Growing Up

I was home over the weekend to hear my Dad preach. I try to go home whenever he’s speaking because I enjoy hearing his take on things and think he’s one of the best teachers I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting under. (Might be a bit of child bias, I will grant you that). This Sunday after service, my family went to lunch at a local restaurant – as eating is one of our favorite past times. As usually happens when the four of us sit down at a table together, there was much laughter and not a little ribbing. We’ve all been blessed (or cursed depending on how you look at it) with sarcasm and quick wit and most meals are a game of one-upmanship. I’m sure to the outside observer this is a very strange thing to witness, but I love the back and forth, keeps me on my mental toes. This lunch was no different, and somehow the conversation turned to a question of a word that was used in Dad’s sermon. The word – “blessor” – both Erica and I were of the opinion that this was not, in fact, a proper word. (And the red line that is underlining it above in my Microsoft Word document, is leading me to believe we were correct!) Dad said that, of course, it was a word. To which my sister and I replied, “You really should look it up because we think you are incorrect – how do you KNOW it’s a word”. Dad simply said, “Because I know it is”. My mother hadn’t been contributing much to this exchange until then; when she said that the time had passed where their children simply took what their parents said as infallible without proof. We all had a chuckle over that and went on with the conversation. But on my drive back to Champaign, I began thinking about my Mother’s statement. I began to wonder when we started needing “proof” of things from our parents, teachers, pastors, authority figures, etc.

As Erica is quick to tell me, I think entirely too much, but I find this an intriguing change in human relationships. I can remember a time when I would never question what my Mom or Dad would tell me (well, I might question “why” but never the validity of the statement). There is something very comforting in believing your parents know everything. It’s a very strange and scary transition for a child to realize that her parent may not be “perfect” or “omniscient”. Of course, as a teenager, I was quite convinced that my parents knew absolutely nothing and there was no telling me differently. They couldn’t POSSIBLY understand or know what it was like to be me and to deal with what I was dealing with. I had my share of teenage angst and wrote many a sad and dreadful poem bemoaning my pitiful life and how misunderstood I was. As I grew past those melodramatic times (no comments Erica, I know you doubt I’ve moved past that) and entered adulthood, however, I started questioning all kinds of things that I had always held to be true – not because I didn’t believe them anymore, but because I now knew that I was often wrong about things and if the people who I always believed to know everything were like me, perhaps they could have gotten it wrong as well.

Relationships change over time, and a child’s relationship with her parent is no different. As a child grows older and the relationship changes from parent/child to more of a friendship, several things become readily apparent. You have flaws and so does your parent. You get things wrong and so does your parent. You don’t know things and neither does your parent. I can remember the first time I had a problem that my Daddy wouldn’t or couldn’t fix; it was scary but also liberating. “This is the big time, kid, let’s see how you do.: It must be a hard and scary thing for a parent to tell their child that they just don’t have the answer or that they can’t fix their child’s problem. It must be a difficult pill to swallow to admit to a child that for years has been convinced that you know and can do everything, that you are, in fact, only human. I don’t envy parents that job; however, I am so grateful that I had parents who were willing to do that. Because of the vulnerability they showed, I have learned to question things.

Questioning established “facts” and “truths” is important, I believe. I am, as my Mother has often said, a black and white person. Once something is true or false in my mind, there is no bending. That is just the way it is. For a long time, however, I didn’t really take the time to figure out why something was true or false in my mind. It simply was and there wasn’t a reason to question why. I have found, however, that as my relationship with my parents has changed, my ability to look at things from a “prove it to me” outlook has expanded. I do not think I am alone in this “revelation”. I believe that as children make the move to adults and parents themselves (haven’t made that leap yet, but I know enough parents my age to have learned from them) we must decide for ourselves the things that we believe or don’t believe. Not just because our parents said so, but because we truly agree or disagree. It’s no longer a matter of blind faith.

I will never forget a conversation I had several years ago with my father. It was just about the time that I figured out that I was responsible for what I believed and didn’t believe; that I was the one who had to make the decision on what path to follow for my life; and that my parents were no longer the only guiding force in my decision making process. I had to take the reins of my life and guide it in the direction that was right for me. It was a hard talk and there was no laughter or good nature ribbing. It was the moment that I became an adult in my eyes and my Father’s.

In hindsight, I must say, there are very few things that my parents taught me that after careful consideration and questioning I have rejected. They got it right on all the important things, but I am thankful that when they could have been rigid and dogmatic, they let me reach my own conclusions. I can say that I have found fact and truth in what I was taught as a child. In allowing me to figure that out for myself my parents ended up proving that they are pretty smart people.