Children
don't come with an instruction manual. You have to figure out for
yourself how to
parent.
When my
children
were
born,
that became obvious. That was when I began appreciating the way my own
parents
raised me. As a
child,
I assumed they knew everything there was to know about
parenting.
In my young eyes, they were the ones in charge, the ones who
knew. Yet when I became a
parent
myself, I discovered I didn't know. With all good
intentions I realized I knew nothing at all about
parenting
beyond providing for my
children's
survival needs, shelter, and safety. The rest I had to learn. The more
I learned, the more I appreciated my own
parents.
All of the above was the gist of a conversation I was having with a
friend while we were on a river bank
hike
together. He's always blamed his
parents
for not raising him the way he says they should have. He also blames
them for what's not working for him in his adult life - as if they'd
done him some irreparable harm as a
child
by not raising him the way they should have, which rendered him unable
to cope with life as an adult. It was a persistent, unwanted complaint.
He was running a racket.
I
shared
my experience of my
parents
with him ("You'll be free when you can include them exactly the way
they are" I said) as well as of being a
parent.
He looked puzzled. "I've tried that" he said, "I really have. I've
forgiven them many times, and it still doesn't work. There's always a
residue.".
"Look: I know it's what's preached far and wide, but consider that
forgiving may not work" I said. It literally stopped him
in his tracks. "What do you mean: forgiving may not work?"
he asked, "Isn't that what you're s'posed to do?". "You've
proved it may not work, haven't you?" I said, "You've forgiven your
parents,
and yet you're still stuck in blaming them.".
I've discovered something useful for myself about the way forgiving
(not so much about the possibility of being forgiving) can
actually dis-empower me on occasion. It's this: when I declare
"I forgive you", that's the part I say out loud. Yet what it calls
forth (ie what I don't say out loud) is what it is I'm
forgiving you for - which, when it comes to what my
parents
did or didn't do, may just have been something I made up
as a
child.
Saying "I forgive you" drags with it the "... for what?". So in
the very act of forgiving, I
re-presence
that which I say I'm going to let go. It's pernicious, it's a
trap.
It's very
Zen
too
(one side of the hand brings
with it the other).
"OK" he said, "I get that. What about accepting? What
about I accept what they did, and not
resist
it?". "There's value in the 'not
resist
it' part" I said, "but accepting (not so much the possibility
of being accepting) is like forgiving: they both tighten
the same noose, they both drag with them the "... for what?",
which as effectively
re-presences
that which you say you're going to let go.". At that point, the very
clothes he was wearing began to reek of congested thought. There was no
way out.
"There's a randomness to being
born",
I suggested, "You could've been
born
to any other
parents.
Yet they're the ones you were
born
to. It's not something you can erase and redo if you don't like them.
But you can take responsibility for being
born
to them.". The idea of taking responsibility for being
born,
isn't an easy one. Yet that for which we take responsibility, we have
power over. I also suggested he look at his life which, by any stretch
of the
imagination,
had turned out well. He was successful in business, owned a nice house
and three cars, and his own
family
(wife and
children)
was in great shape. "It looks like your
parents
did a pretty good job raising you after all, doesn't it?" I said, not
really as a question, just leaving it hanging in the air. I sensed him
cogitating, pondering, looking for some wiggle-room.
"What do I do? he asked, exasperated. "I don't know" I said, "It's for
you to discover. But here's what I did: I invented the possibility of
being inclusive.". "Oh!?" he said after a moment. I went on:
"There's no '... for what?' in being inclusive. Include it
all: what you don't like about how they raised you, what
you like about how they raised you, how your racket has a payoff, how
you now know they were only winging it (just like us), how you're an
adult running your life with preferences and decisions you made as a
child,
how you now have a good life for which you're responsible. Include it
all, especially include you
love
them.". He nodded, trying it on.
Then there's this too: all there is to include, is content. To
be inclusive, you have to be the
context.
And that's a subject for another conversation on another occasion.