Raising My Children: The Final Answer

Ray Montagne said, "There's a real sense of desperation when you grow up in poverty."

My husband and all of his siblings can speak to this quote.  In fact, their lives are living proof of this quote.  Despite our very comfortable lives, John continues to push himself in all arenas, trying to make a better life for himself than what he had growing up.

Johan Huizinga has a quote that fits my life: "Every age yearns for a more beautiful world.  The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning."

This past week, I was once again asked about my parenting techniques.  This time, a woman paid me one of the best compliments of all by telling me that she wanted her to children to love each other as much as my children seem to love each other.  She specifically spoke to this post on Facebook:



She and the other woman in our company asked me how I have achieved this with my children.  Of course, I once again was left thinking about it as they didn't wait for an answer but continued on with the conversation.  (I have learned through the years that people don't actually want an answer, because, in my opinion, they don't really want to do what's necessary.)

I spoke with Ethan later in the day about it, wondering what was his take on his relationship with his siblings.  I wanted to know what he thought was the secret to them caring about and loving each other.  His answer embodied the idea that I voluntarily spent time with my kids.  Instead of sending them off to a play a game together (which could lead to fighting), I played with them, teaching them how to work things out.

I believe this is only a small part of the real answer.  The real answer is much larger.

My children are the children they are because of desperation on my part, and unfortunately, this isn't something that can be acquired overnight, or by setting some kind of life goal.  It must be part of your human experience here on earth.

As a child, I yearned for a more beautiful world.  Actually, I just yearned for a loving world.  I wanted nothing more than to have a mother and father who loved me.  It didn't happen though, and in fact quite the reverse happened.  It would have been one thing if my life had been one big ball of apathy, but all three of my parents (step-father included) did just about everything they could to make my life as hurtful and painful as it could be.

My mother neglected me emotionally, not speaking to me for weeks at a time.  You think I'm exaggerating, but at eight years old, I was literally locked in my bedroom as soon as I walked in the door  from school, left alone all night except to come out for fifteen minutes to eat dinner.  And it would last for a least a week.  In seventh grade, I came home from school one day and told my mother that I needed to go to Kmart to get gym clothes for the next day (we had uniforms).  She was so angry at me that she had to go out that it was a long ride to Kmart with no speaking...and for the two weeks afterwards.  As a teenager, she told me that I would never amount to anything more than a prostitute.

My step-father sexually and physically abused me for over ten years.  To this day, I get flashbacks to yet another perverted behavior he exhibited, but that I took for "love" at the time.

My biological father, probably the most "normal" of the group, gave up all rights to me and didn't see me until I was 14 years old (a month before he died).  I struggle with abandonment issues in all aspects of my life now because of him.

I did not understand how Heavenly Father could let my life be what it was.

As embarrassing as it is to admit it, it would have been very easy for me to step into those deep footprints and forget about carving my own path through life.  When you only know one way of living, it's hard to imagine anything else.  However, I can remember a pivotal moment in my life that changed everything.

I was at a family reunion for my step-father's parents.  I had been married for a year and a half, and Ethan was a few months old.  I hadn't spoken to my step-father for several years.  He still figured everything was "fine" between us, and he took Ethan in his lap.

I was sick.  It was all I could do not to simultaneously rip Ethan out of his arms, punch him in the face, and vomit in his lap.

I knew that I had to do something different.  I had to change the stars of my children.  I was desperate for a different life for them.

And that's what my life has been.  Doing something different to give them something different.  It has meant never being neglectful, but instead being there for any minute of any day my children want me there.  John thinks I'm crazy when I bring forgotten homework to them (despite the school telling me not to), or a forgotten lunchbox, or when Mark remembers at midnight that he needs to bring in homemade cashew chicken the following morning for a class...and we have no ingredients in the house.

It has meant valuing my children as sensitive, needy human beings instead of abusing them for my own selfish needs.  I was devalued my entire childhood, treated and told that I was worthless.  I had to find a new vocabulary for talking to children.

It has meant being there for them physically--no car pools, no day care centers, and lots of emails, letters and phone calls when they move away.  When Ethan's mission president's wife sent out an email, telling us not to send frequent letters (I knew she was specifically referencing my daily letters to the boy), I didn't heed her pleading.  I know what it's like to be forgotten, to feel the absence of any parent.  My children will never feel that.

It has meant teaching them to value their lives and their family.  After all, if they don't have each other, whom do they have?

But all of this, and I mean every daily thought and action that concerns them, stems from that desperation of wanting something so badly.  I could never let my children do anything without me.  That might sound like some crazy kind of helicopter parent, but my kids will tell you it wasn't that.  It was letting them now that if they did need me, I was there, no questions asked.  I have literally given everything to redefine the term "family".

Yehuda Berg said it best:  "The only way to truly find meaning and fulfillment is to look at the disaster, the pain, the difficulty, and know with complete certainty that good can come from this."

I wouldn't wish my childhood on anyone, especially as a means to becoming a better parent.  However, what was the ultimate misery has brought, to me, the ultimate joy.  While I won't be able to offer any sound advice ("just become more desperate"), I do believe I have finally found the answer.