Last night with my 2 year old son, I had one of those
experiences that left me wondering about the different roles parents play to
their children. One of those moments that makes you reflect back to your own
childhood.
I remember as a child, viewing my parents as a well established
system. They were the law, they were the providers, and as far as I knew, they
lived solely to raise me and my siblings. I never stopped to think that they
were once in my shoes. It never crossed my mind that at some point before I
existed, they required the very structure that they provided me. They never
mentioned a course or symposium they were required to attend prior to entering parenthood,
and yet they were doing a fine enough job that I never questioned their credentials.
Well, as a teenager I became quite a bit more curious about seeing some sort of
diploma from Parenting 101, but that’s a different blog for a different day.
Their system was so well oiled, that it almost seemed as if they had a pamphlet
describing how to handle any situation imaginable.
Moving forward to the present, I don’t consider myself to be
any type of authority figure. Sometimes I don’t really think it’s even sunk
into my system that I am a parent. I’m too young at heart. I make silly faces
when no one is looking. I have a minor fear of the dark. I even watch cartoons
with no kids around. There are times I say something authoritative to my kid,
and walk away thinking there is no way he’s buying that. He has to see that I’m
a fraud.
I realized last night though, that to my son, I am what I
saw in my parents. I am the law, I am the provider, I am the security blanket.
He awoke from what I assumed to be a nightmare at 4:00am, screaming, and wanted
nothing but his daddy. Anyone who has seen my son around bed time knows that he
99 times out of 100, he wants only his mommy. Buzz Lightyear could walk through
the door at bedtime, and my son would tell him to get lost. But last night, he
wanted me. He wanted to lay down on the living room floor, cuddle up to my
chest, wrap my arm around him, and grip my pointer finger in the same way he
does when we’re walking and he’s holding my hand. Except this time, he was
gripping it super hard. As if he believed that as long as he was holding my
finger, he was safe from the nightmare.
It makes me wonder just who the heck he thinks I am. How am
I qualified to provide that security to him, when I sometimes get the chills
walking to the end of the road to grab the trashcans after dark(cut me some
slack, our driveway is about a quarter mile long and super dark!).
The whole situation leaves me wanting to be better. I feel
as though I want to be sure I am deserving of the role I’ve assumed to him. It
also makes me wonder if my dad was afraid of the dark?
