a win
Many years ago, while I lay in a hospital on bed rest awaiting the arrival of our twins, I decided to run the New York Marathon.
“Next year,” I told friends, “I’m going to get out of bed and run a marathon.” And so, I did.
I had no real desire to do well; in fact, I established some pretty clear race day goals early on in my training. I wanted to enjoy it, and finish the 26.2 miles physically and emotionally sound.
And although I have been accused of being a little competitive, I did not care how long it would take me. I did not care if I broke four hours, and I did not care about how far back in the pack I would finish. For me it was not a contest to win, but an experience to enjoy.
Today, my parenting goals for our four children are quite similar to those long-ago marathon goals, but that wasn’t always the case.
When our boys were born - literally one, pause, after another, after another; some call it Irish twins, or in our case, triplets - I remember being in awe of their sheer existence. I mean, one moment these little humans didn’t exist…and then they did. Incredible. We stared and smiled at them when they slept, and stared and smiled at them as they stretched their tiny fingers and toes. We just loved being with them; to us, they were absolute perfection.
Then the boys started to grow and hit milestones, and quickly our focus shifted away from a pure love for our boys’ existence, and towards accomplishments that were being noted in the pediatrician’s office.
They smiled, responded to our voice, held their head up, sat up, and crawled. Check. Check. Check. These were the external expectations they were expected to meet.
And as they continued to grow, we watched and cheered as they flaunted their latest tricks and talents. At nine months our firstborn was walking, and as a toddler, he scored his first goal on a pre- pre- pre-travel soccer team. The next two boys showed early signs of natural musical aptitude.
As their interests developed, we supported them with opportunities to improve - lessons and clinics and practices and training - which wasn’t a bad thing, but along with the investment came a new thought pattern in my head.
Maybe our eldest will play soccer in college.
Maybe the younger ones will play at Carnegie Hall.
And slowly, I inadvertently moved away from simply relishing our children in the present, and began to devote my time and energy to their successful future; a somewhat grandiose future.
Of course, I never really voiced these thoughts, but my high expectations, even silent, were almost certainly conveyed.
And then we gave birth to a child with disabilities.
His health issues prevented him from hitting the same milestones. It was hard to think about his future; we didn’t know if he would even have one. And although painful at times, we learned to embrace his wondrous existence and let go of expectations. Our fourth son reminded us to slow down and be present, and to enjoy our children as they are. Today.
It is only natural to have high expectations and hopes for our children; we all want them to be successful. But it is important that we never lose sight of those feelings we experienced at their birth - a wonder and love of being.
Our children do better and feel better when they are basked in our love and valued not for their achievements, but just for who they are. Sometimes the messages we give them - although unintentional – emphasize those achievements. Sometimes the messages the world gives them are the same.
A shift in the way we communicate with our children can make a difference; questions like, “Did you have fun? What did you like about it? What did you learn that interests you?” are heard very differently from, “How did you play? How did you do? Did you win?”
A shift in the way we spend time with our children can also be impactful. Do we always find ourselves in the car taking them to and from activities? Or do we sit with them leisurely at breakfast or lie down beside them at the end of the day, no agenda?
Like a marathon, life is long, and sometimes stressful and hard, but the things that have stuck with me the most about my day in New York are the supportive crowds that lined the streets, the music, and the camaraderie with the other runners. In the end, I reached my race day goals. I may not have been as fast as the elite runners, but I completed the course, happy and uninjured.
I am now 25 years into this magical job of parenting (okay, not always magical, but pretty darn special). Our eldest did not play college soccer, and the other two never made it to Carnegie Hall. They did other things and pursued other interests and, along with our daughter, have had their successes and failures, and I imagine they will continue to do so. But there is nothing I love more than spending time with each of them; not doing, just being. I have let go of my high expectations; they have their own.
But I do have hopes for our children. I hope they enjoy this experience called life - maybe not every step or mile, but most of them - and that when they cross the finish line, they are physically and emotionally sound. If so, I call that a win.