His Own Life
While we (by which I mean me) were baking cookies, Daniel and I disagreed about whether he liked raisins.
D (definitively): I don’t like raisins.
Me (surprised): Yes, you do.
D (even more definitively): No, I do not.
Me (confused): But what about all those oatmeal raisin cookies you eat?
D (firmly): Mom, there’s a lot of my life you don’t know about.
I stopped. It’s so true. I wasn’t expecting to hear this quite so soon, but it is undoubtedly, absolutely, sadly true. There’s a lot I don’t know about his life. Or Helena’s life. And as the years go by, I will know less and less. These children I grew, that were part of my own body, they are not mine. Their lives belong wholly and fully to them.
From Khalil Gibran:
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 yet 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 to-morrow, 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. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
At bathtime the other night Daniel fixed me with a glare and said “Daddy, you don’t know what is in my head.” I agreed, but said I would be glad to know. He then launched into a complicated story about dolphins that I cannot recall. But the firmness and quiet triumph with which he announced this discovery of the limits of parental omniscience have stayed with me very clearly…
I recall a teenager in my high school dying in a car accident. This was printed in the memorial pamphlet.
This is a beautiful way to remind not only parents, but CHILDREN, of who we are as people. When my mother starts doing all that Mom-stuff that drives me nuts, I have to remember: “This woman loves me deeply and differently than she loves anyone else”. I have to remember that at one time, she was my world, physically, spiritually, emotionally. So, when she nags and picks at me, I think about this, and sigh. And say, “I know, Mom. I love you. I hope I make you proud.”
That’s the best we can do, I think.
We all owe our parents so much, but I think most parents would say we owe ourselves the most.
Thank you.