On Parental Hope and Heartbreak

I’ve read two things recently that bothered me-perhaps especially as the wife of Mr. Cheap Seats.

Exhibit A:   An article in the Deseret News titled “When children have chosen another way,” which begins with this:

“Perhaps the greatest heartbreak I have seen in my life is the heartbreak of a parent who has a child who has turned their back on the standards, values or morals with which they have been raised.”

The greatest heartbreak the author has seen is when a parent has a child who “goes astray”? Who doesn’t follow in his/her parents’ footsteps?   Wow.  

 As my children get older (they are now 9, 12, and 15), I have begun thinking more and more about what my kids could do with their lives that would cause me to grieve the most deeply.   Some of the things are choices they could make that would bring about misery; others are things that could happen to them through no fault of their own.   I would be heartbroken, for instance, if one of my children got terminal cancer or if he/she suffered physical or emotional abuse at the hands of a spouse (or, God forbid, if he/she perpetrated abuse).   I would be heartbroken if one of my children suffered from debilitating depression and I was powerless to fix it.   I would be heartbroken if one of my children became addicted to drugs (I read the harrowing book Beautiful Boy a couple years ago and cannot stop thinking about it).

So, yeah.   Those things would break my heart.   But having a child who turns his/her back on my “standards”?   Not a heart-breakable offense (unless it involves my children becoming Fox News aficionados).  

I think this might be largely a function of my own hope that no one’s heart is breaking over me.   So maybe, in my subconscious mind, if I grant this flexibility to my future adult children, it will ricochet back in time towards me.   Sort of like paying it forward, but in reverse.

Exhibit B:   A Facebook conversation I read in which someone asserted that the greatest thing for parents is to see their children grow up and adopt their worldview.   I think I can peel back a few layers and remember this sentiment-wanting my children to believe what I believe, wanting them to make the same kinds of choices I have made, wanting their lives to look an awful lot like mine.   And don’t get me wrong-I’m not entirely ready to let go of that idea.   [Those who know me closely know how much I’m struggling to not be openly derisive of my 12 year old’s decision to become a 7th grade cheerleader.]

But I think I’m ready to release the idea of measuring the effectiveness of my parenting according to the degree to which my children adopt (or reject) my Mormon beliefs and behaviors.  

I don’t want my children to be something (in this case, Mormon) or believe something because I am that thing or because I believe that thing (unless it’s believing in public education; then I expect them to toe the party line).   I want my children to be whatever they’re going to be because it feels right to them or because it makes them feel happy or at peace or alive.   I want them to believe what they believe because they’ve chosen to believe it-not because I hauled them to church every week and told them I believed it.

It will much more satisfying and enjoyable for me to watch my children grow up and chart their own path rather than looking in my rear view mirror and watching them tag along behind me on mine.  

And in many ways, they’re already doing that and I am quite enjoying it (cheerleading be damned).