19th century Victorian antique Windsor chairs with
original
paint finish
I lovebeing aroundmy children.
I lovebeing with
them.
I love
our time together (and you know, it always ends too soon,
always). I'm glad I'm their
Dad.
That's what I tell them: I say "I'm glad I'm your
Dad.".
It's a joy to
be with
them, to
be around
them. I'd go as far as to say that I enjoy my time with them just as
much if not more than with anyone else. And yet ... it's
critical I gauge how much time spent with them is appropriate, and how
much is excessive.
Part of what succeeds in being
a great parent
is knowing when to back off, when to stop intruding into your
children's worlds.
It's a measure of my success as
a parent
that after a while,
my childrenwant me
gone,
out of their way, left alone to enjoy their very life
I lovebeing around,
the life I taught them how to succeed at. To be
a great parent,
you must know when to give your
children
space, room to be without you. If not, the whole thing risks being
stifling.
I was visiting
my daughter and
son-in-law
in their new
home
for the first time. It's a milestone when you visit
a child
at the first
home
they own (being a "proud Papa" on this scale of one to ten, ranks a
fourteen). I noticed some
garden
chairs the previous owners had left behind - not antiques, but their
style was unmistakably that of classic 19th century Victorian
antique Windsor chairs. There was a je ne sais
quois about them.
Not knowing
what it was, I stood behind one, put my hands on its armrests, and
leaned forward into it. I was unprepared for the
moment of love and magic
that suddenly
flooded over me.
My mother
was the interior designer of all the
homes
we lived in as
a family
when I was
a child.
She had a good eye for antique chairs which the one I was now leaning
on in
the garden
of
my daughter's
new
home,
was styled after. It was a style she
loved!
To see the style of those chairs again, only this time in
my daughter's
new
home's
garden
sixty six years later, took my breath away, as I fully got what
Life itself
was
sharing
with a startled me. My eyes misted over
with warm tears.
Somewhere along the line, those antique Windsor chairs were a part of
my life
-
forever,
it would seen. They were always just there, a fixture in our
dining rooms. Then suddenly they were no longer there. And exactly when
they disappeared
and what became of them,
I just don't know.
What strikes me now is how
my relationship with my parents
was like that, and how those antique Windsor chairs modeled it
uncannily accurately. To me, they would be there
forever
(or so it would seem) ... and then they weren't. And now I'm struck
with how much I realize I really and truly appreciated their value
only after they were
gone.
It's only the folly of youth which takes so much for granted. Now, it's
their absence that reminds me of their gift, it's their
absence that reminds me of
their class,
it's their absence that reminds me of their taste, it's their absence
that reminds me of
their worth.
Those antique Windsor chairs are now
long gone,
and yet ... they're arguably with me more now than back
when it seemed as if they would always be in
my lifeforever.
