Kids are awesome. One of the most beautiful moments of my life occurred just after giving birth to my oldest daughter. I was looking at this tiny little red face and all I could think about was how amazingly beautiful she was. That's when it hit me. Those little eyes, staring at me so seriously? They were the same ones I looked at every day in the mirror. The little ears that pointed slightly? The same ones I was teased about over the years. The pointy little chin? yep, I had seen that before too. And this deep realization punched me in the gut: how could I ever again think of those things as ugly now that I had seen them in my own child and recognized the beauty in them?
That moment was a huge step for me in changing my perspective. Before that moment, I had always tried to look like the models in magazines or other people I saw as beautiful. After that moment my thinking changed. Now, I wanted to be the best ME I could be. I will never think of myself as the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but there is a deeper satisfaction and understanding, acceptance of my features.
And who would not love being someone's hero? Ah yes, in a child's eyes, a parent can do no wrong. Until they reach a certain age of course. But I remember following my Dad around, mimicking the way he stepped, trying to talk the way he did, taking interest in the same music he did, and observing his every move like a little scientist. He told me I would make a good lawyer someday. But in my mind, I saw us marching up the steps to a courthouse in matching suits with matching briefcases while we took on all the injustices in the world like a couple superheros. After all, I was going to be just like him.
There was a falling out when I hit my teens and our ideas of right and wrong, interesting and uninteresting no longer meshed. Still, there was a longing. One night I had arranged to sneak out and meet up with some friends for a night of teenage naughtiness, but Dad asked if I'd like to hang out and watch a movie with him that night. I ditched my friends without a second thought. A parent's acceptance and desire to spend time with their child is a powerful thing. And then Dad found an old row boat. It was a piece of junk as I recall, but he invited my sisters and I to go to the building supply with him and fix it up. We spent more time climbing around on piles of wood than we did actually helping, but we loved every minute and felt immense pride when he would say his girls helped him fix it up.
I always have taken pride in looking like Dad. In fact, I now live in the same general area where he grew up. When we first moved to the area, I had a couple occasions when strangers stopped me and asked if I was related to him. Those were proud moments for me. Yep- that's my Dad. As I've grown older I've had the joy of growing closer to my parents in different ways. Moving beyond the hero worship and seeing them as human. Learning to love them for their faults as well as their strengths, learning to value the wonderful childhood I had while accepting and forgiving the imperfections of it. That sentence sounds blissfully easy, but it has been a process. I believe that part of growing up is learning to take responsibility for one's own issues, recognizing the roots from which they grew but also recognizing that one's parents did the best they could with the information they had. There was a time when I happily pointed my finger in my parent's direction for all the issues and imperfections in my life. But that was also a sad time. And inaccurate. Expecting perfection from my parents is simply foolish and when casting blame for my responses to those imperfections, I was keeping myself in a destructive cycle that was leading me nowhere.
There is still a hint of hero worship when I look at my Dad. I admire so much about him: his quirky sense of humor, magnetic personality, and the ability to turn every situation into a good laugh. The dear man seems genuinely perplexed at times by the reality that people are drawn to him, but I don't find it surprising. After all, I was raised by him and still happen to enjoy being around him. He's not perfect. he's stubborn, irreverent, opinionated, and can be a boogerhead with the best of them (bear in mind here folks, I am the only one allowed to say anything remotely negative about this man. He's my Dad and anyone who speaks ill of him will and has faced my wrath. Fair warning ;).
There is a complexity in parent-child relationships that leaves me scratching my head. My Dad has told me many times that I always seemed to take his negative characteristics and go a step further with them. This hit home with me when my youngest and I were in a full-fledged battle of wills and I realized that the angry little face, the defiant, stubborn attitude... it may not be what I see in the mirror everyday but it is certainly familiar. Some of the less-than-perfect features I passed on to my kids may be genetic but many are learned from them watching me. You know that saying? 'Do as I say, not as I do'. Kids never follow it. Instead, as we stumble along through the job of parenting, moments of clarity creep upon us when we are punishing our children for the very things we do ourselves but wish to ignore.
Of course, we also get to see our spouse's imperfections reflecting back at us through our children. Naturally, these are easier to spot because they are not our own issues. It's easier to point out anyone else's mistakes than it is to recognize and deal with my own. And as we reproduce, the issues we deal with get passed on to the next generation. Someday I suspect that each of my children will go through a phase in which they blame me for all the unpleasant things in their lives. And, odds are that in some way, I am responsible. But I hope that as they grow and take responsibility for their own choices and actions, they will be able to view me as a friend and ally. Someone who's been (or is!) there and can understand.
In this way, my Dad and I's relationship has evolved into a deeper friendship of sorts. He's been there with so many of the issues I am struggling with and, in some cases, he still is. And while I learn from him, I think (hope) that he can learn from my fumbling attempts at becoming a healthier person. I still look at my hero and want to be like him. I still wish we could spend more time together and love that he can unknowingly still chase away all my fears and worries with a reassuring touch or a nod of approval. But as I look to the future, I also hope that one of the ways I can make him proud will be by overcoming obstacles we both struggle with. He would like that. And that is the coolest thing of all: I know that no matter what, he's got my back. He might not look like much of a cheerleader, but he encourages me along this path and smiles when I am successful.
Family. So complex. Impossible to adequately put into words but, I think, always worth the attempt.
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