Mother's Day kick to the heart.
May. 10th, 2009 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaAlex brought home a card she'd made at school. Her handprint is on the front in fuchsia paint.
"Mom," she said earnestly, "our hands are on there so you'll always remember when we were three or four, how cute we were."
Obviously that came from a teacher explaining the craft at school. But then Alex took it a step further. She ducked under my arm and gazed up into my face.
"Mom, when I'm a really really big grownup and you don't ever see me again, you'll always remember how cute I was."
"You don't think you'll visit me when you're a grownup?"
"Maybe not."
Every snarling, angry teenager screaming obscenities at her mother was once a three- or four-year-old presenting a handmade Mother's Day card. Every adult distant and alienated from his parents was once a cute, loving preschooler.
If you read things written by parents who don't have good relationships with their teenage or adult children, there's always an overpowering sense of bewilderment. How did the sweet, trusting little kid grow into the angry, resentful adult? Before, reading, I always thought that there must be something they'd done wrong and weren't mentioning. But now I think that a lot of the time parents just don't know. They think they're doing well enough. Not perfect, right, but adequate.
I called Alex in to me just now. "Honey, even when you're a really big grownup, I hope you'll always want to see me and be with me sometimes."
"Mmm," she said sympathetically. She let me hug her. Then she twirled away from me to tell Michael something about a plastic egg she'd filled with coins.
"Mom," she said earnestly, "our hands are on there so you'll always remember when we were three or four, how cute we were."
Obviously that came from a teacher explaining the craft at school. But then Alex took it a step further. She ducked under my arm and gazed up into my face.
"Mom, when I'm a really really big grownup and you don't ever see me again, you'll always remember how cute I was."
"You don't think you'll visit me when you're a grownup?"
"Maybe not."
Every snarling, angry teenager screaming obscenities at her mother was once a three- or four-year-old presenting a handmade Mother's Day card. Every adult distant and alienated from his parents was once a cute, loving preschooler.
If you read things written by parents who don't have good relationships with their teenage or adult children, there's always an overpowering sense of bewilderment. How did the sweet, trusting little kid grow into the angry, resentful adult? Before, reading, I always thought that there must be something they'd done wrong and weren't mentioning. But now I think that a lot of the time parents just don't know. They think they're doing well enough. Not perfect, right, but adequate.
I called Alex in to me just now. "Honey, even when you're a really big grownup, I hope you'll always want to see me and be with me sometimes."
"Mmm," she said sympathetically. She let me hug her. Then she twirled away from me to tell Michael something about a plastic egg she'd filled with coins.
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Date: 2009-05-10 08:29 pm (UTC)I said, "I got sisters."
Linnea says that she will move out and live somewhere else when she grows up, but probably in the same town, and see us sometimes. After she marries Louis and the set off on their career of inventing and childrearing together. (She really needs to tell Louis about this plan).