I was at the hospital for the birth of my first grandchild, Savannah; a fresh, new mind to bend. My youngest daughter, Leslie, then about 20, was with us as well. Barb had a particularly hard labor. Leslie and I were in and out of the labor room to sit with Barb. Later, Leslie announced to one and all that she would not have any children. “I’ll just have a dog.” She said. Leslie now has 8 year old twins. See how they can change their minds. On the other end of the spectrum, her older sister went through two more C-sections to have two more beautiful daughters.
See? It all plays out the way it’s supposed to, because of us and in spite of us. There are no cookie-cutter kids, and what an awesome miracle of God that is!
