A Randon Divergence fron the Norm

I was the proud recipient of two separate, incredibly flattering compliments last week. 

Yep…here I go, braggin’ on myself.  Indulge me?  I’ll be brief. (No. No, I won’t. Not at all. Tuck in.)

The first compliment came from my favorite 10 year old.  We were talking about the Zombie Apocalypse and I said, “If I ever turn into a Walker, I expect you to take me out.”  

To which he replied, “Oh, no.  I could never kill you.  I’d cage you and feed you rats until they found a cure.”

Right?  

How sweet is that???   

I know this child, he means it.  He’d go and hunt rats for me to eat and possibly allow me to gnaw on the second controller of his PlayStation as a homage to Shaun of the Dead.

That has no bearing on the rest of this post but it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard, I’m really proud and I wanted to share.

The second compliment came from a friend and fellow Mom in such an off-the-cuff manor, that I didn’t even recognize it as a compliment right away.  She said, “You’re such a good Mother, and you have so much more to worry about than I do.  You’re good with kids. How do you do it?”

Huh.

I didn’t really have a good answer to her question until I’d mulled it in my mind for a while.  And then I figured it out.  When I told her my thoughts she thanked me for giving her a different perspective and suggested I write a post about it.

I was hesitant, because it really has nothing to do with the darkness, however she flattered, cajoled and ultimately verbally abused me into changing my mind so, here is what I came up with:

I haven't forgotten my childhood and I am a giant dork.

What's that?  Do I care to elaborate?  Ummm.... yeah. Always.

I was a sensitive kid and I haven't forgotten childhood. I haven’t forgotten how crushing tiny disappointments could be and how deeply harsh words wounded.  I haven’t forgotten the exhilaration of winning or the bitter self-recrimination of losing.  I haven’t forgotten the anticipation of holidays or thrill of making a new friend.  I haven’t forgotten how terrified I could feel listening to my parents fight or the unadulterated joy that accompanied a visit from my Aunts and Uncles. I haven’t forgotten the feeling of being small and weak and helpless. I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to run barefoot.  

I carry all of that with me as a parent.  It’s a bit weighty but it doesn’t weigh me down.  It is the rudder that helps me understand my boy.

 I also did extensive research in Gabriel’s babyhood, not only on how to be the Mother of a blind child, but about being a Mother in general. 

 

As a result of my research I have come up with a code of sorts, which I’ll try to sum up for you now…because it’s been so helpful to me.  I’ll take this time to once again say that I am not a trained educator, specialist or even a recipient of the Mother of the Year Award.  I’m just an army of one, raising a kid and doing a decent job of it.

Random Parental Code

# 1:  Look with loving but unbiased eyes.

I adore my son.  For me, the brightness of the Sun itself pales in comparison to the light my boy has brought to me.  But, you guys….he ain’t perfect.  

 He’s willful and stubborn and proud.  He’s also pretty sneaky for a blind kid, he lies like a rug and I’m pretty sure he’s been dumping my shampoo down the drain just for kicks.  I can’t prove that last bit yet, but for the rest…I know my child.  I see him for exactly who he is, warts and all.

If he does something amazing, I praise him.  If he does something shady, I’m the first one to call him out.  I try to use the same amount of passion for both sets of circumstances.  My thinking is that if he’s doing well, I can’t let him get so high on it that he gets comfortable and possibly slacks off.  Conversely, if he did something wrong I can’t push him down so hard that he can’t get back up.

#2:  Be a Real Person

When you’re small your parents are your whole world.  This world grows exponentially with each passing year, but in the beginning Mom and/or Dad are the epicenter of the Universe.  You feel what they feel, you know what they teach you and you look to them for your every need. In the eyes of a child there is no one more perfect, competent or stronger than Mum & Pop.

What small children don’t realize is that Parents are people too.  Flawed, stressed, busy people who often don’t get enough sleep and have to answer too many crazy questions while keeping the whole show running as smoothly as possible, quite frankly… it’s a terrible job. And at the end of the day, despite whatever titles we’ve gathered in life, we’re all just people.   

Imperfect people.  

I think that kids should be taught that that their parents are human beings who have flaws and feelings and busy stress.  It’s lovely to see yourself, as a Super Being through your little one’s eyes, but no one can keep up the facade forever.  

  

I believe that allowing your kids to see you as imperfect doesn’t diminish you in their eyes, it teaches them compassion for the human condition.  Showing them that you make mistakes, and the lengths you have to go through to correct those mistakes gives them permission to make and fix their own mistakes.  Admitting that you’re wrong teaches them that it’s ok to be wrong sometimes.  
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In the beginning, as a parent, you are the mirror your child looks into to see themselves.  You have to be purely reflective, not a funhouse mirror.

As a bonus, when they become smart ass teenagers who want to tell you all about yourself, they won't be able to tell you anything you haven't already told them.

#3  If possible, try to treat your children as a rainbow, not a burden.

I know you’re tired sometimes.  I know you have issues going on in your life that have nothing to do with your child and cause you stress. I know how hard it is to play grown-up when in your heart you still feel like you’re a teenager.  I know how hard it is to be ill, or grief stricken, or terrified, or lost, or in a terrible relationship, or lonely in the face of constant company, or confused, or overwhelmed…..or all of that and still have a child to take care of.  

I know.

But your kid doesn’t.   

If you're having a hard time and are just trying to get through the day, any extra stress has the possibility of sending you over the edge. It could be your child whining that they don't like the dinner menu.  Something that you could usually handle gracefully has the potential  to make you lose your mind and over react, upsetting the kid...ultimately creating a vicious circle of crankiness.  

As always, I find that complete honesty is best. 

“Hey (insert name)! I am having a terrible day.  I feel like (insert appropriate adjective or kid proof explicative).  I can’t really deal with random nonsense like whining or complaining about what’s for dinner.  What I could use is a hug.  A big one.  Because in the dark cloud that was my day, you are the ray of sunshine that lights a rainbow.

This is a concept even a small child can understand.  Your child has been warned that you aren't 100% and maybe you'll feel better after you get that hug.  And imagine what that feels like for a little one. To be a rainbow.

That's really all I've got, a tiny trifecta of tips that have helped me out these first seven years.  My friend also found them helpful, maybe they'll help you too.

That's right, the little dude turned seven early this week.  I know, I can't believe it either.

Ooops…..My Bad

Little Dude is swiftly approaching his seventh birthday.  Like every parent, I have no idea where the time ran off to…I’m pretty sure it was only yesterday that we were celebrating his first day home from the hospital.  
 

In the 6 plus years that I’ve had the honor of being Gabriel’s Mother, I’ve grown right alongside him.  I have become braver, stronger, more assertive, more responsible and much, much more verbal.  No joke. 

A recent study claims that the average person speaks 16,000 words a day. I swear, on any given non school day I can hit that mark by 11 am. 

 

My child is sightless.  There is a whole world out there that needs describing.  There are scores of books that need reading.  Hell, just navigating our way from the house to the car requires quite a bit of communication.  

However, in all of those words, in all of these years….I forgot something.  Something kind of significant.  I forgot to tell the Dude that people come in different colors.  Seriously. Plum forgot.  My bad.  I'm not sure how it never came up, it just didn't.

The Island we live on is an absolute melting pot.  There are people here from all over the world.  Gabriel has spent time with people of different nationalities who speak different languages all of his life.  It was only just recently that he asked a friend of ours, Bob, who happens to be Ebony* why his hair felt different.

I was not present when Gabriel asked his original question but here was the part of the conversation I caught:

Bob:  Because I have Black People hair.   

Gabriel: What?

Bob: I have Black People hair.

Gabriel: What’s Black People hair?

Bob: Well Black People have different hair than White People.

Gabriel: What? Am I White?

At this point Bob notices me standing in the doorway overhearing this bizarre exchange.  I shoot him my best ‘I’m a charmingly adorable idiot’ smile and took over.

Me:  Yes, baby.  You’re White.

Gabriel:  How do you know?

Me: You can’t dance.

Bob: Amen.

Me: Plus, I can see you.  I see that you have white skin. People have different skin color based on the climate their ancestors lived in a long time ago.

Gabriel: What?

Me (internally): Oh, shit.

Me (externally): Well, we read about the climate of Africa, right?

Gabriel: Yeah, it’s hot and dry.

Me: Not only is it hot, but it’s hot all the time and there is very little shade.  The people who live there have dark skin to protect them from the Sun.  Now, my ancestors are from Ireland. When they do see the Sun over there they feel vaguely nervous because it’s such a rare occurrence, so the people tend to be very pale.

Gabriel: So…people come in different colors.  Like Fruit Loops.

Me:  Ummmm…..yeah. Kinda.

Gabriel: Do they come in Purple?^

Me: No.

Bob: Yeah.

Me: What?

Bob:  I have an Uncle who’s so Black he looks Purple.

Me: Don’t confuse him.

Gabriel:  Can I grow up to be Purple???

Me: Not without extensive body tattoos.

The conversation deteriorated into supreme silliness at that point, but it opened the doors to discussions about the differences in human beings.  This is a subject that people usually approach with trepidation, because it’s so sensitive. 

Unless you’re a six year old blind dude.

The following day I picked Gabriel up from school.  He opened the door of his classroom, escorted by one of his friends and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Hey, Mom!! This is Rochelle. You know Rochelle??  She’s Black!!!  I found out because she has Black People hair!!!  I told her she’s Black but she already knew…. She’s Black!!!”

They have not invented a word, in any language, that could accurately describe the level of mortification I felt at that insanely awkward moment.

But then I looked at the kids.  They were both smiling.  

Rochellle laughed and said, “Yep.  I’m black.”

I laughed (awkwardly) and said, “Yeah, you are.  And I’m White.”

Rochelle laughed and said, “Yeah, you are.”

Gabriel laughed and said, “I’m White. At least for now. Maybe one day I’ll be a Purple tattoo.”

The week that followed was ripe with conversation about the color differences in people.  When he found out that both Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles are black men he shrieked, “Oh, Man!! I love Black People! Why can’t I be Black, too??”  

 Thank God that was a private dialogue.

No.  I’m kidding.  We were in a very crowded Supermarket.+

Since then, we’ve covered the gauntlet of the shades that human beings come in:  Ebony, Ivory, Mahogany, Mocha, Cinnamon, Tan, Beige....you get the point.

We’ve also spoken about some intrinsic differences in people from different places on a Biological level.  I’ve taught him to be a bit more subtle about the whole issue, but I never really made a big deal of it and like every phase of childhood it passed.

Now Gabriel knows about the differences in people but guess what? 

He doesn't care.  It doesn't matter to him.

And you know what else?

It never will.

A wise old adage dictates that you should never judge a book by its cover, but how many of us can really ignore what we see?  How many of us can meet a new person and have absolutely no preconceived notion of what that person is based on how they dress, what they look like, or how well they conform to ‘typical’ social constructs? 

I tell my son something that others might find strange.  I tell him that in a way, he’s lucky.  Because although he has no vision, he sees with his heart…and that is truly the clearest sight there is.

*Yes.  Ebony.  Deal with it.

^ Gabriel went through a phase when he was smaller where he really wanted to be Purple.  I’d thought that I mentioned the different colors people come in at that point, but either I didn’t or it was so inconsequential to him that he forgot.  

+My ‘I’m a charmingly adorable idiot smile’ might be one of my greatest assets in life.  Especially when Little Dude’s curiosity extended to him asking people straight up what color they are.  Funny thing?  No body ever minded.