What Will Our Children Blame Us For?
Every child has something to forgive their parents when they grow up
My parents didn’t have friends, they were so inward-looking!
It was one of those big family gatherings. You know how it goes: many people, many food, many talkings, many whatever you want.
Everyone shares their wisdom. Bonus points if it’s about politics, which has the power to rouse you from your early afternoon slumber. Or to annoy everyone, depending on the level of humor of the audience.
I don’t exactly remember why my sister-in-law said those words. But I remember hearing her gripes about her parents and thinking “wow, that is me”.
I have a few friends actually. But most of them don’t live in the same city so I barely see them. Or you can say that I’m a Parisian and thus as pleasant as a prison door.
From time to time, I go out for a drink with two former colleagues, without my kids or my husband. It’s a win-win: I am happy to trade cooking for a cocktail at a fancy bar and they are happy to trade beans for a Happy Meal at home.
And that’s all.
As a result our sons don’t see a lot of people, apart from my husband and myself. Maybe, in twenty or thirty years, they will say during a big family reunion “hey, my parents didn’t have friends, they were so inward-looking!”.
Let’s be honest. I’ve seen worse criticism.
It seems that no matter how hard a parent tries, their children will always find a way to blame them.
It must be part of the growing up thing.
It’s a package: we grow body hair, we eat vegetables on our own initiative, we complain about our parents and then we are an adult.
I must be very adult because I complain a lot about my parents, especially my mother. She isn’t Parisian but sometimes she embodies one. No, I’m not referring to her clothes.
Common wisdom holds that we have to forgive our parents to become a responsible adult. Maybe because an old book claims that we must honor our father and mother. The same book depicts a guy who abandons his first son and attempts to sacrifice his second, for the record.
So I couldn’t disagree more.
We have to stop putting our parents on a pedestal.
I think anyone can become who he’s meant to be, whether they forgive their parents or not. Yes, we must acknowledge how things happened. No, we don’t have to condone shitty behavior just because of shared DNA.
But you have only one mother! You have only one father!
Yeah, so what? This doesn’t mean we don’t have free will or that we can’t say whether our relationship feels awkward or even toxic.
Parents are people. People make mistakes. Mistakes have consequences.
So maybe one day my kids will be mad at me and I won’t take their forgiveness for granted.
Our kids will grow up, my husband and I will lose our status and they will judge us.
They will have reason to judge us.
We brought them into this world damaged by the climate crisis. We are part of a generation which has not done enough to solve poverty and inequalities.
I lose patience when I’m tired after work. Sometimes my husband and I can’t find the right words and we just yell.
We don’t get involved in school activities enough. We can count on one hand the times we accompanied them on a school trip.
I don’t do enough craft activities with them. A few weeks ago I promised them we would make fish out of scraps of cardboard and paint, and I still haven’t gotten around to doing it.
They inherited our French nationality so everyone will see them as snail and frog eaters until the end of their lives.
And their father robs their stars when we play Mario Party.
All joking aside, I can’t guess what sins our children will accuse us of. Not meeting enough friends? Not being patient? Taking their Mario Party stars?
I just know that there will be deserved reproaches.
If that’s what it takes for them to become fully functional adults, if that’s what happens once they stop thinking of us as infallible beings… then I’ll be ready for that.
In the meantime, we try to be the best parents we can.
I work on my patience even though I’m a lost cause.
We take them to many places. Living in Paris makes it easy. There are many museums and places for kids to satisfy their curiosity. And actually, not all Parisians are walking prison doors, so it’s safe to get out.
We plan manual activities. They don’t know it yet, but in mid-December I’ll take them to a class to cook tree-shaped macarons. I don’t know what my four-year-old’s macarons will look like, but hey, I’ll be there to help.
We suggest they invite their friends at home, to share joyful moments and build relationships.
As for frogs and snails, they can face it with the right amount of courage and sauce.
However, I’m helpless for the stars of Mario Party. I used to beg my husband to steal mine instead, but last time I didn’t have any and he is too mischievous.
We don’t entertain them in the hope that one day they’ll forgive us for our failures of course. We do this because we love them. We love spending time with them. We want to see them happy.
Maybe this is what it means to be a parent. We put the needs of our children above all else even if we know that we won’t be thanked for it.
And that’s fine.
But I have to admit it.
I hope they won’t blame us too much.
