Sally Atticum
2004-05-01 21:49:33 UTC
When do we pass the torch?
Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached
spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and
feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors
to put a few stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, "When do you stop
worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother
just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how
one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for
a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't
worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and
enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the
cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to
find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll
be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still
worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle, there was nothing I
could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said
nothing.
I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations
and absorbed in their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my
own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile
and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you
get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one
another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the
fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a
virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were
you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried."
I smiled a warm smile. The torch has been passed.
<p><br><b>Laura k</b>
<br>
<i>qualis artifex pereo</i><p></font>
<p>
Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached
spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and
feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors
to put a few stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, "When do you stop
worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother
just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how
one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for
a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't
worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and
enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the
cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to
find themselves. Don't worry, in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll
be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was still
worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle, there was nothing I
could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said
nothing.
I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations
and absorbed in their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my
own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile
and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you
get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one
another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the
fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a
virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were
you? I've been calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was worried."
I smiled a warm smile. The torch has been passed.
<p><br><b>Laura k</b>
<br>
<i>qualis artifex pereo</i><p></font>
<p>