The other day, on the train on the way home, three women sat down opposite me, one older woman and two teenagers. If the red hair and matching delicate features of the teenagers hadn’t given away that they were related, their behaviour would have. The two girls, so clearly sisters, were almost in love with each other – looking at each other with warmth and humour, teasing each other gently, the older sister biting back with the soft iron of a mother cat disciplining her kittens when the younger sister went that little bit too far. At one point, they were all three playing a game of shifting along the seat, forcing each other further and further up the seat until the three of them were squished into two seats, giggling the whole time.
They were beautiful.
And as I watched them furtively over my newspaper, I felt a strange mixture of longing and sadness and hope that my own, hypothetical, children will love each other so much; that my family will interact with a similar gentle playfulness underpinned by true affection.
I think if the way that bean and I are now is any indication, we might be ok. We are daggy in our sense of humour, but we enjoy the way we amuse each other. (For example, the other day bean said to me, ‘if I could change anything about you, anything at all, it would be to make you love Blade…’) Our kids will undoubtedly moan at our jokes and pull away from our hugs, but hopefully they will also sometimes join in.
But I can’t help being scared, because my own family was so different. We had humour and love (my mother was genius with the terrible puns), but we also had strong unruly conflict and an accumulation of wounds that never quite healed. I just hope desperately that I can take what worked and avoid the dramatics.
It’s all a bit more poignant at the moment because bean’s mother came to stay. It was a very good visit – she was in good spirits, and they got along as well as they ever do. But it was still hard work, and I wondered if our own kids would find us as hard to spend time with. At work the other day, a colleague spoke of booking a holiday with his adult children, and I thought, I will know that we have succeeded as parents if our kids actually enjoy spending time with us once they have grown up.
I ponder occasionally about the inevitable day when my kid(s) turn around and say ” i fucking hate you” or something similar, but i think as parents- I know having been a kid of one myself that they won’t (hopefully) mean it, even though that won’t make it hurt any less at the time i am sure. What I also carry with me is that as a parent i will undoubtably fuck my kids up somehow- or at least they will blame me for something that goes wrong in their lives and that is, i think just part of the nature of the parent-kid relationship. My folks were totally overprotective of me which was a good and bad thing at the same time, and i find myself now being the more disciplinarian of the two of us with H and sometimes this is a good thing and other times i could lay off a bit. Ultimately i walk with the knowledge that all i can do is my very best which is exactly what i know you will do too!!
Comment by K — October 1, 2006 @ 11:53 am
Hey, Sorenson - i came across ur blog bout a week or so back via aren’s ‘going somewhere’. Been a good read, and i found this entry about your thoughts and anxieties re the children you and your partner might have to be particularly moving … I have had some extremely tense times over the years with my family, whom I differ from on so many levels … But these tensions and differences have also been balanced by a great deal of love, support and admiration for each other … I’m now 25 and I agree, one test of a good parent-child relationship is indeed when the child enjoys spending time with their parents once they’ve reached adulthood. It’s a tough road, and i wish u and ur partner the very best when travelling on it.
Comment by Jay — October 8, 2006 @ 2:38 pm