It's a good question, really. I was just reading a fascionating article in the Atlantic ( http://m.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/07/how-to-land-your-kid-in-therapy/8555/1/ ) about parenting, and I guess I was wondering if my parenting will screw up my kids, or my parents' parenting screwed me up.
I read through tharticle (ok, skimmed some parts...I'm a very busy man) and I have come to the conclusion that I am screwed up because of a combination of DNA, my experiences and life. The one thing absent from the blame game? My parents.
I'd like to introduce my parents for a moment. Both are highly intelligent, socially conscious, logical and rational (thouhg my mom, occasionally a bit hot tempered...sorry mom, just saying) people. Both treated me like a child when I was a child, and like an adult as I am an adult (ugh...what a realization). And called me on it when I was acting the wrong way. They were out in the evenings being good people, and yet we still had proper dinners and time on the weekends to take car rides or buy bagels. OK, pugs, but man, a pug with butter? Crazy. I never caught on with biyalis (did I spell that right?) but pugs...wow.
No, I don't mean the dog. You can't put butter on a dog. That isn't kosher.
They were neither helicoptors nor absentee landlords, but they were parents. There for me but leaving enough room for me to grow into becoming me. And yet here I am with my poor sleep patterns, my yelling at my kids, my inability to enjoy my work. Man am I a basket case or what?
The bottom line is that we are all a little messed in the head. We are all thrown around by life unless we have some sort of charm that kept us from doing stupid things, or kept other people from doing stupid things to us. But I refuse, categorically, to say that anything troublesome other than my neuroses about being on time or overplanning or my tendency to distance myself emotionally and argue from a rational position come from my parents. They taught me (and still teach me) right from wrong, how to develop a world view and how to treat other people.
I worry that I'll never be the parent they are. But I worry that I'll mess up my kid because of what I am, not because of what they did.
So yes, I might end up in a therapist's office. And I might talk endlessly about my job, my family, my physical ailments or my religion. But I won't talk about my parents except to say "bravo."
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Many thanks for your vote of confidence. Giving credit where it's due, however, the pugs were grandma's delicacy, not ours.
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