I have these two daughters. And they really look a lot like me. Sometimes I find myself assuming that since they look like me, and often act like me, that they are little me's. This past month, they chose to participate in two activities that, though perfectly wonderful activities, serve as major reminders that my life and theirs will likely be lived very separately.
I will never forget the day Kelsey came home so excited that she had checked out her very first library book. As an English teacher, I was thrilled that she was so thrilled. She dug around in her backpack to locate it, triumphantly pulled it out, and spun around to me holding it up with the biggest smile on her face. The book? a little diddy bearing the title I Hate English! I think I gasped first, then tried to smile at the irony. My heart broke a little bit, though, to be honest.
I have so anticipated the day that the girls were old enough to introduce them to a deep understanding of the Holocaust, more so than the basics I have always told them. I decided last year that they could watch "Life is Beautiful" and really looked forward to discussing it with them afterward. Their reponse? "that was so sad and kind of scary and we don't ever want to watch anything like that again." Every time I've tried to get Emma to read one of the early Holocaust books I have bought her, she refuses by saying it's scary.
In fact, reading itself falls into this category as well. Neither of them are avid readers. I have lived in denial as long as I could and have finally accepted that this is fact and even spoken it aloud. But it certainly pains me.
This month, both girls were invited to be part of the STEM Club. For the uninitiated, that's Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math. (Yes, it could also be called the Future Earners of America Club, I suppose...) In my mind, it's Misery, Confusion, Frustration, and Despair. The very last thing on this earth I would have ever wanted to do is stay after school to do math and science FOR FUN.
I have imagined my kids as teenagers very frequently. I think when you teach high school, it sort of frames your context for everything. So I often see my students and imagine which activities my kids will pursue and which friends they would have, etc. I have always, I repeat ALWAYS, envisioned them as band kids. Band was a huge part of my life and I have celebrated the marching band shows as equally important to football at every single home game since they were BABIES. I rave about band. I adore band. And I have looked forward to being a band mom since before I had kids. This is still possible, for certain. But two Saturdays ago, they attended a show choir workshop and they both loved it. Do you know what I would choose to do only after I chose to spend an afternoon working math problems for fun? Singing and dancing in front of others. Or alone. Now don't get me wrong, I love watching our choir and I adore my choir kids. In fact, this year I have more of them than ever and I think I have developed an all new appreciation of their dedication. But never ever would I have anticipated having children in choir.
The next thing I know, these kids are going to be telling me they can't wait to go to LEE. ;) Old inside joke, don't panic--I'm a Cleveland COG'er, I can't hate Lee. (Besides, they already have. The current rationale is because they have a Chick-fil-A on campus...)
But honestly... it's not at all that I want to raise clones of myself (though the smart mouths seem to have been genetic) or that I am unwilling to learn about new things. It's just been a little bit of a shock to see them becoming their own people, people who apparently hate some of the things I love and who might love some of the things that terrify me. And I know that, as they age, these things will only become larger. They will very likely choose friends who might get on my nerves and one day date people I never would have selected for them to date.
But I realized something that afternoon I watched them singing and dancing on the stage of the Betsy Vines Little Theater, home of my one and only dramatic venture in the form of "Our Miss Brooks" in middle school... I realized that this parenting journey is going to be about letting go of my dreams to make room for theirs. I've picked my hobbies and chosen my activities and pursued my goals and ambitions and dreams. And now it's going to be their turn. And they will likely have false starts and missteps along the way, but that's ok. Because as Paulo Coelho says in one of my favorite books, "It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting." And far be it from me to stand in their way...
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