I heard Claudia’s alarm go off early this morning and figured it was an accident, but got up to see how she was. She was up and fixing her hair, lights on.
“Mythology Club,” she said, when I looked confused.
I love that she is taking such initiative with her life. Seeing their desires begin to sprout, and seeing them work on them on their own, is amazing.
To be invited along is the prime satisfaction of life on Earth.
I couldn’t even consider at this age in their lives forcing my kids into activities they didn’t want to take part in. (I can’t even think of many. Claudia likes mosh pits less than the rest of us, and I plan to accommodate for that from now on.) They are too smart, too mature, and have too much trust in me to risk losing. And the things they DREAM of doing are full of hundreds of hours of hard work they won’t enjoy — who would make them do something just to show they could control them? (People with not much time left on the clock, and no vision past their own noses.)
I know what it’s like to not care anymore whether your parent lives or dies because they have used you as a pawn for too many formative years. I’ve made it longer than my own parents did with me in not being that person. My kids come to me with their dreams — and they prepare for their dreams themselves knowing that they can try anything. If Claudia wants to try to get into Oxford she may have to try multiple times. Béla knows four year college is a sham only believed in by old white men who will be coffin soup in the cemetery when he has a chance to decide. When my son says to me, “I really feel this is my passion,” You better believe I’m honored to listen. What’s left of this world is his. If it involves a trade school, I’m just as proud and he knows it.
This is why I get woken up with a kiss on the forehead from him some days. And on others, the sound of my daughter getting ready to meet with her Mythology Club — no prodding to wake up, no “encouraging”, no forcing… just life’s passion, growing. And Im proud to be the cow manure that nourishes that independence. Their love and respect is my oxygen.
And, oh —