In my older age (NOT old age) I have noticed something. Call it an Oprah-Aha-moment. Or wisdom that comes with gray hair – of which I have none yet, thank you very much. Or clarity. Or Karma.
Whatever it is, it is important. It is what can turn an opinion on its head, an observation into a judgment or a friend away. It can make silver-linings shine through apparent darkness.
It’s perspective. And as we age we gain more of it I hope. At least that seems to be the case with me and why I am glad that I am parenting my kids a tad later than I had planned.
I think back over so many events that now seem vastly different because life has handed me – through other events – perspective.
The moments when I would stand in the grocery line, sit in the pew at church, sip wine in a fancy restaurant and hear the screech of an unhappy child and think, – craning my head to glare – “Seriously! Can’t you control your child?”
Then God stepped in and gave me children – a few screamers among them – and I had only the utmost respect for all the moms who had handled a fussy baby in public all the while turning a blind eye to disapproving stares like mine.
The times I would stand and listen to another parent complain about their college-age child who couldn’t seem to figure life out and quietly assume my children would always be sure of themselves, successful, in command.
Then life handed me a child who has struggled to settle, to find her niche and I realized that she is amazing nonetheless and this is a journey not a competition.
The days, weeks, months I thought I had it hard with elderly parents: a dying mother and a fastidious – and that is putting it mildly – father.
Then my mother died and my father grieved and I looked around and saw I was not alone in this sandwich generation and many of my friends’ caregiving issues made mine look mild.
The nights I spent sleepless with worry over my youngest child who had one issue after another – emotional, physical, academic – and prayed for all of it to go away so we could get on with my definition of her life.
Then God opened my eyes to her compassion, her organization, her expressive heart, and I was more than angry at myself for wishing that this gift was any different than she is now – a true blessing to those around her.
The afternoons arguing with teenagers stomping up stairs and banging doors, the words, “I hate you” trailing behind them like sharp daggers into my heart when they weren’t happy with the parenting choices we had made.
Then a child is killed, a child is lost – to life, or drugs, or the streets, gone for good. And I realize just how good we have it. Besides brain science says they have to push us away in order to move forward.
Perspective. It’s all about perspective.
And I am glad as a mid-life mother I have managed to find a bit of it along the parenting way.