Four posts left until the end. I'm starting to feel a little sad about that realization. But also proud.
Two days ago I set out to use these final posts to write about the things that have been particularly positive in my life this year. I started with my friends. Yesterday, I wrote about my foes. Today, it's my kids and then my wife and finishing up with myself before I conclude it all for good. On to my kids.
I sometimes think God or Mother Nature or whoever gifts us with kids does so to let them serve as some kind of barometer for how much sh*t we can endure. Kids are like a never-ending triathlon. A perpetual SAT. Kids are the puzzle that's complete but for that one missing piece that can never be located.
Some of us can definitely endure more as parents than others. Some of us don't even try. We just run for the hills at the first sight of trouble and are never heard from again. (I hate these people.) Some of us who should run for the hills don't and end up screwing our kids up more than if we had run. Some of us stick around a while before going completely bonkers. Some of us weather the storm like it's nothing at all. Most of us, though, fall somewhere in the middle. We stick it out and remain functional, but we lose a bit of sanity in the process.
I'm definitely someone who belongs somewhere in the middle. I'm never going to run for the hills, although I have to admit they look pretty inviting and comforting sometimes. I'm also never going to be someone who whistles merrily through each and every day that I spend with my kids, as if I'm top of the world and have all this craziness figured out. I don't and I never will.
No, I'm solidly somewhere in the middle, and I'm good with that. I have definite strengths and definite weaknesses, and having been in this parenting game for a while now, I think I'm able to recognize both pretty easily. I'd like to say that I've been able to correct all my shortcomings, but I'm not even close. I'm still working on them, and that's what's important. But rather than being a failure as a parent, the weakness I believe just make me normal.
I think that I weather the storm that is my kids fairly well most of the time, and they do the same of me. It hasn't always been easy. These are complicated and often weird lives we're talking about. These are even weirder times we're living in. We soar together to the highest of highs and then sink to the lowest of lows. Seemingly, we spend less time seeing the sights in the middle. While I crave the sanity that dwelling more often in the "middle" would most likely bring, I also realize there's a hell of lot to gain from seeing the very best and the very worst that a person has to offer, even if it's your kid.
I think when you travel to the extremes, you form a bond that becomes incredibly strong and resolute. I'm not sure we're even aware of it as that attachment is growing, but I know that bond has been created with my kids and continues to. How? I hear it in the conversations that I have with my kids and the topics we're able to discuss. I see it in the loyalty that surfaces between them. I sense it in the walls that have gone up and then been toppled over.
My kids are complicated, intelligent, independent, prideful, and stubborn creatures, and while that doesn't make it easy or even enjoyable at times being a father, it does leave me proud feeling confident and secure knowing they're not fools. They're not chumps. They're not suckers. For every instance that they test me and my nerves, they fortify my belief in them by showing me levels of compassion and intuitiveness that surpasses what I ever expected, and I expect a lot from them. My kids are the real deal, right down to the bone.
Honestly, the people who challenge me most in this world are my children, and I use "challenge" in the most positive way. They challenge my patience. They challenge me intellectually. They challenge me to look within myself and find my own flaws. They force me to confront myself, and I'm not sure that's something that would occur with the same amount of force and importance without them in my life.
Just as important, the people who keep me grounded and humble and youthful and enthusiastic are my children. The people who help me keep my eyes on the prize are my children. The people who motivate me to live a (mostly) moral and ethical life are my children. I strive to make them proud. Even when I'm not sure they notice, they serve as a reminder as to what this is all about.
Yeah, sometimes the hills look extremely enticing, what with all the peace and quiet there seems to be up there. What with the lack of responsibilities that all those people meandering about don't seem to have. What with all the disposable income and the freedom to come and go at will. Yeah, it's damn tempting to run for the hills some days. I think any parent who says different isn't being honest. Parenting is by far the damn hardest job I've ever had. It's filled with the most pain and the most worry and stress and tension and fricking toil, day in and day out.
Those hills also look lonely. They look desolate. They look a bit barren and less than fulfilling. In short, they look incomplete, and I don't want any part of that.
Two days ago I set out to use these final posts to write about the things that have been particularly positive in my life this year. I started with my friends. Yesterday, I wrote about my foes. Today, it's my kids and then my wife and finishing up with myself before I conclude it all for good. On to my kids.
I sometimes think God or Mother Nature or whoever gifts us with kids does so to let them serve as some kind of barometer for how much sh*t we can endure. Kids are like a never-ending triathlon. A perpetual SAT. Kids are the puzzle that's complete but for that one missing piece that can never be located.
Some of us can definitely endure more as parents than others. Some of us don't even try. We just run for the hills at the first sight of trouble and are never heard from again. (I hate these people.) Some of us who should run for the hills don't and end up screwing our kids up more than if we had run. Some of us stick around a while before going completely bonkers. Some of us weather the storm like it's nothing at all. Most of us, though, fall somewhere in the middle. We stick it out and remain functional, but we lose a bit of sanity in the process.
I'm definitely someone who belongs somewhere in the middle. I'm never going to run for the hills, although I have to admit they look pretty inviting and comforting sometimes. I'm also never going to be someone who whistles merrily through each and every day that I spend with my kids, as if I'm top of the world and have all this craziness figured out. I don't and I never will.
No, I'm solidly somewhere in the middle, and I'm good with that. I have definite strengths and definite weaknesses, and having been in this parenting game for a while now, I think I'm able to recognize both pretty easily. I'd like to say that I've been able to correct all my shortcomings, but I'm not even close. I'm still working on them, and that's what's important. But rather than being a failure as a parent, the weakness I believe just make me normal.
I think that I weather the storm that is my kids fairly well most of the time, and they do the same of me. It hasn't always been easy. These are complicated and often weird lives we're talking about. These are even weirder times we're living in. We soar together to the highest of highs and then sink to the lowest of lows. Seemingly, we spend less time seeing the sights in the middle. While I crave the sanity that dwelling more often in the "middle" would most likely bring, I also realize there's a hell of lot to gain from seeing the very best and the very worst that a person has to offer, even if it's your kid.
I think when you travel to the extremes, you form a bond that becomes incredibly strong and resolute. I'm not sure we're even aware of it as that attachment is growing, but I know that bond has been created with my kids and continues to. How? I hear it in the conversations that I have with my kids and the topics we're able to discuss. I see it in the loyalty that surfaces between them. I sense it in the walls that have gone up and then been toppled over.
My kids are complicated, intelligent, independent, prideful, and stubborn creatures, and while that doesn't make it easy or even enjoyable at times being a father, it does leave me proud feeling confident and secure knowing they're not fools. They're not chumps. They're not suckers. For every instance that they test me and my nerves, they fortify my belief in them by showing me levels of compassion and intuitiveness that surpasses what I ever expected, and I expect a lot from them. My kids are the real deal, right down to the bone.
Honestly, the people who challenge me most in this world are my children, and I use "challenge" in the most positive way. They challenge my patience. They challenge me intellectually. They challenge me to look within myself and find my own flaws. They force me to confront myself, and I'm not sure that's something that would occur with the same amount of force and importance without them in my life.
Just as important, the people who keep me grounded and humble and youthful and enthusiastic are my children. The people who help me keep my eyes on the prize are my children. The people who motivate me to live a (mostly) moral and ethical life are my children. I strive to make them proud. Even when I'm not sure they notice, they serve as a reminder as to what this is all about.
Yeah, sometimes the hills look extremely enticing, what with all the peace and quiet there seems to be up there. What with the lack of responsibilities that all those people meandering about don't seem to have. What with all the disposable income and the freedom to come and go at will. Yeah, it's damn tempting to run for the hills some days. I think any parent who says different isn't being honest. Parenting is by far the damn hardest job I've ever had. It's filled with the most pain and the most worry and stress and tension and fricking toil, day in and day out.
Those hills also look lonely. They look desolate. They look a bit barren and less than fulfilling. In short, they look incomplete, and I don't want any part of that.
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