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What My Grown Children Have Taught Me About Love
It’s not too late. It was never too late. This is the most precious thing my two grown children have taught me about love.
My son Frank hasn’t lived at home for more than ten years. My daughter Charity, quite a bit younger, is catching up with that span of time. During their most recent visit home, I had to explain how to turn on the stove since we remodeled the kitchen recently and have a fancy new digital flat-glass cooktop.
“Oh, you have to press the ‘on’ icon really hard,” my son told her, ever helpful. Actually, you don’t. The icon reads the heat in your finger, but it takes a few tries to feel that out. “Sheesh!” my daughter replied, shooting me a look which meant Why does everything around here have to be so complicated? I didn’t try to explain the nuances of the cooktop. They’re adults.
When Frank and Charity were growing up, I was far too controlling. I tried to orchestrate their well-being without realizing that many times, I was simply trying to allay my own maternal anxieties. In an unpredictable world, I over-promised. When my daughter was about four, I coaxed her into a kayak one summer by promising her it wouldn’t tip over when she stepped off the dock. Boy, was I wrong. Fortunately, she was wearing a life jacket…
