Parenting is humble pie, baked fresh daily. For example, we think we know our children inside and out, simply because they are our children. In reality, they are constantly evolving.
My nine year-old and his best friend were in the back of our van recently talking about life. I listened quietly, glancing at them in the rear view mirror at the red lights.
“You and I are a lot alike,” observes my son. “We both don’t like a lot of noise and crowds.”
“Yeah,” agrees his friend. “I guess we are alike.”
“We have similar DNA,” adds my son.
(Cartoon double take.)
“Huh?”
“It stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. It makes you who you are, and me who I am. It makes you unique, you know?”
“Oh, you mean I’m filled with the juices of life,” his friend says. “That’s what my father says. He says we’re filled with the juices of life,” he adds.
(Moment of silence.)
I think this is where the car behind me honked three times for me to move.
I was in a temporary stupor.
Frequently we see our children through the filter of our own chaos, exhaustion, and un-met needs. We perceive, not our real children, but some distorted version of them we create through this filter. In our laser-like focus on external behaviors, we can easily miss who our children really are on the inside.
We might think their feelings are messy instead of meaningful, their preferences quirky instead of unique, and their actions impulsive instead of driven by a whole world of ideas and concerns beyond what we see on the outside.
How else do you explain an eight year olds dramatic reaction to little garden eels at the aquarium poking up through the sand like a baby’s pinky finger?
“They’re…so… (sob)…beautiful,” my son’s pal bawled, gazing lovingly at the creatures in their eerily lit tank in the wall.
We all have the juices of life in us.
We’re born with them. We relish them in childhood.
I can picture my nine year-old lying on his back in the grass two Halloween’s ago when he was just seven.
“Honey, what are you doing?” I asked. I was surprised to see him laying flat on the cold lawn, in the dark, with his clunky costume next to him. “Are you taking a break?”
“No, Mom,” he said, “I’m just breathing in the cool night air.”
Trick or treat.
When do we decide those juices ought to dry up? It’s a choice none of us ever recalls making, because it doesn’t happen once but rather insidiously over time.
We let our fears suppress our hope, our fatigue douse our zest, and our judgment snuff out our deep gratitude and appreciation of life’s savory little pleasures. Even in the midst of our struggles, consider that the Chinese word for crisis… is opportunity.
If we’ve simply forgotten our juices of life, that’s one thing. With enough figurative strings tied around our fingers, we can retrieve them. However, if we’ve lost our willingness, that is another thing. How do we reactivate an unplugged willingness? How can we drink from the juices of life when we think our cup is half-empty, dry, or half-spilled?
Tune in to our children who, evidently, have a pipeline directly to the stuff. Now there’s something to put at the top of our To Do list: “Fill self with juices of life.”
Then, check it off daily!
