As a member of the aptly described generation of “helicopter”
parents, I was slightly disappointed when I saw the dictionary definition of
the word parent. I expected it to
say more about responsibility and teaching and discipline and lend credence to
an authoritarian figure.
Instead, technically, to be a parent is “one that begets or
brings forth offspring.” It is so
simple, so practically benign, and so lacking the authority we parents wield
around. We parents today wear our
title on our sleeves with no less clout than a 5 star general. We use it to characterize who is in
charge, who is the one to make decisions, who is the one to protect and care and
use physical and intellectual wisdom to care for this child and give them an
opportunity for success. It
defines us, gives us purpose, and sets our direction.
Because of its societal weight - this sense of self
importance, what happens when the ability to be a parent is challenged or even
lessened? Does it diminish
our self worth? Or does it bring
us back to fallible position of humanity?
Does it simply bring us in line with our children and set us as just a
member of the family, and it is a collective responsibility to care for each
other? We may have more years on
our children but the care, the love, and the sense of responsibility goes both
ways.
In effort to not sound too academic, these are feelings I
dealt with after breaking my hip on April 7th of last year. Perhaps because I am a man and only 37 years old, the fact that I
couldn’t physically carry my 6, 4, and 1 year old had a profound effect on me. I felt as if my value as a parent was less than
before. I was laid up on crutches
for almost 3 months so couldn’t chase them in the yard and couldn’t even bring
them a glass of water. When we
moved two weeks after my accident, I could not even carry one box into my newly
purchased home. In my mind, I was
no longer a parent. I was in many
ways, in effect, now the child. I
was far from elderly, but on some days I certainly felt just plain old – and I
hadn’t even learned how to play shuffleboard yet. A humbling feeling indeed.
While my 1 year old daughter had little inclination into
what was going on, my 6 and 4 year boys reacted in different ways. My 6 year old took to being the care giver. He acted on his feelings, as many
oldest children do, to take care of me.
In the early weeks after the accident, he would bring me things, open
doors for me, and even put a pillow under the foot of my bad leg.
He continued to care for me throughout the summer as I was
forced to work from home. He spent
Mondays and Fridays at home with my niece while I worked. My wife was usually at the office and
the younger two were at daycare. As
the summer progressed and I healed, I became less and less dependent on the 6
year old for physical assistance but, it seemed, became more and more reliant
on him for a smile or hug and general companionship. In short, our relationship grew and I came to need him as I
needed any other friend. I simply
enjoyed having him around. When
the summer ended and he went back to school, I was in some ways
heartbroken. Seeing him go off to
kindergarten was easier; seeing him go off to first grade was a crushing
blow. Circumstances had certainly
changed in a year. As I smiled on his first day of
kindergarten, I spent his first day of first grade so melancholy that I broke
down in tears more than once.
Several days later when putting him to bed, I told him how much I missed
him. He confidently replied, “At
least we had the summer together.”
I smiled at him and was in awe of his youthful wisdom. And later I cried again.
My 4 year old reacted differently and not just because he
was younger. He is is own person
and processed things in a different manner than his brother. He doled out hugs and expressed his
concern but the accident caused him to retreat internally much more than the 6
year old. He started acting out
much more frequently. He started
wetting the bed – which was a shock to my wife and I as he was potty trained at
20 months. And now even 8 months after the accident, he refuses to ride his
bike. The good news is with
a little help he seems to be showing signs of improvement and finding ways to
better deal with his feelings. He
is very bright kid and in many ways I think he just got stuck. And as a parent, I just want to
fix it and make him better, but as a person
who is dealing with his own emotional ups and downs, I empathize. In truth, the fact that he reacted so deeply and emotionally
has drawn me closer to him. He
knows how I feel and I know how he feels.
I know scared and confused.
He knows scared and confused.
I don’t want my child to feel all tied up in knots but, selfishly, he
makes me feel not so alone. It
somehow pains me to say that, but it also provides me a sense of kinship that
my child and I perhaps feel things in a similar fashion. It comforts me to just lay with him or
sit with my arms around him. It
gives me a feeling of hope. I know
he will be ok and, in the end, so will I.
In some ways, this experience has brought me back to when I
was a child. My own father had
cancer when I was in first grade and my memory has small recollections of how
it felt to see a parent in pain.
He thankfully caught his cancer early and was able to be treated back to
full health. However, I still
remember asking him if he was going to die. I still remember seeing him throw up after radiation. I still remember the look in my
mother’s eye. I remember the brief
feeling of potential loss. I
remember how much I loved my father as a young boy. I know now,
even as an adult, that I still need my father. We may live in different states but brief visits or short
conversations still mean a lot to me.
He is, after all, my dad.
Now as a father myself, I think I understand how my boys
felt. They worried about me. They love me and they don’t want to see
me in pain. They need me to feel well
because it makes them feel safe.
It makes them feel as if everything is ok. They need me to be able to stand up and chase them around
the yard because it makes them feel like everything is right in the world. And while no child should be
without a mother, boys need their fathers. They need fathers to be big and strong and carry them up the
stairs, even when it hurts.
In the end, though, I learned in some ways it is less
important to be a parent and more important to be part of family. We family
members pick each other up. We
care for each other and feel things together. We live through things together. I certainly don’t want to diminish how much my wife did for
me and the family or how she continues to support me through my recovery. She is part of our family. But your kids are different. Their love is blissful. It is so unencumbered. It renews us and strips away all our
adult armor. It stops us from being
generals and gets us back to being people.
And it gives us gentle reminders of the importance of
presence. I know now you don’t
have to give children anything more than your time. My father was a great role model for me. He never missed a show, game, or
practice. He could have worked
more and made more money but he took his role as a parent seriously. I want to be there for my children,
just as they were there for when I was hurt. I just want to be present and be in the moment.
Admittedly, breaking your hip at age 37 when both parents
work, you have 3 little kids, and are about to move could be described as a pretty
tragic event. And yes maybe it was,
but I am a firm believer that if we choose to accept our path and learn from
events, they do us more good than harm.
For me it helped me take a step back and helped me really feel how much
I love my children and how much they love me. And all the tough guy stuff aside, I need my children as much or more than they need me. Plain and simple.
Moreover, I love being a dad. And while life is a journey of self identity, my role in
this world as a parent will never change, even if the dictionary doesn’t give
it as much clout as it should.
great post, adam!
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