My Child.

contemplative essays, Deep Thoughts, letters, nostalgia, , , , , , , , , , ,

*This is a vicarious piece. Please read it with an open heart. Thank you.

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Dearest,

It’s me.

I know you’re busy.

But, there is something I want you to know.

I’ve wanted to tell you, all my life, but the time was never “right.”

Maybe these tenuous times provoke me, today. I’m not sure what. I only know that, right now, I desperately believe that you deserve to know.

And, now, I am ready to tell you. When you are ready, you may listen.

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When I appeared, coupled as one of your future parents, I was as naiive, gullible, clueless, innocent, and fragile as you have ever felt in your most fearful and anxious moments. I was also enraptured by belief, and hope, and imagination – just like you are, at your most radiant.

When I found out that you were about to enter my world, I experienced every emotion contained by a human.

You, however, were not responsible. If I felt excitement, you couldn’t know. If I felt fear, you were not its cause. If I was angry, you were not to blame.

When you were born, every tiny detail of your presence stopped my heart.  I saw the extension of my better self.

But, you.

Who were you?

Did I have any idea?

No. I did not.

Instead, you would come to embody my expectations, my hopes, my dreams, and my fears. And, I didn’t realize that you would feel all this. I really didn’t. And, you do not owe me your forgiveness.

As you grew, my image of you was formed in my individual mind. As your parent, I had a distinct perception of you.

I would also grow, with you, to experience expanding perceptions of you. And, as I observed you, and interpreted your behavior, I chose to define every aspect. You didn’t know this, did you. No; you did not. I hardly realized any of it, myself.

Eventually, as needs seemed to warrant, I would discuss my perception of you with your other parent. Sometimes, we came to agreement about you; in nearly equal measure, sometimes we did not.

What we did not fully grasp during our inevitable discussions was that you were distinct from our every perception. What we did not know was that we were imposing our interpretations of you, believing them to be accurate depictions of your every motivation and impulse to act. We were sure we knew your very thoughts. We were convinced. And, how so?

You were, after all, our very offspring; you lived, because we had also lived, and would not had we not. Yes; our egos fed our every belief.

How many years of your life, thus far, did we labor under this misconception? Can anybody know? Perhaps you could tell us. When was the moment that spoke to you? When did you say to yourself: “They don’t get me. Not at all.”

We aren’t sure how old you are, at this moment of your reading. Perhaps you have chosen to revisit this letter, years after it has been written; perhaps you have eagerly opened it, immediately upon receipt. Whichever the case, only you can determine how you will both react and respond to what is coming next.

Think about the last time you remember feeling a strong desire for yourself – a wish, an aspiration, a goal. Consider the emotions that came to bear upon that motivation. Were you energized with positive anticipation? Were you fearful of potential obstacles? Were you concerned about preventive forces?

Your experience of that desire is known to me, as well. Only, in my case, the desire was personal – to me, as an individual. Each of us has had them, distinct from the other – both myself, and your other parent. And, throughout your life thus far, every one of those desires has played out in your life.

You couldn’t have known. You were not responsible. And, you still are not.

Sometimes, those desires involved you directly. Perhaps we imagined that you would become, or accomplish, or reach some sort of life milestone, that would in some way either fulfill our own unfinished lives or mirror our own successes. And, maybe you can name a moment when you felt this happening to you. Maybe you made a major life choice, strongly influenced by a desire that was born in one of us.

Today, I am ready to acknowledge something. I speak to your soul, spirit, whatever moves you to be.

Today, I extract my ego from your world. This is a painful, yet liberating, act. I am embarrassed, humbled, and awestruck – by the realization, by myself, and by you.

I. acknowledge. you.

Thank you for breathing deeply of your right to inspire air. Thank you for exhaling all the poisons that try to press through. Thank you for being the soul that entered the body I was so graced to produce. I am honored to truly know you, even as I am known. May the illuminations that await us both be welcomed by our spirits, whole heartedly.

.

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..

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo

9/9/15   The thesis of this piece inspired by Kerry Alan Kruger. All rights those of the author, whose name appears next to the copyright symbol . All presumptions of alleged value aside, sharing permitted only by request, with author as source acknowledged. Thank you so much.

littlebarefeetblog.com

29 thoughts on “My Child.”

    1. So glad you agree. All parents. All. How did we spend so many centuries, or was it just the last couple hundred……maybe being raised by nannies was the better of the two…you know, just warmth, and nurture, the temporal needs, no expectations…..but, then, class locked everybody in, and NOBODY had choice. So, the rub, from all sides…

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          1. P.s. Woops. mistakenly Liked my own freaking comment. Speaking of getting out of the house, I have to go get some Vitamin E. Seems Ive been breathing TALC dust for God knows how long?, my AC system filter contaminated by it because the sheetrock installers never turned off the system while they were sanding. 2015 has been nearly the most horrific year since 1997-98 – in my world. EXCEPT FOR YOU, AND ALL THE BLOGGIES!!!!!

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                5. Agreed. The last male specimen to take my lunar stage was entirely shorn, wearing a knit collared shirt, cotton briefs, and plastic bags hanging out of the tops of his socks. And, get this: he was trying to save my life from fire.

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                7. The plastic bags were inside his socks, like northern children wore when they went out to play in the snow to keep their socks and feet dry. Big ones, the excess hanging out over the tops of his socks. Dork, dork dork. Maybe put something under your pillow?

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  4. I can embrace the last para, for sure, thats real and means everything!

    But what about “invite Jesus into you heart” What the hell does that mean?? I mean, really, what does that BS mean to someone who is philosophical and practical?

    I think that part of understanding and accepting others is recognising how daft humans can be – it does take quite a few decades to arrive 😉

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    1. Oh, actually, OF, I wasn’t trying to be a proponent of any new self-help or meditative practices in THIS piece. I WAS vicariously communicating with my non-child, from the point of view of a teacher’s observation of a.) her own history as a child; b.) her own history as a teacher of the children of parents; c.) her students’ relationships with their parents; d.) the potential reasons why married people have children. Not trying to represent any “new sentiment” — really, just personal observation and contemplation.

      “holding hands and breathing”…how does such a practice relate to My Child?

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  6. I mean this kind of “hold hands and breathe” stuff doesn’t really resolve anything of substance, I had my “tete a tete” yrs ago with my parents, everything soon returned to same old – (and yes I know this isn’t about me – I’m just unable naturally to consider it in other ways though I’m sure its the same for others) I just can’t dig much of what your saying, not for practical reasons at any rate – not to say its not worthwhile! 🙂

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  7. Being a parent or child (or offspring) I think is mostly hellish, but there are divine moments of resolution too, and you capture some of this here, so well done! Sorry I was in a bad mood when I read it, and went a bit mad! Xx

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  8. I remember sat at the back of the church one Sunday reading the books there off the shelf during a service (attendance was compulsory in our family) Anyhow, I was at that age where I was tired of being a kid really, but particularly “THIER” kid, (LOL) Anyhow, I picked up this book written by a christian about his son, who was non christian, and the guy was saying how upset he was that his son was “Going to Hell” and all about the story through his eyes – actually, as I recall, it wasn’t so bad as I’m making it sound, after reading a few chapters I was seeing the authors point of view, and yet, the “My Sons going to Hell” problem was never fully resolved.

    Its just one of the books one sometimes comes across, then later thinks, “That Book!”

    Once yrs ago I had a half day to kill, so I found this little shop that had books, but the only one remotely interesting was by this transexual about his experiences growing up i na tough northern town, it was horrific, a real eye opener, he’d been through all kinds of abuse to get to where he was now – by the time I’d finished the book I felt like I’d almost been though it with him – pretty good book really, just as far fetched as that other one sat in the back of the church, but from another aspect of life

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