The Gift of a Child

1997

How can I have a web presence without telling you about my son and what a wonder he is to me?

Each new discovery he makes uncovers my delight and my dread, for each step he makes takes him further from my embrace.

He is nine years old, an age I can remember well, and I am made aware that from now on he will have clear memories of his life. Being a mom, I worry. Is he getting enough love? Does he realize how much I cherish him? Have I told him enough how GOOD he is? Even though we've drifted away slightly in his growth from baby to boy, I'm still amazed that this beautiful child is mine... and then I recall the words of Kahlil Gibran:

"And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

[From "The Prophet"]

Here then is my prayer to my Higher Power: Do not let me fail!
As I look into those dear eyes and see the unquestioning love and trust I realize that I must not fail. I must try to live as honestly, tactfully, cheerfully, and Fully, exemplifiying the best that I can be as a person and a parent and a partner in his adventure on Earth. He deserves no less.

I once remarked to an overly-religious aquaintance that to children their parents are gods. She recoiled in horror and angrily denied it. I guess she equates "god" with worship and couldn't understand the important point I was making.

The decision to be a parent should never be taken lightly. The childhood events and parenting we had shape our personalities for our life, sometimes undone only with professional help. To be a parent today is a daunting task, but a rewarding one if taken with reverence. To be a good parent you have to believe you are a good parent but never stop growing with your child.

Nine years old. He likes silly jokes, he's an expert at sound effects of explosions and jet-plane fly-bys. If he catches me looking at him he'll smile back. The world in his eyes is still full of adventure, promise, excitement. I'll never love another the way I love him.

Update 2002, he turns 13 tomorrow. Thirteen! The threshold of puberty! I am watching him, trusting him, listening to him, and am amazed at how he has learned to deal with people, with problems, with life. He's still optimistic, still hopefull and smiling. I keep close by, but I stop with the instant lectures, and start asking more questions to see how he thinks. I look over my life and he shines like a precious jewel. Just thinking about what he means to me chokes me up and I find myself peering through tears to type this. I don't know what lies ahead of him, his destiny. He's thirteen, and I'm starting to hand him the reins more and more. But still every decision I make I consider how he will be effected. He is the first thought that confronts me.

And I cherish him.

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