My mother gave me many gifts as I was growing up. No, not material things; there was very little money for that in our household. But rather, lasting gifts that have helped shape and mold me into the person I have become.
She gave me the love of reading, for example. The fun of diving into a really good book and getting lost for ten minutes or two hours has been a lifelong joy. She also instilled within me the marvelous ability to laugh at myself and not only share in a joke at my expense, but be the first to share it with others. It was a pretty amazing skill to possess when I was an awkward teenager.
She also taught me that material possessions are transient and that I should hold onto them loosely. Those beautiful things that I treasure, collect, and admire are only within my possession until I am victim of a devastating fire, a robbery, financial ruin, or any other potential life loss. I witnessed her many times give away a dish or a piece of furniture or anything else that she thought someone else might enjoy. She knew she was merely a custodian of those things, not life owner.
The phrase that rings in my memory is one that I heard many times throughout my childhood. Whenever I would drop a dish or glass and stand watching in horror as it shattered at my feet (and it happened often, for I was a clumsy child), she would simply say, “It’s OK, honey, that dish is not more important than you are. It’s just a dish. It can be replaced. You cannot.” In hindsight, I do not ever remember her actually replacing any of the countless things broken by my hand. I suppose the funds were never quite there with four children to care for.
But she never complained and never, ever flung my clumsy deeds into my face at a later date when her frustrations were surely boiling over with yet one less dish, or glass, or vase in the cupboard (I was very clumsy). Oh, she would occasionally try to reconstruct a china teacup or porcelain plate with the ever-handy Super Glue, but they never look quite the same, do they? Even if the edges go neatly back together, you always have that dark line where the new seam is. It somehow takes away from the perfect beauty it had once held.
I mention my butter-finger past because that is the image that invades my mind when I consider my students locked in a custody battle. They have a mother and they have a father, but they no longer have a mother and father. It is now he and she, or rather he against she or she against he. Usually it is he and she against each other.
I have a sweet six-year-old who is turning seven tomorrow. He is PUMPED. He has mentioned his birthday thirteen times a day for a month. He knows our classroom traditions and has made sure they will be in place for his big day. I absolutely adore the unashamed demanding of specialty status that children expect on their birthday. For one day a year, they are the sole center of attention. They will not be denied their very brief moment of glory. They should not have to be denied it. The celebration of Life is something to be revered.
My husband, who is Logic itself, has said countless times, “It’s just another day of the year.” I’m sorry, dearie, it is not just another day. Life is precious and finding a reason to recognize that fact is nearly holy, I feel. I love birthdays. You have my permission to lavish adoration on me when mine rolls around.
Here is where things have gotten sticky for Mr. Birthday. Things are a mess between mom and dad. I will not lay out details here, for they are irrelevant, and frankly, none of your business. I will suffice it to say that I only hope my Birthday Boy has a great day tomorrow. It could be a day of disappointment or trauma for him. I really hope it is the day of his dreams.
So for all the divorced parents out there locked in a custody nightmare, I have just a few things I would like to address as a teacher.
First of all, I have not walked in your shoes, therefore I do not judge you. I cannot pretend to know how you feel or what frustrations you face everyday. I DO know that you love your child. I have no doubt about that. I am sorry for your heartache, fears, and frustrations. I cannot imagine not getting to see my children each and every day. I simply cannot imagine it…
That said, here is my list of things I would like for you to consider as you walk this rocky path:
1. Remember that each child is “hard-wired” to love both their mother and their father. No matter how awful you feel your ex is, your child merely wants the love and unconditional acceptance of both of you. He or she cannot help it, anymore than they can help the need to take a breath every few seconds.
2. Please, please (please!) do not share your frustrations over your ex with your children. It will do zero good for you, them, or anyone else. Your child is not equipped to emotionally handle your baggage. It will only leave your child stressed and fearful.
3. Try to find something good about your ex to recognize. If you cannot find even one small positive trait, then at least don’t disparage the other. Your child will feel the need to defend that parent, and that is not their job. Their job is to navigate the choppy waters of youth secure in the love of both of their parents.
4. Please work together for special days (holidays, birthdays, etc.) in order to create those golden memories that every child deserves. Sometimes it just ISN’T about you or your need to “win.” Let peace reign for a while.
5. Don’t rob them of their childhood. Let them be kids and not miniature adults. Leave the fretting, anger, and manipulating to the adults. A teacher should not ever have to hear a child tearfully confess that they feel unsafe or are afraid that custody will go one way or another. Time with each parent should be joyful, anticipated, and a safe harbor.
This issue is hard for me, people. Children are so incredibly precious. Given the proper conditions and environment for thriving, they will flourish and rise to their very best potential. You know me well enough by now to know that I will always advocate for the child. The happiness and welfare of adults is of less importance to me.
I see these children with broken hearts much as I viewed the broken pieces of porcelain that used to lie at my feet when I myself was a child. There are no “do-overs.” When once their spirits are crushed and their hearts in shambles, all the Super Glue of the world won’t make things as they once were. I am not judging. I am merely making a teacher’s observation. There are no easy answers or quick fixes to the complex issues that wrap tentacles around broken trust or lives betrayed.
But the children….
The precious, sad children…
To the children I say, “Nothing is more important than you. You are irreplaceable. And if and when your parents get things figured out, or if they never do, just know that you have never, at any time, been unloved. Be brave, be strong, and most of all, be a kid.”
To my Mother, thanks for making me feel irreplaceable and loved.
In a perfect world, every other parent would do the same…
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