On Children
This week I’ve been struggling with my command of English. How does a parent introduce her grown children?
“Let me introduce my children…” No. They aren’t children. Likewise, “These are my kids…” has problems.
“I’d like to introduce my offspring.” Sounds like you’re either trying to distance yourself from them or show off your vocabulary.
“Let me introduce some relations, who, as it turns out, came from my womb.”
In any case, this week has been lovely. My adult children (the definitive oxymoron) have been visiting. A daughter and spouse are here from Australia, which draws my Fayetteville son here for the week. And my local daughter is in and out.
Two of my three grown-up youngsters (Ha!) are now older than I was when they were born. And the youngest will join that club soon. I think this makes the relationship different, somehow. There’s just no way I can see them as kids anymore. They are peers. Yes, I have more knowledge about what it’s like to raise kids to adulthood. And to be retired. But they have more knowledge about social media. Applying for jobs online. And how to make a gourmet cup of coffee.
We have our remembrances about things that occurred while they were young. But we also have conversations about things that have nothing to do with our family history. Intelligent conversations. Where I learn things about politics. Or geography. Or engineering. They are full-fledged contributing members of society. Smart ones. Thoughtful ones.
It might be tempting to take some credit for their successes—as if I was the launching pad. The inspiration. As if they are my contribution to society. But that just isn’t so. Maybe, just maybe, I can take some small credit for their ability to make reasonable judgments.
I fed them, sheltered them, made sure they became literate, and hopefully, taught them something about examining sources and facts before making judgments. Perhaps in doing these things I provided a framework for building a value system that supports their wants and needs, and the needs of a healthy society as well.
But that might just be me trying to take some credit again. The truth is, my husband and I just did what most parents do—the best we could with what we had at the time. We raised them and set them free. They, alone, deserve the credit for all they accomplish—and must own whatever mistakes they make.
This glorious week has made me recall the words of the poet, Kahlil Gibran (words I know best from listening to the brilliant harmonies of Sweet Honey in the Rock. If you’ve never heard them, you are missing an a cappella wonder!):
“… Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday…”
It can be difficult for parents to let their children fly solo. But if you can truly let them go, it is such a joy when they come visit.