"Can a mother forget the...child she has born?
Though she may forget, I will not forget you!"
--
Isaiah 49:15
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Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their
own actions?
Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in
the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their
life," and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for
doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop
worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage, " My
mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and
heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and
was headed for a career making licence plates. As if to read my mind, a
teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can
sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said
nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to
ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend
said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry in a few years, you
can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and
said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still
worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle.
There was nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and
said nothing.
I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their
frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments. My friends
said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own
life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's wan smile
and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute
you get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern
for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the
trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or
is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where
were you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one
answered. I was worried." I smiled a wan smile. The torch has been passed.
--Author unknown.
The Power of Love by Dianne Loomans
If I had my child to raise all over again <><
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<>< <>< The teacher explained to me
that <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><
To see current comments on parenting issues Maxim Institute's website may interest you. Go to:
http://www.maxim.org.nz <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><
tune in to "Real Life"
with Ian Grant
Sundays 8-10pm on NewstalkZB
For your local NewstalkZB frequency,
check out the Real Life website: www.Reallife.net.nz
Full Circle!
I'd build self esteem first and the house later
I'd finger-paint more and point the finger less
I would do less correcting and more connecting
I'd take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes
I would take care to know less and know to care more
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites
I'd stop playing serious and seriously play
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars
I'd do more hugging and less tugging
I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often
And affirm much more
I'd model less about the love of power
And more about the power of love
WHAT ABOUT ABSTINENCE?
I was holding a notice from my 13-year-old son's school announcing a
meeting to preview the new course in sexuality. Parents could examine
the curriculum and take part in an actual lesson presented exactly as it
would be given to the students.
When I arrived at the school, I was surprised to discover only about a
dozen parents there. As we waited for the presentation, I thumbed
through page after page of instructions in the prevention of pregnancy
or disease. I found abstinence mentioned only in passing. When the
teacher arrived with the school nurse, she asked if there were any
questions. I asked why abstinence did not play a noticeable part in the
educational material.
What happened next was shocking. There was a great deal of laughter, and
someone suggested that if I thought abstinence had any merit, I should
go back to burying my head in the sand. The teacher and the nurse said
nothing as I went red with embarrassment and could think of nothing to say.
the job of the school was to teach "facts," and the home was
responsible
for moral training.
I sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as the sexuality course was
explained. The other parents seemed to give their unqualified support to
the materials.
At the break time, the teacher announced that there were strawberries and cream
in the
back of the room and requested that everyone put on a name tag and
mingle with each other. Everyone moved to the back of the room. As I
watched them affixing their name tags and shaking hands, I sat deep in
thought. I was ashamed that I had not been able to convince them to
include a serious discussion of abstinence in the educational materials.
I uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher's hand on my shoulder.
"Won't you join the others, Mr. Layton?" The nurse smiled sweetly at
me.
"The strawberries are good."
"Thank you, no," I replied.
"Well, then, how about a name tag? I'm sure the others would like to
meet you."
"Won't you please join them?" she coaxed.
Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, "Don't go." The message in
my
head was unmistakable: "Don't go!"
"I'll just wait here," I said.
When the class was called back to order, the teacher looked around the
long table and thanked everyone for putting on name tags. She ignored
me. Then she said, "Now we're going to give you the same lesson we'll
be giving your children. Everyone please peel off your name tags and
look at the back of the tag."
I watched in silence as the tags came off. "Now then, I drew a tiny
flower on the back of one of the tags. Who has it, please?" the teacher
asked.
The gentleman across from me held it up. "Here it is!"
"All right," she said. "The flower represents disease. Do you
recall
with whom you shook hands?" He pointed to a couple of people. "Very
good," she replied. "The handshake in this case represents intimacy.
So
the two people you had contact with now have the disease." There was
laughter and joking among the parents.
The teacher continued, "And whom did the two of you shake hands with?"
The point was well taken, and she explained how this lesson would show
students how quickly disease is spread. She concluded by saying, "Since
we all shook hands, we all have the disease."
It was then that I heard the still, small voice again. "Speak now," it
said, "but be humble." I wryly noted the latter admonition, then rose
from my chair. I apologized for any upset I might have caused earlier,
congratulated the teacher on an excellent lesson that would impress the
youth, and concluded by saying I had only one small point I wished to
make. "Not all of us were infected with the disease," I said.
"One of
us ... abstained."
-- Author Unknown
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<>< BUYING TIME
A man came home from work late again, tired, irritated
and stressed to
find his 6-year-old son waiting for him at the
door.
"Daddy, may I ask you a question?"
"Yes, sure, what is it?"
replied the man.
"Daddy, how much money do you make an
hour?"
"That is none of your business! What makes you ask such a
question?"
the man said irritatingly.
"Oh, I just want to know. Please
tell me, how much do you make an hour?"
pleaded the little boy.
"Well,
if you must know, I make $20.00 an hour."
"Oh," the little boy replied,
head bowed. Looking up, he said, "Daddy,
may I borrow $10.00
please?"
The father was irritated. "If the only reason you want to
know how much
money I make is so you can barrow some for a silly toy or
other
nonsense, then off to your room and think about your selfishness.
And
besides, you're only 6 years old, and 6 year-olds don't need money.
I
work long, hard hours every day to earn money for you and your mom,
I
don't have time to talk about loaning you money".
The little boy
went quietly to his room and shut the door.
After about an hour, the
father had calmed down, and started to think he
may have been a little hard
on his son. Maybe there really was a reason
he needed to barrow $10.00,
he had never asked before for money. The
father went to the boy's room
and knocked on the door. "May I come in?"
inquired the father.
"Yes
Daddy," replied the little boy.
"I have been thinking, maybe I was too
hard on you earlier," said the
man. "It has been a long, tough day and
I took my anger out on you.
Here's the $10.00 you asked for."
The
little boy sat up straight and beaming said "Oh thank you Daddy!"
Then,
reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some crumpled up dollars.
The father
seeing that the boy already had money started to get angry
again. The
little boy slowly started to count out his money, then
looked up at his
father.
"Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father
grumbled.
"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy
replied.
"For what," said his father.
"Daddy, I have $20.00
now. Can I buy an hour of your time?"
-- Author
Unknown Time spent with Kids can be precious.
The Sandpiper
A STORY TO ILLUSTRATE
by Robert Pearson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain,
and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy."
She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."
After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother,
I wondered.
The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.
I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.
The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school. Mummy says we're on vacation."
She chattered "little girl" talk as we strolled up the beach but my mind was on other things.
When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I went to my beach in a state of near panic.
I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.
I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep
her child at home.
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me,
"I'd rather be alone today."
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked.
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and wondered why was I saying this to a little child?
"Oh, she said quietly, 'then this is a bad day."
"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and--oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."
"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."
"Not at all -- she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.
"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
"She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with MR. P printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A sandpiper to bring you joy.
Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words-- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love.
***
NOTE: The above story is true. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.<>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><
Kids see everything ... watch your backs!
The following verse is touching and right on target.
How Love Raises Children
by Mary Rita Schilke Korzan
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator and I wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favourite cake for me and I knew that little things are special things.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I felt you kiss me goodnight and I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes and I learned that sometimes things hurt but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked ... and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.
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Parent Job Description
Subject: JOB DESCRIPTION
Position: PARENT
Long-term team players needed for challenging permanent work in an often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in faraway cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.
RESPONSIBILITIES
Must provide on-site training in basic life skills, such as nose blowing.
Must have strong skills in negotiating, conflict resolution and crisis management. Ability to deal with flesh wounds a plus.
Must be able to think out of the box but not lose track of the box, because you most likely will need it for a school project.
Must reconcile petty cash disbursements and be proficient in managing budgets and resources fairly, unless you want to hear, "He got more than me!" for the rest of your life.
Must be able to drive motor vehicles safely under loud and adverse conditions while simultaneously practicing above mentioned skills in conflict resolution.
Must be able to withstand criticism, such as "You don't know anything."
Must be willing to be hated at least temporarily, until someone needs £5 to go skating.
Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly.
Must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf.
Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys and battery-operated devices.
Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects.
Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks.
Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next.
Must have a highly energetic entrepreneurial spirit, because fund-raiser will be your middle name.
Must have a diverse knowledge base, so as to answer questions on the fly such as "What makes the wind move?"
PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE
None required, unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.
* * * * *