I always used to hate when my mom never came to my concerts as a kid. And given that my dad never even saw me perform on my cello (in 26 years), I gave up on him pretty early on. I knew they were both busy, working hard, avoiding each other, whatever.
But it sucked that as a kid, I was making excuses for them. Giving myself pretty convincing reasons for why they weren’t there (I never believed myself, if I’m entirely honest).
Noah recently had an “Elocution Competition” at school (seriously. Private school, folks, they’re ALL OVER IT) and we had spent ages with each other learning a poem, from memory, and pronouncing it as best as possible. Which is no easy task with a kid who was originally speech delayed.
The friendly cow, all red and white,
I love with all my heart.
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple tart.
But we did it, we worked on it, he memorised it, enjoyed it, reciting it to himself, asking me for help with it, making up our own versions, and performing it to each other. So at school, he has the elocution competition. I didn’t go. I wasn’t even aware we could go.
I asked Noah how he’d got on; he tells me he didn’t do the competition. “Why not?” I ask him. “Because you weren’t there,” he says.
Ring ring – hello? Yes? Mrs M? Yes, I have guilt trip on the phone for you, he’s been wondering where you’ve been at?
Geeze. Now, I don’t even know the truth to the story yet, I don’t know if he didn’t get to speak because of me, or if it was for some other reason. Noah is very skilled at placating himself by making up an excuse on the spot (wonder where he gets that from…) and it often includes me, or, lack of me.
I’m annoyed that I couldn’t go whether I wanted to or not, and annoyed that I didn’t go (even though I couldn’t). I don’t want to be my mom or my dad, but in light of finding my own balance in life, how am I to do this without feeling so hideously guilty over everything? Actually, I don’t even believe that’s possible.
Do I blatantly ignore him? No. Did I give my all to help him learn the poem without getting frustrated? Yes. So why am I beating myself up? Is it because of, in light of recent awards I’ve seen banded about all over the place, because I didn’t do everything I could for my child, I’m now a failed parent?
There are so many of us out there, who are constantly trying our best, as a mom OR a dad, doing everything we can for our kids. But it doesn’t always mean we’re being seen on the surface, doing these things. It fucks me off to have to deal with this guilt, implied and/or otherwise, just because I’m in the shadows, not out in front of everyone’s faces. Noah, at this age, might not understand it all.
But I tell you what, as long as he understands that if I can be there then I bloody well will be – that’s all that matters. I might be invisible, I might be potentially crap, but dammit. I’m busting my ass to fix it.
Copyright secured by Digiprove
Big, fat spoonful of guilt. Know that feeling. Keep on truckin' x
Thank you for sharing to us this story of yours. Thank you so much and we all appreciate the time and effort that you spent in making this blog. Baby Eagle