I call my youngest son, “my child”
Boy #2 gets called, “the tall one”
Boy #1 gets called, “the eldest”
He, who preens and screams for attention, but is reticent.
He, who is unforgettable, stoic, my tall child, a silent comedian
who likes to stand behind others until they notice his shadow.
He, social butterfly, can’t stop talking, is never home,
but wants me to wait for him at home.
She, who is too young to be anything other than,
precious with a wicked sense of humor.
My eldest child
The tall one
How is that I
have created these creatures,
not alone of course but
with such strong
everything about them?
I wonder what life would have been like
for them without me.
I’m speaking from a place of…
(I am flawed, I am human,
I am broken and mending)
I mean who would they be
had they not had at least one
mentally ill parent in their house?
Is it pride that wants my children
to be greater than the sum of their
defective and flawed parents?
Shouldn’t the definition of the word parent
be closer to the definition of the word magnanimity?
A parent should strive for their children
to be better than we are
sacrificing self to provide for the
helpless hopeful children
who crave to be taught
to be good, honest, worthwhile humans
My eldest child
He, who loves to ride fast and
roar at the same time.
The tall one
He, born in the caul, is an only child with three siblings and
never should have been put in daycare.
He who thrived in daycare but
has the morals of a Machiavellian prince.
Has chosen to walk, finally,
but will speak more when it suits her.
Someone asked me once, why I watched my children so closely?
They are beautiful creatures, wonderful, brilliant, joyful
(As they whooped and slid on their knees
across the marble floor underneath the
cafeteria tables in
the austere monastery we were visiting.
I was mort-i-fied at the time.
I was becoming undone.
I could have died from the shame of
having such badly behaved children.
It must have shown on my face.
A monk came up to me and called them joyful
and said not to worry.)
I have such respect for monks, priests and nuns,
ask me about it sometime, but I digress…
They are a marvel that they arrive,
the little sponges,
with such a vitality to them
gifted artists, musicians, verbal and observant all.
I did not realize all parents weren’t so mesmerized by their children.
I watched my eldest, because he was a runner,
who was secure enough at two years of age to run from me,
while laughing and stand on the edge of the island.
A sheer drop off into the Great Lake as the choppy waves played catch
with him and the plastic bottle he would throw in and retrieve.
He could not swim well. I can not swim well.
Terror. I felt terror.
This was the second incident where
I had to give one of my infants to a stranger to hold,
my husband was not there, or didn’t notice, and
RUN full speed to my wild child and
calmly coax him from the edge of the world.
My tall child, I watched because he was so different.
After being teased and taunted for hours by the eldest,
he would roar, “I’M ANGRY!”
I would offer him a hug and the world would stop being so cruel.
He is my only child who would ask for exactly what he wanted,
never frivolous things, but when he would actually ask,
I would try to give him what he wanted.
The other two boys liked trinkets and little things,
but my tall one is specific.
At age five, he wanted red glasses.
He looked brilliant.
He was happy.
I watch my youngest boy child in dismay.
My child was born shmoozing teachers young and old at age three.
“Mith Kat, you look nithe today,
your earrings look nithe with your necklath,” he lisped.
They broke the mold on this one.
He would give hugs and hold on to inappropriate body parts,
as if he didn’t know groping was wrong.
This child is brilliant, he can sell water to a shark and
have the shark come back for more water the following week.
Please God, let him use his powers for good not evil.
This child is also a tree climber.
If I couldn’t find him in the house as a child,
he was up a ten to twenty foot tree.
“Do you realize your child is at the top of that
fifty foot tree across the square?”
a panicked parent informed me.
“Yes, I watched him climb it.
Why do you think he’s wearing a red shirt?
So I can see him from miles away.”
“Aren’t you worried that he will fall?”
they asked me incredulously.
“Shouldn’t you go get him?”
“Nooo, I can’t climb that tree -it wouldn’t hold my weight,
he’s a good climber and it’s a pine tree,
he will hit at least thirty branches before he hits the ground.
If it were an oak tree, I would talk him down.”
They stared at me as if I was insane,
shook their head and walked away.
This parent obviously only has one unadventurous child
who follows instructions and never plays in trees
or the mud without asking permission.
As a mother of three boys,
you stop flinching over
what seems to be danger to everyone else.
She made it clear to me the other day,
that I was the one who didn’t understand her.
Her exclamations of joy and mimicry of animal noises
don’t count in the realm of developmental standards and disabilities.
She has epilepsy. I watch her closely to see what her seizure triggers are.
I fear that she will have a seizure in a day care class and no one will notice.
There are so many types of seizures and she seems to have had them all.
Partial complex, Petit Mal, Grand Mal.
MAGNANIMITY, n. [L. magnanimitas; magnus, great, and animus, mind.] Greatness of mind; that elevation or dignity of soul, which encounters danger and trouble with tranquility and firmness, which raises the possessor above revenge, and makes him delight in acts of benevolence, which makes him disdain injustice and meanness, and prompts him to sacrifice personal ease, interest and safety for the accomplishment of useful and noble objects.
For other uses, see Parent (disambiguation).
A parent is a caretaker of the offspring in their own species. In humans, a parent is of a child (where “child” refers to offspring, not necessarily age). A biological parent consists of a person whose gamete resulted in a child, a male through the sperm, and a female through the ovum. Parents are first-degree relatives and have 50% genetic overlap. A female can also become a parent through surrogacy. However, some parents may not be biologically related to their children. An adoptive parent is one who nurtures and raises the offspring of the biological parents but is not actually biologically related to the child. Children without adoptive parents can be raised by their grandparents or other family members.
A parent can also be elaborated as an ancestor removed one generation. With recent medical advances, it is possible to have more than two biological parents.
The most common types of parents are mothers, fathers, and grandparents. A mother is “a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.”
2 thoughts on “Five parts on the subject of children”
Wonderful poem and wonderful observations. My series about my kids is ongoing:
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very addictive. Nice observations.
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