My Hero

A few weeks ago I was reviewing a stack of papers pulled from the Dude's backpack. On the table, my eyes spotted a piece of type-written work. It was titled, "My Hero". I saw the word "Mom" written on it, so (of course) I picked it up to read it.

The Dude warns me, "that's my draft. I repeat myself a lot". Do I care if he repeats himself? Depends on what is writes I suppose. However, a good speech writer repeats their theme and message many times to ensure the audience walks away remembering what was said. I start reading. I read again. The misspellings are bothersome and sweet at the same time. He does repeat himself. Apparently the message is that I'm cool, so I find it difficult to criticize his repetitiveness.

Half-way through I'm crying. By the end of the last sentence, I'm sobbing. Loudly. I'm sobbing like the family dog just died. My Dude is sitting at the kitchen table with his shirt off, working on an assignment on the laptop. I'm standing on the opposite side of the table, reading the paper for a third time with tears streaming down my face. By now I'm sure you've guess that the assignment was to write about your hero. The Dude choose to write about me which is humbling. Most of us don't think of ourselves as heroes. In typical parenting response, we just do what we have to do. We don't have a choice. If we don't do it, who does? This is the working real definition of parent.

Afterward, I gave him a big hug and said thank you. His response was bewildered questioning, "Are you okay Mom?" I took a minute to compose myself, before explaining the happiness of my tears .

I started, "As a parent we don't know how we are doing. When you are older and a Dad, you'll understand better what I mean. Today, you gave me the best present. No one could have said it better." I continued, "Maybe I'm doing okay as a Mom."

Isn't this the hardest part of parenting? We don't know how we are doing. I'm far from parenting perfection. I have moments when I over-react and raise my voice too quickly, and my criticism isn't given constructively. Besides keeping our kids alive, we don't know if what we are doing will help them be successful, happy and want us around when they don't need us any longer for their survival.

I'm going to frame it. I plan to show it to him to remind him that he once thought I was "pretty cool" when he's a grumpy teenager. I'm kidding (or am I)? I'm going to keep it to remind myself that the doubts and insecurity I feel as a parent do not equal the reality of my parenting. My mantra on parenting: parent with conviction, honesty, love, compassion and my best effort (which some days isn't much). I will have moments of failure but I shall never be a failure.




Footnote **I've debated on posting the written work, but I've decided that it is special in it's imperfect sweetness and I am going to keep it private. I have a feeling that this entire blog and it's intimate details will be horrifying enough to a teenager someday.