I see my dad now with my youngest niece, Ella, who is six years old. He seems so happy and compassionate when he is around her. So often do people say, “your father acts with Ella just like he did with you.” It's not that he's unhappy with me now, or disinterested, but he treats me like an adult. He talks to me like an adult. It's funny to think about when I was a teenager and that was all I strove for. I don't remember exactly which time was the first time he talked to me like an adult, but I do remember feeling proud at some moment when I realized he was treating me like an adult. Now though, I sometimes find myself wishing that he treated me like he does Ella.
I wouldn't ever say my dad is an uncaring person, but I do see how much different he is with children. I think the majority of true smiles I've seen from my dad are in photographs with me and my younger brother Luke when we were kids, and when he is around children now, especially Ella. He smiles a lot when we have family dinner with him and his wife, even when the jokes are at his expense.
Today at work, my coworker Jessica was talking about how her father will sometimes say to her, “Do you remember when you could still fit on my leg?” She said that she couldn't remember, because he was referring to her when she was an infant. Wouldn't the memories of being an infant, if they stayed with us, be such a reward in times of darkness, especially with loving parents? That was my first thought when she was talking about this. I thought about how much I've been told by others how my parents loved me and took care of me, and I would rather have those memories than the memories of the fights I had with my mother, or the arguments I had with my father; the guilt I felt when I didn't go to college right away or the disappointment I felt when I let my parents down.
I find myself thinking of childhood as a reminder of what life is. Not the purpose of life; I feel that we all have our own purpose in life, so generalizing that would be to dispose of the genuine wonder that all life brings. I think of my childhood to remember happiness, wonder, awe, and love. I think of my childhood to bring relief and calm, patience and respite when I am immersed in a stressful situation, when I hurt, when I feel as if the world around me is crumbling.
Ignorance is bliss, which is partially why childhood was so comfortable. Ignorance of the unnecessary necessities of adult life; fighting depression, paying the bills, finding and holding a job, being responsible. In some ways I find those who shuck their responsibility admirable; it's a retreat back to childhood.
We all find a road to walk on, and while sometimes that road turns back on itself, and crosses back over itself, it does always move forward. Sometimes there's a wall built across, and we need to take some time to tear it down, but once that's out of the way we keep going. I have to, even though sometimes I'd like to just sit down and wait for something to come along to motivate me. One thing I've found in life is that waiting around for something brings nothing; the only way to make something happen is to trudge on and find it yourself, to initiate it yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment