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Parental Pride
I think it is part of human nature to want our families, particularly those who raised us, to be proud of our accomplishments. We are a reflection of their teachings, good and bad, and we hope the image we show the world is the positive accumulation of all these.
When it comes to specific parental figures, all I have to do is breath and they are proud of me. That's part of their unconditional love, though I know there have been certain things, like being a pre-school teacher, that has made them shine in my moments of their perceived glory. With Grandma it's been different.
Grandma, with the aid of Grandpa, pulled herself out of Appalachian stereotype, and into perceived elegance. It took a life time of hard work to present such a façade to the world, even though she dented it by ensuring my familiarity with the family rather they exemplified the type of life she wanted me to lead or not. Growing up with such conflicting images has given me greater understanding.
This is an exceptionally good thing for Grandma. I came into her life at a time when it was about to take off in a direction that she had always reached for. A house remodeled with a formal living room, and white carpet in the "spare" room was only the start as she began to choose her college classes. Then she had a baby sleeping in the bedroom with the white carpet, that eventually became a toddler who lost her gum way too close to the white couch in the formal living room. I ruined Grandma's life.
We both agreed on that, as well as the fact that she was lucky to have had her life ruined by the little girl who nursed her to recovery through back surgery only one year after losing Grandpa. It was a fine moment of understanding between us, and, I think, realization on her part. I always knew I had "ruined the lives" of several people, I just hadn't yet come to terms with what a blessing I also had become.
Don't get me wrong, my grandma loves me and loved me for as long as I can remember. Although she often complained about things like my weight or the kinds of people I chose to associate with, she also did things like make a princess costume for me after discovering that's what I'd really like to be for the school party in a few days. Always willing, and able, to create whatever I might need, Grandma did take great pride in her "little princess".
A few years ago Grandma began to show her age and, due to the conflicting ideology we were raised with, we attempted to care for her ourselves, which gave Grandma and I a great deal of time to talk. We had a lot to talk about. It's true, life hadn't been easy, but I was rather proud of having come through it, and though I knew I wasn't exactly what Grandma had hoped for, I felt that the care I had been giving her, and our increasing closeness had made an impression.
"Grandma," I said, "I know you wanted me to be a pageant queen or a dancer, but are you proud of me anyway?" Her response was, "There's still time. You could still do that, you know."
Just about a year later, I had started my own church and had just presented my first "sermon" on self-esteem. I had to overcome PTSD and sever social anxiety to accomplish this. Knowing Grandma's understanding of spirituality had changed in spite of her deep Christian faith, I foolishly questioned her again. "Grandma, I know it's not exactly the kind of church you grew up with, but I am pretty much a preacher. Does that make you proud of me?" I would have preferred her to just have said "No." instead of allowing the silence to grow so heavy before she responded, "I guess so."
Some people grow more sensitive with the difficulties they overcome, while others withdraw. If her father's behaviors and attitudes hadn't caused Grandma to emotionally shield herself, burying two children may have been the catalyst that caused her to dismiss most emotions. Unfortunately I am a very emotional person and was raised to sensitivity, both of myself and of others.
Last week Grandma was so excited to speak to me, I could almost see her bouncing in her seat. Although there was no end to her pride in my teaching, on which ever level from pre-school to Bible studies, she had purposefully turned her back on even the idea of becoming a teacher because of people in her past. Still, her mother was a teacher and still is a great source of pride for Grandma. Apparently she had recalled a few published articles Great-Grandma wrote, that had been completely forgotten. I am more like her mother than she previously realized.
It has only been within these past days that she has shown true excitement when I speak to her of my writing accomplishments. It occurred to me that the only reason for this is because Great-Grandma did it. Grandma's pride in me is more about me being more like her mother than she thought, and not at all about me personally. Yes, this hurt for a while, just as those other conversations hurt until recently.
Unlike Grandma, I am a Sensitive; I can pick up on what others feel, to the point where it can interfere with my life. Some people define this as "crazy" and I'm OK with that. In fact, my ability to be OK with how other people define me is one of my greatest points of pride, even more so than my writing or even my teaching. As a Sensitive, I have come to understand that society has cultured emotions in such a way as to distort their importance.
As much as I would like it, I do not need Grandma to be proud of me for being me, and the fight that that entails. I do not even need the rest of my parents to be proud of that, even though I am fortunate enough that most of the rest, even step-parents, not only understand what that really means, but are truly proud of what an accomplishment that is at this time of being. It is bitter-sweet to have at last achieved what I now understand I have been longing for these nearly 40 years.
It is nice to have parental pride, but it is not necessary. What is necessary is that, in spite of what I have learned through my familiars, and society in general, I have chosen personally to be this. I have chosen personally the path of being that I will follow, rather others understand it, or just claim to. I am even criticized and punished for these choices, but I stand proud in them because I have chosen what is right for me, not what someone else hopes or expects.
I do not need parental pride, but I want it. It helps on those days when I doubt myself. And on those days, no matter what period of life I have been in, I have been able to talk to Grandma. I know that she won't coat my world with sunshine that doesn't exist, but she will lift me up, because I am her "little princess" rather I'm "crazy" or not.
When it comes to specific parental figures, all I have to do is breath and they are proud of me. That's part of their unconditional love, though I know there have been certain things, like being a pre-school teacher, that has made them shine in my moments of their perceived glory. With Grandma it's been different.
Grandma, with the aid of Grandpa, pulled herself out of Appalachian stereotype, and into perceived elegance. It took a life time of hard work to present such a façade to the world, even though she dented it by ensuring my familiarity with the family rather they exemplified the type of life she wanted me to lead or not. Growing up with such conflicting images has given me greater understanding.
This is an exceptionally good thing for Grandma. I came into her life at a time when it was about to take off in a direction that she had always reached for. A house remodeled with a formal living room, and white carpet in the "spare" room was only the start as she began to choose her college classes. Then she had a baby sleeping in the bedroom with the white carpet, that eventually became a toddler who lost her gum way too close to the white couch in the formal living room. I ruined Grandma's life.
We both agreed on that, as well as the fact that she was lucky to have had her life ruined by the little girl who nursed her to recovery through back surgery only one year after losing Grandpa. It was a fine moment of understanding between us, and, I think, realization on her part. I always knew I had "ruined the lives" of several people, I just hadn't yet come to terms with what a blessing I also had become.
Don't get me wrong, my grandma loves me and loved me for as long as I can remember. Although she often complained about things like my weight or the kinds of people I chose to associate with, she also did things like make a princess costume for me after discovering that's what I'd really like to be for the school party in a few days. Always willing, and able, to create whatever I might need, Grandma did take great pride in her "little princess".
A few years ago Grandma began to show her age and, due to the conflicting ideology we were raised with, we attempted to care for her ourselves, which gave Grandma and I a great deal of time to talk. We had a lot to talk about. It's true, life hadn't been easy, but I was rather proud of having come through it, and though I knew I wasn't exactly what Grandma had hoped for, I felt that the care I had been giving her, and our increasing closeness had made an impression.
"Grandma," I said, "I know you wanted me to be a pageant queen or a dancer, but are you proud of me anyway?" Her response was, "There's still time. You could still do that, you know."
Just about a year later, I had started my own church and had just presented my first "sermon" on self-esteem. I had to overcome PTSD and sever social anxiety to accomplish this. Knowing Grandma's understanding of spirituality had changed in spite of her deep Christian faith, I foolishly questioned her again. "Grandma, I know it's not exactly the kind of church you grew up with, but I am pretty much a preacher. Does that make you proud of me?" I would have preferred her to just have said "No." instead of allowing the silence to grow so heavy before she responded, "I guess so."
Some people grow more sensitive with the difficulties they overcome, while others withdraw. If her father's behaviors and attitudes hadn't caused Grandma to emotionally shield herself, burying two children may have been the catalyst that caused her to dismiss most emotions. Unfortunately I am a very emotional person and was raised to sensitivity, both of myself and of others.
Last week Grandma was so excited to speak to me, I could almost see her bouncing in her seat. Although there was no end to her pride in my teaching, on which ever level from pre-school to Bible studies, she had purposefully turned her back on even the idea of becoming a teacher because of people in her past. Still, her mother was a teacher and still is a great source of pride for Grandma. Apparently she had recalled a few published articles Great-Grandma wrote, that had been completely forgotten. I am more like her mother than she previously realized.
It has only been within these past days that she has shown true excitement when I speak to her of my writing accomplishments. It occurred to me that the only reason for this is because Great-Grandma did it. Grandma's pride in me is more about me being more like her mother than she thought, and not at all about me personally. Yes, this hurt for a while, just as those other conversations hurt until recently.
Unlike Grandma, I am a Sensitive; I can pick up on what others feel, to the point where it can interfere with my life. Some people define this as "crazy" and I'm OK with that. In fact, my ability to be OK with how other people define me is one of my greatest points of pride, even more so than my writing or even my teaching. As a Sensitive, I have come to understand that society has cultured emotions in such a way as to distort their importance.
As much as I would like it, I do not need Grandma to be proud of me for being me, and the fight that that entails. I do not even need the rest of my parents to be proud of that, even though I am fortunate enough that most of the rest, even step-parents, not only understand what that really means, but are truly proud of what an accomplishment that is at this time of being. It is bitter-sweet to have at last achieved what I now understand I have been longing for these nearly 40 years.
It is nice to have parental pride, but it is not necessary. What is necessary is that, in spite of what I have learned through my familiars, and society in general, I have chosen personally to be this. I have chosen personally the path of being that I will follow, rather others understand it, or just claim to. I am even criticized and punished for these choices, but I stand proud in them because I have chosen what is right for me, not what someone else hopes or expects.
I do not need parental pride, but I want it. It helps on those days when I doubt myself. And on those days, no matter what period of life I have been in, I have been able to talk to Grandma. I know that she won't coat my world with sunshine that doesn't exist, but she will lift me up, because I am her "little princess" rather I'm "crazy" or not.