This is Really Hard

Parenting is hard

A few years ago, I was at a child’s birthday party with Radley.  It was a very typical pre-school party.  There were a bunch of small children running and screaming in a loud and obnoxious setting with bad pizza and grocery store cake and no wine.  I hate those parties.  But when you have a small child, you make the sacrifice and go.  Because it’s important for your child and it’s important to the birthday child and it’s just one of those things you do when you are a parent.  I’ve been too no less than 100 of those parties, and at every single one, I have prayed for wine.  It never came, though. 

But anyway, back to the party at hand…This birthday party was different.  It was the first time I compared Radley to another child.  It was the first time that parenting was scary.  Yeah, parenting is always scary.  Will they walk?  Will they talk?  Will they die of pneumonia before their second birthday?  Parenting is scary.  And hard.  It’s the one job that you want to have complete control over, but in reality have very little input in the outcome.  You want your children to be a reflection of what you teach them, but they are individuals, and make their own choices.  Ok.  I keep getting distracted.  Back to the party. 

So, this was the scene…Lots of little kids in a public venue with lots of lights and loud noises and marginal food.  It was about half way through the present opening period, when I watched several little boys start to push and yell and hit.  During this interaction, I watched my little boy sit back and watch it all.  He didn’t once try to interject.  He was just watching.  The image of that day may be the most vivid memory I have ever had.  Later Radley got in trouble for not listening, and we left the party early.  And as we drove home, I wept.  Quietly.  But I still wept.  As I drove and cried, I prayed to the universe that my baby didn’t ever have to change for the world, but the world would change for him. 

I never thought this would happen

I was never going to have children.  Because I don’t really like them.  But also because I didn’t  like the idea of bringing a child into such a mess.  Wars.  Lies.  Ugliness.  Societally, we haven’t really created a healthy atmosphere for children.  But I did it.  I did the unthinkable.  I had a child.  And as bazillions of parents before me thought, I knew my child was perfect.  And they are so perfect when they are born.  Then after you see perfection, you get scared again.  Because they only thing you can do with perfect is imperfect it.  Like I said, I never thought this would happen. 

I never thought that I would have a child.  However, if I did, he or she was going to be born under perfect circumstances.  And my child would be raised in a home with two, loving parents and lots of laughing siblings.  My child would be sheltered enough to never feel pain, but enlightened enough to solve the world’s heartaches. 

You can probably see now why I was never going to have children.  But I did it.  Even though I thought this would never happen. 

Growing up is hard

When I was growing up, and I had a hard day, my mom would tell me “Growing up is really hard, Angela.”  And that always made me feel better.  An adult was validating my feelings.  And as I got older, my mom stood by that position.  She always reminded me that growing up is really hard.  Whether it was a scraped knee on the playground, or an embarrassing moment in high school, or living alone for the first time, my mom ALWAYS reminded me that “growing up is hard.”  Even though I always appreciated her words, I never understood how hard growing up can be until I started to watch my own little person grow up. 

Now, I see how hard it is.  

Raising children is hard

My kid is tough.  He’s skinned his knee.  He’s skinned both his knees.  He’s fallen down.  He’s gotten himself back up.   He’s cracked his head on the corner of a mahogany table.   He’s had pneumonia.  He’s puked more times than Charlie Sheen.  He deals with shots like they are just another day on the playground.  He transitions between two different houses in two different cities EVERY WEEK.  He has been reluctant to make friends, but then he chooses loves them.  He has been heartbroken when his friends move away, but he is resilient enough to make new ones.  HE IS FIVE.  He is the toughest kid I know.  No scratch that.  He’s the toughest human being I know.  And I probably don’t deserve him.  The world probably doesn’t deserve him.  He’s amazing. 

So, when I get accosted in the hallway outside of his school, and his teacher tells me that he was bullied, I have to wonder why.  When that same teacher tells me he stood up to the bullies, I feel proud.  When I see my little boy’s face, sad, but keeping strong, I remember why this wasn’t supposed to happen.  Not because I wasn’t supposed to have a child, but because my child wasn’t supposed to be bullied.  The good news is that he isn’t a victim.  He is confident.  He stands his ground.  He’s a good person. 

With that said…For FUCK SAKE, teach your children some respect.  Teach them to love each other.  More importantly, teach them to love themselves.  Teach them to stand up for what is right.  Teach them values.  Just teach them love.  Yes, we all have to deal with bullies.  Yes, we all have to defend ourselves.  Yes, we all have to learn to survive.  We all had to do it.  But your children are your opportunity to make a difference.  And you aren’t making a difference if you are raising assholes.