Our Children Are Our Present

Today, I would like to write about something that has taken a more prominent position in my life over the last several months. Although the subject of motherhood has been critical for me over the last decade or so, it has generally revolved around my issues related to it because of my mother. Admittedly, motherhood has been a more selfish than selfless topic for me in my life. Not something that I am proud of, but my reality nonetheless.

My daughter turned four years old a few weeks ago. She is my pride and joy. I know that a lot of parents say that about their children; but, for me, it is on a level that only a fraction of parents can truly understand.  I knkow that children change our lives regardless of where we are when we have them.  That is the nature of becoming a parent. For me, though, my daughter forced me to make a 180 in my life.  Her birth forced me to confront my body, my sexuality, the way I relate to men (and people in general), the way I approached life, the way I viewed my mother, and the way that I respond to stress on an everyday basis. I went from a lost child who was headed nowhere in this life to a woman that was unstoppable.  All because I had those big beautiful brown doe eyes looking up at me and believing in me.  Like nobody else had ever believed in me.

My daughter gave me life just as much as I gave her life. I do not look at her as owing me anything or as being indebted to me for all of my sacrifices.  I look at her and think "thank the powers that be that you came into this world exactly when you did and exactly as you are because you are the only person that I have ever truly needed and asked nothing from at the same time."

She has been my salvation. She is my present, future, and purpose.

I live everyday to make this world the place that I want it to be for her when she is an adolescent and a young woman. I don't tolerate gender roles. I don't tolerate anything that will make her feel like she is less capable than any other human being on this planet. I stand up for women. I stand up for bodies. I stand up for homosexuals. I stand up for Muslims. I stand up for Hindus and Buddhists and Christians and Jews and everyone who has ever been oppressed in this country or this world. I say what is right and what needs to be said. I don't give a damn about my reputation or my standing with others. I give a damn about the opportunities that she will have as a woman. I give a damn about how she feels about herself.

I have argued with so many men in my life about what I want them to be like around my daughter. I argue with myself about what I want myself to be like. I dress provocatively at times; but I try to do it with class. I am comfortable and proud of my femininity and sexuality because I want her to feel the same way about herself.  I tell her that she can do everything that women do and everything that men do and I show her how.

She helped me build a chair from Ikea the other night.  I taught her what an allen wrench was and how to use it.  I told her that if she wants to make it in a man's world then she needs to act like a woman in a man's world.  She should never turn her back on being a woman. She should revel in the fact that society tells her she can be both while men must remain only men.  I tell her this in ways that she can understand; but, the message is clear. Wear dresses. Like pink. Love My Little Ponies.  But don't you dare be afraid to play with nerf guns or learn about zombies. Do whatever you want to do regardless of who tells you that you should or should not.

Our children may be our future; but only if we believe it in the present. We cannot blindly have faith that they will turn out alright and that they will be strong. We cannot complacently believe that "I turned out just fine, so they will, too." You must remember the times when you almost didn't make it.  When if one little variable had been different, you would not be reading this right now. You must come to terms with the fact that this darling child sitting in front of you will one day be a tormented adolescent who needs to know who they are in order to survive in this world where so many odds are against them.

We must make the difficult decisions. We must have the patience and the grit to do the hard stuff. To have the awkward conversations. To tell them that "it is ok for boys to marry boys and girls to marry girls." Because, guess what? They may be gay and if you don't tell them that it is ok from the start, then they may hang themselves in their room one day because nobody ever told them it was. These are not pleasant thoughts. They are not warm and fuzzy. They are necessary. This is the world that we live in. It gets harder every single day. So make them stronger. Every. Single. Day.

I preserve her innocence. I do not take away from her childhood. It is precious. Yet, when opportunities arise. Those moments where the childish conversation can begin. Where the seed of strength and equality can be planted and nourished. You must seize them. You must have the balls to do it. Do not be afraid. They will still laugh and smile. They will make you prouder than you ever thought they could.

I will give you an example. I will tell you the moment when I realized that all of my efforts became apparently useful. When I realized that I was getting towards my goal: raising a strong woman, not a scared girl.

On her birthday, I gave her a tea set. It is the quintessential little girl toy. It encourages imaginative play, interpersonal relationships, fine motor skills, creativity, and language. It is a marvelous thing when you truly thing about it. Boys should have tea sets, too. At any rate, her is the scene that unfolded before me. So wonderful that it took me a solid two weeks to truly recognize all of the implications it had for who she was becoming.

Me: "Who are you going to invite to your tea party?"
Her: "You, and your friend, and grandpa...But not M."
Me: Oh. That's not very nice. You should invite him.

She ignores me and begins to set up her tea party. I wait a few minutes and revisit the subject.

Me: It really isn't nice to exclude one person from the tea party. You should really invite M, now.
Her: Ok. Mama.

She walks over to M. He is sitting in his desk chair on the other side of the living room.

Her: M, we need to have a talk.
M: *looks at me and raises his eyebrows* Ok. What do we need to talk about?
Her: You got silly string all over my dress and in my hair. I really didn't like that.
M: You're right. I'm sorry.
Her: You need to promise me that you will never do that again, because it upset me.
M: Ok. I promise I won't do that again. Can I come to your tea party now?
Her: No. We need to have a long talk until we understand each other.

It then deteriorated into nonsensical preschooler talk about things that he shouldn't do. It culminated in a pinkie promise and he joined our tea party.

I laughed hysterically and so did the rest of us at the time. Yet, the more I thought about it the more I was awestruck by her.  This little four year old went up to this big man and told him how she felt about something that he did.  She told him how she felt. She told him what he needed to do. She even told him that she was not done with the conversation yet. She wasn't satisfied with a simple apology. She still felt the need to express herself. Her sense of personal agency is miraculous. I nearly bring myself to tears when I speak about it now.  She is a wonderful little lady.

Yet, that interaction was not happen stance. That is the result of years of work on my part. Years of very hard work. I am an emotional woman. I am easily upset, hurt, angered, and frustrated. And I express it. I can be quite the blank canvas at times. I'm not overly touchy or anything. It is just that when my bucket tips, you know it.

I spent most of her infancy trying to hide my being emotional. That was what my mother always did. She only wanted us to see her happy. Which is nice. Yet, I grew up thinking that my tears and anger were wrong and unjustifiable and difficult to explain. I never had the ability to explain myself to people. I could not stand up to them and tell them that they had hurt me. I didn't know how. It was not modeled for me. Only raw undirected emotion.

So, one day, when she was a little over two.... I had a meltdown. Probably some argument with her father. I went to get it out behind closed doors and she came in and she hugged me and asked me why I was crying. She seemed frightened. I felt so guilty. She had never understood. She didn't know what it meant and she was afraid of my tears. Tears?! Something so normal and natural and wonderfully therapeutic. And she was distraught over seeing me like that. So, I explained it to her. I told her that I was going to be ok. That sometimes grown ups have complicated problems and that while we always figure them out, it can be upsetting sometimes. That crying helps me feel better and then I can do what needs to be done.

Ever since that day, I have "had a talk" with her whenever there has been a release of emotion around her. Whether she has thrown a fit, been in time out, I have been overly cranky and terse, or I have cried. I have sat down with her and explained it to her and reassured her that it was ok and everything would be fine. I have never told her what my problems are. I have always told her that they are "grown up problems and she doesn't need to worry about them." As she gets older, I will explain more of the things that I think are appropriate for her. But the point of this ritual is not for me to use her as someone to vent to. The point is to show her that emotion is ok. That she is allowed to cry or get angry and that it will pass.

Now, she tells me when she is upset. Now, she tells a man when he has upset her. Now, she is already more of a woman than I am. Now, she is my biggest achievement. Now, I can see that two years ago I made a decision to be different than my mother had been. I made the decision to teach her and prepare her and help her. Regardless of how difficult those first talks were (keeping a toddlers attention is not an easy task in that sort of dynamic), those efforts have been justified more than I had ever really imagined. I wasn't sure what I was doing at the time. I just knew that I didn't want her to be afraid or feel like there was something terribly wrong. I wanted her to understand humanity. I feel like I am succeeding at that.

So, try with your children. Give them more credit. Do everything that you can to make them the men and women that you want them to be today. Don't wait for tomorrow. Take the time. Use the energy. It is the best investment you will ever make. Talk to your grown ups about your grown up problems. But make sure your children know that grown up problems exist. Then, they will know that grown up problems can be solved.