When Your Children Disappoint You

It sticks…

I hope my mom doesn’t read this one. Not because I’ll be sharing any family secrets or criticizing her parenting, but because she’ll know she was right. “Wait till you have kids of your own.” She’d say that over and over again when I was getting into trouble. Oddly enough, I was still a teenager when I had my daughter, so her premonitions would be seen through much sooner than she’d thought.

That was probably one of the biggest disappointments for my mother. I picture her on the other end of the phone, sitting in her bedroom with a glass of wine, listening as I tell her that my girlfriend who she’s never met is pregnant. Terrible, I know. It gets worse.

I think another one of her disappointments was me telling her that I wouldn’t be going to university. Instead, I would turn down dozens of scholarship offers to stay in Toronto to take care of my still unborn child. I call that a double whammy.

Yet here we are. I haven’t been ostracised from my family. I’m still invited to family barbecues and holiday parties. My mother and I share a much better relationship than we had when I was growing up, something I find common among many of my counterparts.

Now that I am 14 years into my parenting journey, I wonder how my mom dealt with that disappointment. How did she find the strength, where did she find the patience, why did she even bother to be forgiving when I put her through some major letdowns, the two I’ve mentioned being just a few of many.

It makes me nervous. My daughter is quickly getting into having her own life. She already thinks she knows everything, and soon I won’t be able to tell her any different. Is it just a matter of time before I suffer through my first let down? Probably. I think the bigger question for me is how will I deal with it?

It’s just me and her right now. I don’t have any other kids to deal with. I don’t have any other children to compare her to. If she does happen to hit me with something astronomical, it will dig deep. I’m not sure I can manage that.

But I am sure that I will manage. Somehow, some way, I’ll get over it because that’s what parents do. We get over shit. We try our best to not take things personally. I’ve already dealt with the “I hate you” and the “you’re the worst,” paired with door slamming and telling me why she’ll never speak to me again. Those insults are light. Parents brush that off like lint.

But even as I prepare myself for the big one knowing that it will pierce me to the core, my hope is that I will find a way to forgive. That’s my hope. My mother has done the same for three boys and has passed down that honour. Now it’s my turn.

Thank you for reading. I wonder if being a parent ever gets easier. Somehow, I don’t think the universe will let me off that easy. My mother and I laugh about things we use to battle over. Perspective makes everything feel so urgent, so fatalistic. Time has a way of straightening things out.

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Read my novella THOUGHTS OF A FRACTURED SOUL here.