I listened to my daughter tonight, as she read her homework to my wife; in Spanish. I was having a difficult evening and my daughter was not happy with me for forcing her to finish her homework.
As she switched between scowling at me and reading, I realized how skittish parenting is. We start out hopeful, even eager to raise our children well. It's not that different from gardening. The parallels and analogies work well.
Once our plant begins it's journey out of the soil, we can only care for it, guiding it to a healthy maturity. Hopefully, the plant will ripen, ending in the separation from the vine to whatever end lies ahead.
The problem is that life often interferes with our designs. Sometimes the plant is weakened by little sun and too much cloudy weather. Sometimes they rot from too much care or improper care. We strive to provide loads of sun so that they thrive.
The point is - we have no way of telling how they will grow. Only that they will. We can only love them while we have them and let them go when they are ready. Force them off the vine too early, and I believe they will falter. Keep them to long and they will wither on the vine.
I gazed at my daughter, but was really thinking inward, wincing at my self-absorbed, detached manner and wondering how my depression was affecting her growth. My daughter nuzzled into my wife as she read her homework. My wife nodded and complimented my daughter on a particular word, gently correcting as she did; sounding just the right tone.
"Nicely done, honey" I offered. The sound of my voice seemed insincere and contrite from my perch across the room.
I only hope my wife's sunshine can balance out my dreary, grey clouds.
No comments:
Post a Comment