Parenting
Last night my son arrived for a visit. It is difficult to accept that he will soon be 46 years old. It seems just the other day his mother, my then wife, announced the pregnancy. At the time I was a graduate student preparing for final exams, preparing for oral and written exams as a candidate to become a minister in the Presbyterian Church, and working. Needless to say the thought of adding the responsibility and the expense of a child to my life was overwhelming. Yet, obviously, this child was not an immaculate conception. I did have a part of this conception! He, as it turned out, was on his way to join - ready or not
My sense of not being prepared did not increase as time for his birth arrived. Yet, time passes quickly as it always does when one does not feel prepared, and soon it was December 4, 1970 and he arrived: beautiful, tiny, seemingly fragile and hungry. His mother and I somehow managed to hold our cracked marriage together while I finished school, got ordained and began to look for a full time job as a pastor. He would be nearly a year old by the time I was “called” to be the pastor of a small, mission church in the village of Hoonah Alaska. Looking back, I am amazed this his mother agreed to make this move. We got rid of many of our possessions, packed up the rest and the three of us headed to Alaska to the tiny village far from the nearest doctor, with intermittent electrical service and no daily newspaper. Yikes! Yet, there was Minnie and David welcoming us to the village and assuring us that they would be our son’s on site grandparents. David was also clear about his sense of duty to teach this then 32-year-old male what it meant to be a man.
Many years have passed since that time. As with all parents I have a long list of times as a parent that I would like to revisit so I could be a more loving and perhaps a more effective parent.
I am quite convinced that if I had known that parenting would be the most difficult job I ever attempted I would have begged for more courses and even then reconsidered my qualifications. Who in their right mind would sign up for a job for which one is so poorly prepared and for which there are many experts offering conflicting advice? Yet, as have parents since, I am sure, the beginning of time, I and his mother muddled through. For most of his life we have muddled through separated. We divorced when we were living in Alaska and he was still quite young.
Today I marvel that any of the three of us have survived and most of all I marvel that this delightful, bright, charming, independent middle age man is, in part, the product of our parenting. Perhaps his mother and I have matured in not only years but in other ways as well. Perhaps now that he is middle age I finally have to accept that I have no control. Of course, I knew for at least 44 of those 46 years that I had no control, but that knowledge never stopped me from the delusional state of pretending as if I did. I hope that I have learned something about unconditional love and honoring the fact that the journey of those I love is their journey and not mine to direct or attempt to control. Yet, a part of me is still convinced that somehow I can be a better father by insuring that I leave some money for him when I die or by being more present or …. Yet, I know I need only enjoy his company and to honor his choices. Sounds simple and it is. Yet, another part of me will continue to see him as that tiny, helpless, beautiful child we brought home from the hospital in Princeton.
I remind myself: Blink and see the man who was always the seed which merely needed watered and fed. The seed already contained the best of who he is. Neither his mother nor I can take credit for the core of who he is. He was born to be his own person and not something either of us molded or created.
Written October 19, 2016
Last night my son arrived for a visit. It is difficult to accept that he will soon be 46 years old. It seems just the other day his mother, my then wife, announced the pregnancy. At the time I was a graduate student preparing for final exams, preparing for oral and written exams as a candidate to become a minister in the Presbyterian Church, and working. Needless to say the thought of adding the responsibility and the expense of a child to my life was overwhelming. Yet, obviously, this child was not an immaculate conception. I did have a part of this conception! He, as it turned out, was on his way to join - ready or not
My sense of not being prepared did not increase as time for his birth arrived. Yet, time passes quickly as it always does when one does not feel prepared, and soon it was December 4, 1970 and he arrived: beautiful, tiny, seemingly fragile and hungry. His mother and I somehow managed to hold our cracked marriage together while I finished school, got ordained and began to look for a full time job as a pastor. He would be nearly a year old by the time I was “called” to be the pastor of a small, mission church in the village of Hoonah Alaska. Looking back, I am amazed this his mother agreed to make this move. We got rid of many of our possessions, packed up the rest and the three of us headed to Alaska to the tiny village far from the nearest doctor, with intermittent electrical service and no daily newspaper. Yikes! Yet, there was Minnie and David welcoming us to the village and assuring us that they would be our son’s on site grandparents. David was also clear about his sense of duty to teach this then 32-year-old male what it meant to be a man.
Many years have passed since that time. As with all parents I have a long list of times as a parent that I would like to revisit so I could be a more loving and perhaps a more effective parent.
I am quite convinced that if I had known that parenting would be the most difficult job I ever attempted I would have begged for more courses and even then reconsidered my qualifications. Who in their right mind would sign up for a job for which one is so poorly prepared and for which there are many experts offering conflicting advice? Yet, as have parents since, I am sure, the beginning of time, I and his mother muddled through. For most of his life we have muddled through separated. We divorced when we were living in Alaska and he was still quite young.
Today I marvel that any of the three of us have survived and most of all I marvel that this delightful, bright, charming, independent middle age man is, in part, the product of our parenting. Perhaps his mother and I have matured in not only years but in other ways as well. Perhaps now that he is middle age I finally have to accept that I have no control. Of course, I knew for at least 44 of those 46 years that I had no control, but that knowledge never stopped me from the delusional state of pretending as if I did. I hope that I have learned something about unconditional love and honoring the fact that the journey of those I love is their journey and not mine to direct or attempt to control. Yet, a part of me is still convinced that somehow I can be a better father by insuring that I leave some money for him when I die or by being more present or …. Yet, I know I need only enjoy his company and to honor his choices. Sounds simple and it is. Yet, another part of me will continue to see him as that tiny, helpless, beautiful child we brought home from the hospital in Princeton.
I remind myself: Blink and see the man who was always the seed which merely needed watered and fed. The seed already contained the best of who he is. Neither his mother nor I can take credit for the core of who he is. He was born to be his own person and not something either of us molded or created.
Written October 19, 2016
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