Lessons on Parenting from Kahlil Gibran

Kahlil Gibran wrote:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”

He must have been very old and wise when he came to this realization. This is a parenting lesson I have yet to master. I have yet to learn that my children are not mine alone.  I thought I was doing a pretty good job of brainwashing and molding them when they were young.  Especially, when in first grade our daughter reported to her teacher that “George Bush is a bad president. My mom says we are Gore people.” But, the older they become the more I realize they belong to the world and they are not my sole possessions. In many ways I have done the unthinkable: I have pinned on my kids all my hopes and dreams (political brainwashing aside). All that I could have been I want them to be. I want for them everything I did not have.

When I was 11, my mom died of brain aneurysm. You can only imagine how drastically our lives changed. So much of who I am is defined by this tragic incident. Because I did not have a mom to wake me each morning to go to school, I wake our kids each morning. They are plenty old enough to rely on an alarm clock, but because they have me, I gladly do it for them. I continually overcompensate for all that I did not have. We take fantastic, educational vacations and give our kids “experiences” because I did not have those opportunities.  

I’d like to believe that their success will be based on my contributions. However, the older they become the more I understand Gibran’s essay. Their success might be aided by our parental involvement, but much of who they are and who they will become is based on who they are and who they will become. I can continue to try to brainwash and mold, but they are becoming too smart and savvy and are catching on to my antics.  I cannot take full credit for the adults they one day will grow into any more than I can take credit for their failures (although, maybe all my nagging about unloading the dishwasher will pay off). They must fall in order to learn and to succeed, I cannot always be there to pick them up and move them onward.

Having realized all this, read Gibran’s essay and written about it, I still have a hard time digesting that they are not mine, but belong to the larger world. And yet, I was witness to it Father’s Day morning.

Sunday morning, our daughter left on . They will work with the National Relief Network in Joplin cleaning up after the horrendous tornado that struck in May. In February, she traveled with the same group to New Orleans to plant trees and restore wetlands. When the trip was announced our first thought was “it is much too soon” for her to raise the $600 needed to go. How would she do it? We couldn’t possibly go back and ask the generous family and friends who gave the first time. We didn’t ask questions or advise on the subject. Nor did she ask our advice.  She came to us and told us that she, together with a friend, was going to raise the $1,200 and they were going. I was skeptical. That was a great deal of money to raise in a very short time. They worked hard organizing bottle drives and soliciting funds from family, friends and strangers.  Sunday morning they boarded a bus to travel to Missouri to work for a week in the heat and devastation of Joplin. And I had nothing to do with it. I’d like to take full credit for her tenacity, but cannot. She begins to belong to the bigger world and continues to journey away from us.

When I was 14, I would not have been willing to give up a week of my summer vacation to go and work in the summer heat under less than deluxe accommodations. I know that I did not have the capacity or wherewithal to fundraise any funds.  I was an incredibly selfish teen; wanting only to do what I wanted to do.  Not a bad kid; just full of angst and bitterness over the death of my mom.  Fortunately, I had many adult mentors who guided me into adulthood where I experienced and now understand the importance of service and doing for others. But I cannot take credit for her fortitude and willingness to work in service to the people of Joplin. It took me 20-some years to figure out that I wanted to positively impact my world. She’s doing it at 14.  I’d like to believe it is the example her Dad and I have set; but I do not know.  Much of who she is and is becoming is not necessarily of our doing.

To say I am proud of her and her brother would be an understatement.  My heart sometimes bursts right out of my chest with pride at the young adults they are becoming. They amaze (and frustrate) me daily. As they grow into who they are meant to be, it is very clear that Gibran knew much, much more than I will ever learn:

“You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.”

He would be sorely disappointed in my attempts at early political brainwashing (which I think and hope, just might stick – or completely backfire). I do know that I will continue to overcompensate for the childhood I did not have. I cannot be any other way. They can understand and appreciate me for it; or they can write down and track all my faults to discuss with a therapist later in their lives. Either way, I am incredibly lucky and proud to be their mom – AND to be here to watch them grow, amaze and frustrate me. I would not have it any other way. I try not to take my presence here for granted.  As Gibran states, I can only hope I will strive to be more like them (and not the other way around).