I took a trip to the Zoo yesterday. It’s something that I have been planning for
months now. Animals are a big deal to
me, so I almost always fit in a visit to a Zoo at least once a year. On my way out of the Zoo, I witness a young
woman scolding a child; he was not older than three or four. She was loud and intense, hurling threats,
daring him to continue crying. The
entire scene was mortifying and my body tensed with anger as I hurried past.
Two weeks ago, I sat in my car, windows down, waiting for my
laundry. It was one of the most painful
75 minutes I’ve had to spend anywhere in my life. I observed a young woman who
was pregnant, her two sons, a little girl, and a young man whose behavior and
mannerisms suggested he was the father or at the very least, the dominate male
figure in their household. I suffered
through hurtful insults and senseless vulgarity sharply directed at the young
boys. “Sit yo fuckin’ ass down!” “Go stand in the fucking corner! You heard what the fuck I said!”
I was devastated.
Interestingly, but not surprisingly, when the couple was out
of earshot, the boys, no more than eight or nine, exchanged insults: “faggot
ass nigga.” “Bitch ass.”
My clothes didn’t dry completely. I couldn’t get out of the parking lot fast
enough, making me regret settling on a place with no washer and dryer.
At 34, I have life barely figured out. The things that I am absolutely sure of, I’m
not absolutely sure of. My disappointments
are many with the promise of many more to come. Experience (not age), helps you
make peace with that. I’m just starting
to make peace with that, and like I said, I’m 34.
What kind of irrational expectations of a child causes a
parent to use their authority to harm rather than teach? When did it become criminally inappropriate to
conduct yourself as an energy filled, loud and obnoxious child? I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect a
child to be still and quiet on a two to three hour laundry errand; I can barely
get through 75 minutes without the urge to do laps around the building.
I don’t have kids. But
I was a kid.
Words are not harmless; to children especially, they weigh a
ton and mean a lot. Kids shouldn’t be responsible
for what you meant, and good intentions followed by hurtful, irrational
language and behavior, destroys anything good about it.
We engineer our children from the time they innocently and
curiously arrive in this world. They
watch and mimic us; even when we are not-- they take us very serious. They depend on us for direction and security,
and our opinions of them mean more than we can ever imagine.
So, no, I can’t imagine being a parent or the frustration
and changes that come along with that role.
But long after a parent has forgiven him or herself for being
irrational, hurtful or cruel to their child, because of a bad day or challenging
life events, that child will still be nursing their wounds, searching for
healing, closure and love at 34.
Powerful.
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