Saturday, May 10, 2008

The Torch has been Passed ... Happy Mothers Day!

To understand how to be a parent you must raise children yourself, a Chinese proverb once quipped. Usually we rebel about our overly concerned parents bugging us all the time about our whereabouts when we are on the height of having fun.

We hate them when they nag us when we become underachievers and become less of that what they hope us to be. All because they knew our potential and that we can do so much better. Their interruptions and judgmental opinions about what we wanted to do on our own just gets to our nerves and sometimes we wish they just shut up and give us a free hand.

I got this beautiful e-mail from a friend and I want to share it with you again... its something that explains why we are worry warts sometimes, especially our mothers...

"Is there a magic cut-off period when offspring ebcome accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in the hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stiches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry, they all go through this stage and then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "Their trying to find themselves. Don't worry in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

By the time I was 50, I was sick and tired of being vulnerable. I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I can do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments. My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's warm smile and her occasional, "You look pale. Are you alright? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime worry?

Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown?

Is concern a curse or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life.
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for three days, and no one answered I was worried."
I smiled a warm smile.

The torch has been passed!"

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