Parenting through the Ages

60: (October 2023)

I’m almost exactly twice as old as I was when I gave birth to my firstborn child, to be followed by a second daughter three years later. What a ride it’s been, both joyous and terrifying. Bringing sweet, innocent babies into the world is truly an act of courage. It’s like jumping off a cliff and hoping that it will all work out. It’s not like I had life figured out when I gave birth, (although I mistakenly thought I had more of it figured out than I actually did). I didn’t know much about child rearing and was only just beginning my life journey, with all its unexpected twists and turns. But people became parents all the time, I reasoned. How hard could it be?

It turned out to be a lot harder than I’d thought. As with most parents I know, we did our best to nurture our children, pouring out love, giving of ourselves in ways we didn’t know were possible, desperately attempting to keep them safe, and helping them to grow into adulthood. It is a herculean quest. Most, if not all parents, make many mistakes along the way, some of which undoubtedly hurt our children, despite our best attempts. 

When I was growing up, I remember assuming that my parents had all the answers—that is, until I became a teenager. Teenagers typically realize that their parents are not the all-knowing beings they may have thought they were. The learning, the growth that often comes from all the mistakes you’ve made as a parent, never ends. This lifelong endeavor starts when you are usually somewhere near the beginning of your adult life and have so much yet to learn.

I am lucky that I was so naïve when I first gave birth or I may never have mustered up the courage to embark on the parenthood journey. It requires ever-evolving on-the-job training, from discerning what your children need from you as little ones to navigating the parent/adult-child relationship. As children grow into adults, we might have thought that our job would end, but we never stop rooting for our children, fretting about them, and always holding them within the inner stitchery of our hearts. As Michelle Obama says of parenting adult children in her book, The Light We Carry:

“You will still worry! You will still be afraid for them! As long as you are still breathing, you’ll be wondering if there’s something more you can do.”

The relationships I have with my daughters continue to be at the core of my being, even though they both live out of the country. Time and place are often irrelevant in matters of the heart. I am so very glad that I jumped off that cliff!

40: (October 2003)

I often hear people complain about teenagers. When my own daughter turned 13, many people jokingly groaned to her, as if something offensive was about to begin. Yet, I recently attended a religious ritual that solemnly, as well as joyously, celebrated this entry into the teenage years: a Bar Mitzvah. This Jewish rite of passage into adulthood occurs on the 13^th birthday. It is an event that the young man or woman intensively prepares for, many months in advance, after years of studying the Jewish faith. Our good friends of more than 20 years invited us to their son’s Bar Mitzvah and to the party that followed.

The ceremony was 90 minutes long, and the young man actively participated in virtually every aspect of it. The part that moved me the most was near the end, when the parents stood in front of the assembly with their son and openly proclaimed their love, acceptance, and appreciation for him. To express these powerful, positive emotions publicly, in front of a small mob of 13-year-old guests, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends was such an act of affirmation. I think its power will be felt throughout that young man’s life. I certainly hope it will.

Later, at the party, a birthday cake topped with 13 unlit candles was presented. One by one, a special person or small group of people was asked to light one of the candles with the young man. All of the people who were most instrumental in forming the young man’s life—who had participated somehow in that open proclamation of who he had become—were publicly acknowledged. Thirteen candles shone light for 13 constellations of people who were tightly woven around and within the tapestry of this young man’s life. Some contributed large strands to the design, some small. All were celebrated.

Most of us do not have the opportunity to participate in such a ritual, at least not within a religious context. But affirmation can be expressed and communicated in many ways. I wonder how many young people feel the support of parents and friends as our young friend did. How many teenagers feel celebrated? This does not mean that all behaviors are necessarily sanctioned, but that the essence of the person is celebrated, as well as the potential of the person and the good that has been. It strikes me that such affirmation is a very wise thing to do.

A large roomful of people who had each been part of this young man’s life applauded him as the last candle was lit. I venture to guess that we all felt a bit of shared pride for the young man, and thought, “Look what we’ve made! Look who he is!”

And it was good.

60-40:

We all need affirmation. We need encouragement and love, and to be able to find hope in the goodness of each other, now more than ever. 

As parents, as relatives, as friends and community members, we need to show each other that we care. There are many things out of our control in this world, but how we treat each other is something entirely within our control.

Kindness is never wasted.