Forget About Parenting

I have recently been thinking more and more about what I would like to pass on to new and not so new parents about parenting. The phrase that seems to be getting increasing traction in my mind is "forget about parenting." Why? Well, because I believe that my best moments as a parent have actually happened when I could immerse myself in the interaction with my parents as myself completely. These where interactions where I didn't act within the frame-work of parental responsibility, parental authority, parental modeling, parental experience, parental anxiety or parental something else. These are agenda-less interactions that are, nevertheless, full of content. They can be serious, funny, sad, stressed, frustrated, quite varied in other words, but one thing they have in common is that they're always, always, sincere.

Many parents complain about the early years going by too quickly. "They were so cute," they say, "it was so easy to have fun with them," they say, "relating to them was easy," they say. I believe what we parents are saying when we grieve the passing of those first couple of years is that we can no longer simply be ourselves with our children. Pretty soon we have to "teach" them things, right? Table manners, using the potty, numbers, letters, saying "hello" to the neighbor instead of hiding behind our legs and, of course, not to use foul language, etc.

I believe that, every time we believe that we need to "teach" our children something, we act from a fear or belief that we have already missed the train.

In re-reading this last sentence I realized that I used the word believe/f three times. While that may seem rhetorically awkward--and I was about to correct my mistake--I now realize that I was likely going towards a very intuitive place with this: forgetting about parenting is about a "leap of faith," an act of belief in the strongest sense possible: it's about believing that we truly matter to our children as Selves. When we speak with them as Selves, not as teachers, therapists, administrators, principals, admonishers and pastors a miracle happens: they begin to believe in us.

I believe in our children's integrity, in their perspectives and in their genuine and strong desire to connect with us (the latter being not only a cultural development but a biological necessity). Every time we meet with a child, we have an opportunity to connect with them. The big question is whether we can do so in a way that comes from our own genuine Self. Can we do it without strategies, without programs, without pre-conceived notions in mind of what we should do or what should help? Can we listen? Can we share? Can we feel genuine happiness, fun or sadness as we interact with them?

What this means is that we bring to our children, every time we meet them, the focus we bring to a new love. Every time. Yes. Can you sense what I'm getting at? There is a deeply "romantic" aspect to how we need to relate to our children. Yes, and this extends, of course, to when they make mistakes, when they come home with the bruises and scars that come from learning, taking risks, etc. It is so hard to focus on our children in this way.

My favorite German song-writer, Reinhard Mey, has a song about his son not returning home at the "appointed time." Reinhard describes himself as he waits for his son. He sings about his anger, the things he will "teach" his son, things he'll take from him for this "infraction," etc. It gets later and later and his son doesn't show up. Finally, way past mid-night, he comes in the door. All anger, all reproachfulness is forgotten. Reinhard pulls him close in genuine love, a raw sense of attraction to this other being who needs him so much to love him, but who, at the same time will always go his own way.

He has many songs like that. In another one, he tells a story about how he forges his parents' signatures on his own report-card because his grades are so bad. The deception fails and the principal calls the parents in for a meeting. In front of the principal and the boy, Reinhard, the parents assure the principal that these are, indeed, their signatures. One has to wonder, I do myself, how many of us parents would really have the strength of self, the belief in our children and, frankly, the guts to pull something like that off.

So much of what I see in parenting these days is about "threatening" our children. There are threats of physical harm, threats of taking things away, forced labor. When I hear those stories I worry more about the parents than I do about the children. I worry that these parents will miss out, will never experience the romance of meeting with their children as true selves. Can we resist the urge to punish and turn to them instead, listen, love, let go. LLL. Because go they will. Either way. So, why not work on being genuinely connected to them?

Resisting this urge means resisting our own anxiety at failing, at not meeting the standard, at not being responsible.

We must not be afraid of our children. But we must respect them. Some say respect is a kind of fear. Perhaps. But I believe in respect, even for the angry ones for the disgruntled ones, for the ones who act out, who call us names who can't stop being angry. Respecting someone means that we are willing to acknowledge the invisible circle of untouchability around that person. Our children are truly different, truly not like us. So it might be easy to be afraid of them--especially when they begin to have more energy than we do, are bigger than us, faster, more successful, etc. When we approach them we are approaching selves in their very own right. Not blank slates, not carbon copies, not half-baked humans, not little devils. Forgetting about parenting means that we see that circle of untouchability around each of them. It means that we respect them, fully. Wholly.

I am writing this for my three boys, of course, but really it's dedicated to all children. You're amazing! You're a gift! To us!