Patience is a relative term, especially when it comes to relatives. What works for some, may not be enough for others.
For the longest kind of time, I felt it was my duty to exhibit patience when dealing with my father. Although we began to get along better in his latter years, he always knew how to push my buttons. We clashed on a very basic level and I'm still not sure why. We had a rocky relationship from a (my) very early age which carried on into adulthood. I found the best way to deal with him was avoidance. I know that sounds horrible but it is true and it was effective. So that was the way I chose to deal with my father for most of the time. I think this may have suited him as well, although I do know he loved me, too. It's just that when we got in the same room together, more often than not, tempers would flair and we'd each get angry and... You get the idea. We lived in the same city and my out of town sister saw him probably more often than I did. Please don't miss understand: I loved my father and I still love his memory. There were many good memories I have from growing up and I'm starting to remember more of them. That's a good thing. I wish he was still here to talk things over with. I miss him terribly still: even after more than a year. I expect I will always miss him and my mother (she died in 2001).
Patience. Was it a good strategy in my Dad's case? I think so. It allowed us to be civil and share some good times in his later life.
Now I find my stores of patience drawn upon once again: with my son. He is three and will hopefully be four someday. Until you have experienced it firsthand, there is no way to describe the emotional turmoil that a three year old can generate. Suffice it to say, it's awesome at times. He can go from a perfectly affable, happy little boy to full blown temper tantrum demon (also an awesome sight at times) in the blink of an eye. Similarly, he can go back to his own sweet self almost as fast, sometimes. It is frikkin' amazing.
He's young and is still trying out emotions to see how they feel (and how they might benefit him). It's what he should be doing.
We (His Mommy and I) both dislike the whiny periods. Enough said on that.
I am keenly aware of how my relationship with my father affected me and my life. I'm in therapy once a week partly because of it. I do NOT want my relationship with my son to be the same and I'm striving to not become my own father. I'm hoping that since I'm aware of the potential, I can guide us in a different direction. Maybe our path will not be so rocky. I pray that will be so.
"I swear there ain't no heaven and I pray there ain't no hell.
But I'll never know by livin', only my dyin' will tell."
Blood Sweat and Tears 'And When I Die'
That opens a whole other can of worms. Maybe in a later post, someday, I'll get into that question. Not today, however.
I'll leave you with one more quotation from that song:
"And when I die, and when I'm gone
there'll be, one child born, in this world
to carry on, to carry on."
Thoughts?
Pax,
Nelson
I was involved in a chat not long ago with my blogging mentor, Ro the wise and mighty, not too long ago (this morning actually) and we were discussing the nature and qualities of LOVE.
The less romantically inclined of you may wish to turn elsewhere at this point. May I suggest a nice porno spot? Never mind, I'm sure you can find one yourself.) ;-)
We were discussing in particular the differences between love for one's mate and love for one's child. We thought at first that they were the same, then similar, then different but no less intense.
Our chat made me remember a posting over on Ro's site which I'll let you read at your leisure. It deals primarily with the love a couple feels for each other and how that love can help when times are bad. Many good points on that posting and I hope you'll read it.
I just went in to check on my son; he's asleep and peaceful. I do this nearly every night and I couldn't sleep well without it, I think.
He's gotten so he doesn't much care for his night lights anymore and has even unplugged one of them. He has moved a no-longer-needed changing table sort of in front of the remaining night light, so that there is only a faint blue glow in his room. I stand there, my son coming into focus from out of the darkness. As he takes shape and solidity back from the night, I am nearly overcome, as I am almost every night, with love for him. My heart aches and tears swell in my eyes: I love him so very much.
My boy. My son. All grown up at age three. I want so much for him and I know I'll never be more than adequate to meet his needs and sometimes not even that. There may be hard times in our future; we already have a clash of wills every once in a while (my wife says this is because we are much alike) and that is OK. That is good and as it should be.
But as I stand there in the darkness, that moment of clarity comes over me again. That perfect knowledge that this child, our child, my son, is right and true and wise and wonderful and perfect is the love I feel for him.
I have many doubts. Quite a few of them involve God and faith. When I'm there alone with my boy, my doubts are lessened and my faith is a little more sound. That's not what this post is about, but I want you to get the idea of the immensity and deep profundity; the simple, sweet purity of this particular kind of love.
I guess that's about all I have to say tonight.
Pax,
Nelson
