Kids
We drove out to visit friends we haven't see in a long time. They are heads down in raising their children well, school, work (that they are glad to have) and life in general. We've missed them, they seem to have missed adult company - to include our friendship. Cheering, that all our friends seem to be decent, loving, responsible parents, and it shows in all of them having well behaved, intelligent offspring.
I pooped out last week because of the long days. Did not want to skip again, even though I had a very bad night, preferring them to feel as wanted as they are. Problem is, neither D nor I are kid people. Oh, we take each one as an individual, and on face value, knowing they deserve respect. But for more than a few minutes contact, the childness overtakes the particular personality in process, and they tire me (us) out. They elicit no anger in me, only a kind of stress, like holding down a conversation in another language. I can smile, and be kind, and get them to smile, even laugh, then I wear out and shut down and slide away.
Honestly, I never liked other children when I was a child, finding them erratic and threatening and unfathomable. I've always known I would not have any of my own. When I have taken care of young 'uns in the OR, although I am safe and thorough, and know how to make glove balloons with faces, there is no talent there. My nursing school peds instructor said much the same of me, that I did well, but should keep to being an adult nurse. I had no grounds for disagreement.
Much of this is because I never wanted to pass on my own parents' issues to another generation, which would certainly have happened when I was younger. Perhaps less so now, but still, I would be no child's ideal mum. I don't think my own parents really liked kids much, either. My father like roughhousing, but little else. My mother liked me until puberty hit, then lost all interest in knowing who I was becoming.
Thinking this week that only one close genetic relative ever consistently treated me lovingly. Aunt Evelyn had that touch with kids, and then enjoyed the adults that they turned into. In her, it was genuine, a gift she nurtured. She was a friend to me, and to my cousins I got to know while we were in Boston. Aunt Evelyn was my sanity reference point. I can never really be that to any child. Sad, yes, but I can't be her. So, I contain the spread of damage, which is all I can do.
Crabby and aching today. The arm that I evidently partially caught myself with in the fall, has declared itself above the general roar, or did last night as soon as I laid down to sleep. As these things do. Rattled to my bones, and feeling morbid.
I pooped out last week because of the long days. Did not want to skip again, even though I had a very bad night, preferring them to feel as wanted as they are. Problem is, neither D nor I are kid people. Oh, we take each one as an individual, and on face value, knowing they deserve respect. But for more than a few minutes contact, the childness overtakes the particular personality in process, and they tire me (us) out. They elicit no anger in me, only a kind of stress, like holding down a conversation in another language. I can smile, and be kind, and get them to smile, even laugh, then I wear out and shut down and slide away.
Honestly, I never liked other children when I was a child, finding them erratic and threatening and unfathomable. I've always known I would not have any of my own. When I have taken care of young 'uns in the OR, although I am safe and thorough, and know how to make glove balloons with faces, there is no talent there. My nursing school peds instructor said much the same of me, that I did well, but should keep to being an adult nurse. I had no grounds for disagreement.
Much of this is because I never wanted to pass on my own parents' issues to another generation, which would certainly have happened when I was younger. Perhaps less so now, but still, I would be no child's ideal mum. I don't think my own parents really liked kids much, either. My father like roughhousing, but little else. My mother liked me until puberty hit, then lost all interest in knowing who I was becoming.
Thinking this week that only one close genetic relative ever consistently treated me lovingly. Aunt Evelyn had that touch with kids, and then enjoyed the adults that they turned into. In her, it was genuine, a gift she nurtured. She was a friend to me, and to my cousins I got to know while we were in Boston. Aunt Evelyn was my sanity reference point. I can never really be that to any child. Sad, yes, but I can't be her. So, I contain the spread of damage, which is all I can do.
Crabby and aching today. The arm that I evidently partially caught myself with in the fall, has declared itself above the general roar, or did last night as soon as I laid down to sleep. As these things do. Rattled to my bones, and feeling morbid.
Posted by Zhoen on Saturday, March 27, 2010
5 comments:
You never know. I can picture you being a refuge someday, an aunt Evelyn to someone who needs to get out of her family and become herself.
Some people do have a gift for making kids feel at home and comfortable and happy. I don't have that. But there have been moments, I think, when I've been important to kids, just because I was different from most of the grownups they knew: took them seriously, talked to them the same way I did to adults.
Dale,
I'm certainly open to that. I hope I can be, at some point.
Your comments are so interesting. I had an Aunt Virginia. She was the one person in our very large family that could hug. It's so sad really. I was told from a young age, that I came from a family that preferred not to touch.
Everyone needs an Aunt Evelyn, no matter what their age. Don't restrict your caring to the children!
I talk to children as people.
It is sad now that so many are used to being told what to do all the time. So much so that they tell each other what to do.
They are not learning to think and use their minds.
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