Dreaming Big by Robin Gorman Newman

Can childhood aspirations grow into adult passions?

Mine did.

I had the pleasure this week of taking a trip down memory lane, and it reminded me of the power of childhood dreams and how they can come true if they mean enough to us.

Seth's school is hosting a parent teach-in program, where parents are invited to participate in the classroom to share an expertise.  I enthusiastically seized the opportunity and volunteered to discuss how to write a book.  And, I invited my friend Puzzle Artist Alli to join me (she and Seth are close) to discuss her work as an artist.  We presented back-to-back, and I thought it was a winning combination.  The teachers agreed.

I have lectured a lot about my books, so speaking comes pretty naturally to me.  This was the first time, though, that I was to speak about my work as a writer.

I lecture best when it's off the cuff, so I didn't plan to write any notes.  I did stop by a store for kids that sells a lot of teaching supplies, and I picked up two posters on writing that I thought would be helpful and provide some talking points.  But, beyond that, my intention was to discuss my love of writing (and reading) as a child their age (8) and how it blossomed into my becoming a published author.  I brought along books I had written and illustrated as a child, read a couple of them to the class, and passed around others.

In deciding what to bring today, it brought back a floodgate of memories.  My parents, and I, had thankfully done a good job of saving books I'd written throughout the years, and they are invaluable treasures and lnks to my past.  To see how I expressed myself then and to take note of what I chose to write about is really intriguing.

It also made me recall the preciousness of childhood.  We all grow up so quickly.  And, back in my elementary school days, sure I had homework, but other than that, my thoughts were free to wander (without to do lists racing through my head), and creating stories was high on my list.  My ideas were never-ending because I gave myself permission to think out of the box, and it happened naturally.  It's really amazing how as kids we have the ability to do that, but once adulthood kicks in, and particularly parenting, and all that comes with it on a daily basis, we have to work to  find the time and space to get in touch with our thoughts (which we sometimes censor). 

It gave me immense pleasure to leave the children in my son's class with the message that anything is possible. If you want to be a writer, and you write as often as you can, then your dream of becoming an author is viable.

As adults, we need to hang on to that philosophy. We're never too old to dream big.and reinvent ourselves or rediscover dreams we had when we were young and take the steps to putting them into action.  No matter how old you are, it feels good to pursue your passions. 

And, I for one, want to be a positive role model for my son.  If he sees me feeling fulfilled and doing things (other than parenting) that are important to me, then he'll know that, while life is a juggling act, we deserve to be gratified.

So, other than your efforts to be a good parent, what do you actively pursue (or what would you aspire to accomplish or learn or explore) that feeds your soul?  If you can't readily the question, I invite you to think back to your childhood.  The answer may then readily present itself.

Beating My Parents -- by Laura

My mother hates my father. She has hated him for years. Like so many women of her generation, she got married thinking it was the cure for her loneliness and unhappiness. She thought my father would fix her, that he would be her therapist, that he would be her best friend, and, of course, that he would be her knight in shining armor. And like many women her age, she is resentful that he could do or be any of those things.

But unlike many women of her generation, my mother elected to stew in her anger rather than get counseling. Instead, she used me as her therapist. Throughout my childhood my mother gradually poisoned me against her husband. From age 12 to about age 20, I thought my father was a cold, neglectful, indifferent man. I refused to listen to him, I deliberately disobeyed him, and I was mean, mean, mean to him at every opportunity.

When I was 23, I moved to a part of the city that was only a few blocks from my father’s office, and on the nights I was not waiting tables, he would call and ask if he could stop by. He’d bring a six-pack of Coors beer, and we would sit on my patio even on the coldest of days, drink a brew, and play fetch with the dogs. My dad loved dogs. And he especially loved Labrador retrievers, and I had rescued two of them from the pound where he sometimes volunteered. They were the magnets that helped draw my father and I back together, and in my heart I have built a glorious memorial for those dogs.

On those evenings I got to know my father really well. And what I found was a man who was very much like me. He loved books, the outdoors, gardens, hiking, dogs, beer, and he especially loved his children and his life with them. He even loved the woman who had berated him all of his life, alienated him from his brothers and sisters, and tried to turn his own children against him. “She can’t help it,” he told me once. “She didn’t grow up with anyone loving her.”

To say I dislike my mother is an understatement. But over the past 20 years, I have tried to remember his words: That no one loved her, and that’s why she is the way she is.

I struggle with her more now that I am a parent myself. I look at her behaviors toward her family, and something deep in me bubbles up into my throat. My mother drove a wedge between my father and his twin brother. If a woman ever did that to my twins, I don’t know what I would do, but my wrath would be severe. My mother also liked to be divisive with her own children because she learned that if we were angry with one another, we would go to her to talk about the sibling we were disgusted with at that time. It was her way of guaranteeing attention. And saddest to me is that I bought into her lies and lost precious years with my father and siblings. It’s something I have not forgiven myself for.

Last week my mother found a letter I had written my father more than 10 years ago, and she sent me a venomous email in response. In the letter I discussed my mother’s accusations of his affair, and I suggested to my father that if the accusations were not true that my mother could be experiencing delusional episodes due to her own childhood. I also suggested that after 40 years of emotional abuse it might be time to leave my mother. I recommended he divorce her and go live with his twin brother. It was the right advice to give.

I was particularly worried about my father because he had just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and I knew as the disease worsened my mother would not take care of him. I knew she would let him deteriorate, she would not help him with his medications, she would not want to take him to the doctor, and when she did she would not participate. She would only hinder. She was angry with him and felt he had done this to her on purpose.

My mother is furious with me for writing that letter. She should be. But I am not sorry I wrote it. I am, however, finding myself angry with my father for sticking with her. If he had left, he’d be getting better care right now. If he had left, maybe he could have reconnected with his twin brother. If he had left, maybe he would not be declining so quickly. Sometimes I blame his disease on her entirely. Living with her constant criticism, her accusations, and her lies has to take its toll. I know it did with me.

It’s a fight, really, not to be a bad parent when you are raised by someone like my mother. Every day it’s a fight, so to ensure I battle in a good way, I am committed to picking up the phone and scheduling an appointment with a counselor. It’s good to have someone walk me through it so I can understand my mother and her hatred. I am not going to repeat this with my sons and my husband. I want them to love me as I love them. But sometimes I hear myself saying the things to my husband that my mother said to my father, and it knocks the wind out of me. And that’s when I pick up the phone and call.

Keeping Up with the Mother Joneses

I've never considered myself a competitive person. An achiever....yes. Driven.....yes. Perfectionist at times....sure (not that I've succeeded at that, or should want to). Control freak. I do like things a certain way, I admit.

Well, that and more, needs to be abandoned when it comes to parenting, I'm quickly learning.

And, the other thing that I'm learning is not to compare myself or my child to others.

No book comes with parenting, though plenty are written on the subject. When Seth was little, I used to peruse some of them. These days I have little time for that and would sooner reach out to a parenting expert or seasoned mom friend who has been there, done that.

I did both recently after a chat with a mom friend that left me thinking...a lot.

She was speaking about a series of well-regarded books a friend had recommended as learning tools to teach your child when they are very young. And, she applauded how a couple of moms, in particular, who she knows, have used them with their children to teach them to read at a young age, etc.

I wondered what Seth is supposed to be capable of at this time. I spoke with his teacher who said he is progressing as he should in terms of knowing/writing letters, names, numbers, etc. But, I thought, is this enough? Should I be doing more? As a parent, we want our children to succeed. We have high aspirations for them and want to know that we're doing/have done our best.

No doubt there are varying schools of thought on this subject. But, there is something to be said for letting a child be a child. Sure academics are important, and school does seem WAY demanding these days, but quality play time is essential too. And, according to a parenting expert I well respect and have consulted with, at the age of 5, allowing your child's imagination to soar through creative play is something to strive for.

We can expose them to new experiences, and endeavor to share what we think is cool about the world. And, that is important. But, ultimately, they are their own person with interests, strengths, challenges, etc. that we can do our best to support and nuture...and they may not coincide with ours. But, that's ok.

One day our kids will fly on their own, and their childhood should be just that. A time of fun, games, love...and certainly learning...but it shouldn't be about "keeping up with the mother jones." And, I'm not saying that this mom friend or others I know view parenting as a contest. I'm just speaking for myself in that I need to...and want to... focus on Seth and his uniqueness...and let his natural abilities soar. Comparing him will surely not do either of us any good.