Story-Teller
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- Feb 22, 2009
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YOU MUST LET THEM FLY FREE
I was autographing books at one of those little rattan tables in the book department of a Midwestern department store when I found myself looking into the saddest eyes I had ever seen.
"The doctor wanted me to buy something that would make me laugh," she said.
I hesitated about signing the book. It would have taken corrective surgery to make that woman laugh. "Is it a big problem?" I asked.
(The whole line of people was eavesdropping.)
"Yes. My daughter is getting married." The line cheered. "Is she 12 or something?" "She's 24," said the woman, biting her lip. "And he's a wonderful man. It's just that she could have stayed home a few more years." The woman behind her looked wistful. "We've moved three times, and our son keeps finding us. Some women have all the luck.
" Isn't it curious how some mothers don't know when they've done a good job, or when it's basically finished? They figure the longer the kids hang around, the better parents they are. I guess it all depends on how you regard children in the first place. How do you regard yours?
Are they like an appliance? The more you have, the more status you command? They're under warranty to perform at your whim for the first 18 years, then when they start costing money; you get rid of them?
Are they like a used car? You maintain it for years, and when you're ready to sell it to someone else, you feel a great responsibility to keep it running or it reflects on you? (That's why some parents never let their children marry good friends.)
Are they like an endowment policy? You invest in them for 18 or 20 years, and then for the next 20 years, they return dividends that support you in your declining years or they suffer from terminal guilt?
Are they like a finely gilded mirror that reflects the image of their owner in every way? On the day the owner looks in and sees a flaw, a crack, a distortion, one tiny idea or attitude that is different from his own, he casts it aside and declares himself a failure.
I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you're both breathless ... they crash ... you add a longer tail ... they hit the rooftop ... you pluck them out of the spout. You patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly. Finally, they are airborne, but they need more string and you keep letting it out. With each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy because the kite becomes more distant, and somehow you know that it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you together and soar as it was meant to soar -- free and alone. Only then do you know that you did your job. ... Erma Bombeck
Submitted by Richard
I was autographing books at one of those little rattan tables in the book department of a Midwestern department store when I found myself looking into the saddest eyes I had ever seen.
"The doctor wanted me to buy something that would make me laugh," she said.
I hesitated about signing the book. It would have taken corrective surgery to make that woman laugh. "Is it a big problem?" I asked.
(The whole line of people was eavesdropping.)
"Yes. My daughter is getting married." The line cheered. "Is she 12 or something?" "She's 24," said the woman, biting her lip. "And he's a wonderful man. It's just that she could have stayed home a few more years." The woman behind her looked wistful. "We've moved three times, and our son keeps finding us. Some women have all the luck.
" Isn't it curious how some mothers don't know when they've done a good job, or when it's basically finished? They figure the longer the kids hang around, the better parents they are. I guess it all depends on how you regard children in the first place. How do you regard yours?
Are they like an appliance? The more you have, the more status you command? They're under warranty to perform at your whim for the first 18 years, then when they start costing money; you get rid of them?
Are they like a used car? You maintain it for years, and when you're ready to sell it to someone else, you feel a great responsibility to keep it running or it reflects on you? (That's why some parents never let their children marry good friends.)
Are they like an endowment policy? You invest in them for 18 or 20 years, and then for the next 20 years, they return dividends that support you in your declining years or they suffer from terminal guilt?
Are they like a finely gilded mirror that reflects the image of their owner in every way? On the day the owner looks in and sees a flaw, a crack, a distortion, one tiny idea or attitude that is different from his own, he casts it aside and declares himself a failure.
I see children as kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you're both breathless ... they crash ... you add a longer tail ... they hit the rooftop ... you pluck them out of the spout. You patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly. Finally, they are airborne, but they need more string and you keep letting it out. With each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy because the kite becomes more distant, and somehow you know that it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you together and soar as it was meant to soar -- free and alone. Only then do you know that you did your job. ... Erma Bombeck
Submitted by Richard
