Why are kids hyper-critical of their parents when they will most likely spend the next twenty years becoming just like them?
Back in college, my brother and I would get together with our fiancés and spend the weekend at my parent’s home in Chattanooga. Part of our ritual would be a contest to determine whose parents did the weirdest things in our younger days. There were my mom’s mental health moments during our summer vacations. She would send all of us outside and then lock all the doors. Any ringing doorbells or door knocks were met with harsh response. We would find ways to amuse ourselves for a couple hours then discover doors that opened again. We never wondered what she did in there. My dad told terrible jokes and retold them endlessly. There is a particular one about nacho cheese that was his personal favorite. I cringed when he told it. It’s not funny. It never was. Of course, I’ve told the same joke to my kids dozens of times. Occasionally Kim and I sit around at night and try to predict which of our actions will make the kids’ list of weird parent things. Erin tells a great (and exaggerated) story about me throwing softballs at her when she was four years old until she wasn’t scared of getting hit by them anymore. James talks about his eight years of karate lessons as if he were a prisoner of war suspended in a bamboo cage. I can’t begin to guess the stories they tell when we aren’t there to defend ourselves. While I was in college poking fun at my father, I was studying the same major he had, relaxing to the same hobbies as him, and becoming engaged to a woman who nearly mirrored his wife. But no matter how much everyone else saw our similarities, all I could see were the specific areas where I wanted to be different. It’s all a harmless part of bonding as a family. It’s as much a part of forming parent/child relationships as offering unsolicited advice and trying not to listen to it.
But why are parents of every generation surprised their kid doesn’t want fashion advice or music reviews from a forty-something? And how can teenagers since the dawn of time be offended by an offer to help with homework? Finding our own paths in life is all about making our own choices. It can seem isolating at times but is necessary. Each of us must come to God on our own. Acceptance of the savior must be born out of each unique heart. It is hard for parents to celebrate family members pulling away. It’s equally difficult for an adult child to lean in and love the family he or she is trying to break away from to form their own beliefs. Love is hard. It requires respecting each others’ needs and accepting that helping your kids sometimes means giving them space. It means finding creative ways to show your love that will encourage them even when they are pushing you away. For kids, independence isn’t only about finding out who you aren’t. It’s mostly about embracing who you are. Build your memories from life’s best moments, not just the weird ones. There is a path set for you before the world was created and God placed the great loves of your life along that path as guides. Unconditional love means knowing who you are. It also means accepting that your individuality is best expressed in the way you love others. If you can figure that out, good for you. Give your kids a break while they figure it out, too. And their kids after them.
If you’ve had things you thought your parents did that were strange but now copy them, or a struggle with finding or encouraging independence, I hope you will share them in the comments. Each of your stories are powerful and bring us together.
Life is ironic. After a lifetime of struggles, I have finally found peace with my life, only to discover a greater fear of threats to my kids’ lives.
Their later teens and early twenties are rough on all of us. My daughter is our older child and my biggest struggle since it is all a first for me. I watch her struggle with her emotions and the hardships of this world. Overwhelmed by fears of what could happen to her, I can become more unsettled now than I’ve ever been.
I remember when she was a newborn. I held her in my arms, looked into her bright eyes, and I could physically feel the love between us. She was perfect – from the way her little baby head smelled to her wiggling, chubby toes. I imagined her growing beautiful and strong with a brilliant mind and loving heart. I pictured a good job and a large, happy family. Over the years, I’ve done my best to protect her from evil that would destroy that future. It gets tough as she grows up. Her biggest struggles seem to erupt not from an outside assault, but from within her. The tantrums of a toddler give way to the self-centered focus of a child. The child grows into a middle-schooler who can be downright mean at times. High school brings a strange mix of self-doubt and know-it-all-ness that nobody knows how to deal with. Her search for independence is inevitable, but part of my struggle. As she begins to fight her own battles, the wide-eyed admiration of a father who is strong enough to take on the world is withering away. The opinions she forms are replacing her unquestioning acceptance of my pearls of wisdom. Searching for her own answers, she tunes me out. I explain risk to an invulnerable audience. Lectures on consequences are wasted on a thrillseeker who thinks my life is lame. She takes wild risks and carelessly handles her carefully crafted future. I watch in worry, afraid my delicate images will shatter in front of me.
She gets hurt and becomes sad. Her choices can bring consequences no one would have wanted. I stand by powerless to help. I can no longer scoop her up into my arms and make everything OK again. That’s hard for me to accept. I miss the old days. It hurts to let them go. Slowly, I am releasing her future to her. My dreams for her must fade as her chosen path becomes real. Unneeded as her champion, she must face down her own demons. My desire for control must be replaced by the bonds of love. Jesus has provided the example. Although he has a perfect plan for me, he designed me to make my own choices. Watching my struggles isn’t easy for him, either. But it is his love, not his power or control, that has transformed my life.
My heart will change when I let go and let love take over. The world around me will change as I release the same love as the savior. If I want to impact a child’s life, let it be through a love that draws us closer, not a grasp at control that makes her pull away.
I need to return to the same, simple love of a father holding his child in his arms. I have given love unconditionally before and I can do it again. I can provide comfort when screams come unexpectedly. I can listen with joy while she talks. I can watch in amazement as she creates masterpieces. I can smile as she plays with others. And I’ll still cry on her “first-” days.
One day, I will look into her bright eyes with unconditional love and she will look back at me the same way, just like we used to. How do I know? Love wins.
Jagged and raw, my wound lays open. My senses become dull.Nerves that should connect me to the world now scream and isolate me. Pain becomes my prison and I am alone.I sit in the dark, curled into a ball, crying out without knowing if anyone hears. How long has it been?
My eyes are still squeezed tightly shut but I sense light. I feel arms holding me, hands stroking my face. As I focus on the comforting touches, the stranglehold pain has held loosens. I breathe more freely and the healing grows. Too weak to move, I collapse into his embrace.
How long has he been here? Was he here all along? My head begins to clear and the world comes back into focus. I see the arms that hold me. The soft hands that touch me are strong, with scars carved deep into them. I struggle to shake free and stand on my own, but his whisper tells me to rest.
Jesus patiently comforts me. In his arms, everything melts away. Gazing into his eyes, the prison disappears and peace flows through me. My strength builds until he says the time has come. I rise more than healed, I am restored.
I ask “Why did you allow the pain to happen? Why didn’t you heal me faster?” A gentle smile is the only answer. That’s OK. It is well with my soul.
