There are times when your child does something that makes you love them so fiercely that you almost can’t bear it.
George is in New Orleans this week, so I’ve been dropping Lawrence off at my parents’ house before I go to work. They give him breakfast and take him to school (it is so wonderful to live near them).
My father has some model cars that Lawrence has not, until recently, been able to touch, let alone play with, although he of course has been dying to for years. Yesterday he told me excitedly that he had been allowed to play with them. When I dropped him off this morning, we went into the bedroom set aside for the grandchildren, and there they were on an ottoman. While Mom and I chatted, Lawrence carefully opened and closed the doors. He showed me one that I mistakenly told him was a Delorean (it had the doors that open up like wings).
When I got up to go, he said, “Mommy, I broke the Delorean.” I noticed that it was now out of sight. My mother immediately told him that it wasn’t his fault; she had seen the wheel come off, but she didn’t think it was due to rough handling. I reassured him too that he had been gentle.
Even though we told him that it wasn’t his fault, he was hanging his head. Sometimes he does that to get attention, but I instinctively knew that wasn’t the case this time. I went over to him and found that he had started crying. Even though we were telling him that the damage wasn’t his fault, he was already overwhelmed by his feelings about breaking PopPop’s car. I hugged him, and then pulled him onto my lap. Mom and I kept reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault. Finally he wiped his eyes and said, “I feel better now.”
I thought immediately about how lucky I was to have a child that didn’t just blow it off when he broke something that belonged to someone else. I don’t think he was crying because he was worried about getting in trouble for breaking the car. He never does that when he breaks something that belongs to him. I think that the thought of disappointing PopPop was what brought the tears on.
The last thing that I wanted to do was leave, but I had to go to work. I hugged him again, and he assured me again that he was feeling better now. And as I walked down the path to my car, waving goodbye, boy, did I love him something fierce.
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Sometimes, when my children do the ‘right thing’, I ponder if this was the instinct to do good or some behavior they learned from my parenting. I’m hoping the former and not the latter in so much as I don’t want to sully my belief that they are damn near the best kids in the whole rotten world. Interesting, isn’t it, that it would be the parent who subverts their own journey when watching their children make their way through life.
Then, of course, there are grandchildren … It’s my whimsical belief that a prerequisite of being a Guardian Angel is that you must have been a grandparent.
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