As I sit here today watching my students take their final exam, I am simultaneously pondering my own so-called expertise as a parent. Is it the fact that I just read a student’s note that would make George Carlin blush? Is it the fact that, although my failure rate has dropped significantly from the beginning of the semester, I still have students who are failing? Or is it the fact that I have five children of my own whose intellectual growth, I feel, is my responsibility?
I fear all of the above.
Realistically speaking, all of those issues factor into my fears of parenting. I wonder now what sort of sentiments my children are writing in the classroom while they think their teacher isn’t looking. Do their teachers post all of their scores on that awesome website that the majority of schools have developed that allows me to grade-stalk them throughout the semester, or am I still in the dark about something with which they still may be struggling? Is my past guilt for having one child who struggled academically and, therefore, made bad choices in regards to many aspects of her life going to have an impact on me as a parent to the two newest additions in my maternal realm?
I fear all of the above.
My internal parent fear factor has taken a substantial leap since Kevin and the babies became my own. I suppose subconsciously, as a mother, I’ve always had the ability to accept my flaws. After all, we do not have the option of choosing our mothers; biologically speaking anyway. So for my eldest daughters, I only had to prove to myself that I was satisfactory at raising offspring. That is one of the joys of single parenting. However, with Kevin’s babies (our babies), I now fear inadequacy. I am no longer the only judge of maternal character.
I do not fear an inability to love the babies; in fact, I love them equally to the three beautiful daughters who came from my womb. I do not fear an inability to connect with the babies; in fact, the first time I saw them, their blonde hair and fair skin reminded me a lot of myself before adulthood turned me into a brunette. I do not fear an inability to think about them when they are not with us; in fact, the silence that follows their absence is often more than I can bear. What is it that I fear, then?
I suppose I fear everything a normal parent fears. I fear society’s influence on them on a grand scale, and my inability to protect them at all times. I fear the day the babies get upset with me for the first time and not being the mommy they want when something brings sadness to their lives. I fear being the stereotypical step-parent. And, although I don’t see myself as such, I fear that one day, they will.
So now I ask myself, with all of these fears written on paper for the world to see, will I succeed as a parent? Unfortunately, that question cannot be answered right now; not by me, nor anyone else. Success can only be measured in the heart, and our hearts have the capability to judge certain actions our whole lives. What might seem like perfect parenting to a person as a child is subject to change into their adolescence and adult lives. Therefore, when my children are grown and their hearts are settled, and they have all become parents themselves, I will sit down with them, my love stronger than ever, and ask them if my fears were in vain. Knowing my children, I am almost positive they will say ‘no.’ Not because those fears have become reality, but because it was those fears that forced me to protect their hearts and minds, and because parenting is often mimicked, it is those fears that will force my children to protect the hearts and minds of my grandchildren.
This is the cycle of parenting; the cycle of life.
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