When I would explain to my 16 or 17 year old “children” something I thought they must do, or why I thought things “needed” to be done my way, my son would hear me out and then say, “Got it covered, Mom.” or “Don't worry, Mom, you raised me right, and now I get to decide this one.” or “Gotta trust your parenting, Mom.” When her turn came three years later, my daughter would say: “Mom, do I need to hear this?” or “I'm sorry you’re still having a problem on this, Mom, but I'm not worried about it, so you don't have to be either.” or “It’s just not my problem, Mom. Good luck working it out.”
I’d have been grounded for weeks had I addressed my parents in that manner! But my kids weren't being insolent. These things were said with quiet self-confidence and sincere, sometimes amused compassion and tolerance for the difficulty I was experiencing in letting go of my “parental entitlement” to meet their childhood “need for guidance." Wasn’t it my privilege and my responsibility to nurture them with advice? Mothering was a role I enjoyed and that I knew needed to be phased out at some point, but my kids were understandably more aware of the step by step process than I. They were usually gentle with me, but firm. We all knew I still had ultimate veto power but because they were responsible kids I seldom felt the need to use it.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Parenting: UNTYING APRON STRINGS
Instead of actually “cutting the apron strings,” my kids gently and firmly, even lovingly, helped me untie them. With love and good humor, they persistently peeled my single-parent mothering off their backs. For about three years each, they worked on developing new relationships with me. I did my best to reciprocate. Having insisted on and modeled mutual respect since small kid days, I was still able to put my foot down on occasions when I felt that the price of their bid for self-determination was too high, but only after very thorough discussions. If I regressed into intrusive “parental entitlements," they were sure to remind me that pulling rank was not how we did things..
One of our more difficult win-win solutions came the first year my daughter had her license. She wanted to drive some friends to a New Year’s Eve Party in my car. She was an excellent driver, a very responsible person, no highways would be involved, and she promised to have only two beers in the four hours she'd be there. I was concerned that she would be distracted by rowdy, drunken friends or hit by someone else on this night of drinking. I was scared silly for her safety and told her why. She heard and understood my concern and we worked on it together, both explicitly aware that my trust in her honesty and good judgement was the bedrock for her growing freedoms.
One of our more difficult win-win solutions came the first year my daughter had her license. She wanted to drive some friends to a New Year’s Eve Party in my car. She was an excellent driver, a very responsible person, no highways would be involved, and she promised to have only two beers in the four hours she'd be there. I was concerned that she would be distracted by rowdy, drunken friends or hit by someone else on this night of drinking. I was scared silly for her safety and told her why. She heard and understood my concern and we worked on it together, both explicitly aware that my trust in her honesty and good judgement was the bedrock for her growing freedoms.
Poetry: GIFT
I would give you strength,
But you are too strong already.
Then let me give you of my weakness,
That you may rest a moment from your earnestness,
Lean against the walls you build, and play with river lights.
A poem written by my grandmother, Florence Mariah Piper Way to her husband, Charles Henry Way.
During the depression, my grandfather, an architect out of work, cleared his fields of boulders and rocks and built over a mile of mortarless rock walls around his fields and garden. I wonder if this poem was written in reference to his labors or his quiet reticence.
GIFT a poem by Florence Mariah Piper Way (1880-1952) is published by Abby Freeborn and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. For permission to use contact randmxcentric@gmail.com Da Kine Stories: HAWAIIAN METAMORPHOSIS
During the 16 years I lived and worked in Hawai’i during the 1990s, I observed many of my Hawaiian friends, acquaintances, and people I met in recurrent meetings and activist gatherings as they were going through what I came to see as a personal, social, cultural and political metamorphosis. This painful process is a response to the renaissance of Hawaiian culture that sprouted in the 1960s and has been growing and flowering ever since. Hawaiians I have known seemed to move from their culturally innate aloha through hurt and rage to a mature life-choice to live aloha. That choice is the most important step they make in reclaiming Hawaiian culture and the most difficult.
What is amazingly sad is that, to this day, most of the world is still ignorant of the history of the Hawaiian Islands, the suffering of generations of Hawaiians, and their exemplary response to injustice. This is true in spite of the fact that people from all over the world enjoy Hawaiian vacations and come to live permanently in the Aloha State. I submit that even the following very inadequate thumbnail sketch is preferable to perpetuating that ignorance.
What is amazingly sad is that, to this day, most of the world is still ignorant of the history of the Hawaiian Islands, the suffering of generations of Hawaiians, and their exemplary response to injustice. This is true in spite of the fact that people from all over the world enjoy Hawaiian vacations and come to live permanently in the Aloha State. I submit that even the following very inadequate thumbnail sketch is preferable to perpetuating that ignorance.
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