Yesterday I watched the Superbowl.
This doesn’t sound like a big deal—me and millions of other Americans, right? Wrong. I have hated watching sports for most of my life. As a kid, I whined so much on Sundays that there was nothing to watch it’s a wonder I don’t recall upsetting my parents. In those pre-cable, pre-VCR days, Sunday TV was pure torture. I could never fathom the appeal of televised sports. I was an athlete, but TV sports were like canned peas, which I also detested. And football was the worst.
But now, I have William.
At eight years old, he is like a golden retriever puppy—all sweet and snuggly and playful. My older kids are more cerebral, and my younger daughter is all frills and dress-up, but William is 100% boy. He loves sports. It is 35 degrees outside, and he is out by himself, kicking a soccer ball in the air for hours. It is he who made my rule of “no ball in the living room” a distant memory—many broken picture frames later, I have come to see that playing ball is just him. He throws a paddleball against the stairs when it is raining and I actually don’t hear it anymore. And he loves watching football on TV.
So now I watch too.
I used to feel a wall between us, that I didn’t understand William intuitively. I felt that something was “wrong.” I had a really good read on my other kids but there were times when I just didn’t understand this child. And then I read something on a blog which changed me: be grateful that your children let you into their world.
This is a simple truth. Every person is unique, and there is no written law that your child has to expose their inner selves to you– even if you are the mom or dad. I carry this fact in my heart and advise others to cherish the same. To the extent that they lift their natural barriers and let you peer inside, your children give you a gift. This is no place for judging, evaluating, or opinions. It’s almost like visiting another country: not everyone does it my way. My children are their own people. I can learn a lot by listening.
I went to my son with this in mind. I asked him about football. And before my eyes, he drew back the curtains and let me see in. He told me all about what he liked, which fun things excited him—and I watched him in near rapture, captivated by his animation and sincerity. So what if I don’t like football? I like him, and he likes football. That makes it a joy for me too.
As my older kids become teenagers, I become more keenly aware of how fleeting the intimate connection between a parent and younger child truly is. Kids are actually not required to share with us every thing that goes on inside them, and they will reach a point where they might choose not to. I try to keep the communication lines open. When children allow us into their worlds—the world the way they see it—it is something to truly treasure.
I sat with my arm around William and watched the playoffs a few weeks ago. His excitement about the game was wonderful. This golden, beautiful boy, sharing this all with me! I was honored.
And yesterday, I watched the Superbowl. I had a great time.
Written by Estee L.
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Great article. Very insightful. Enjoyed reading it- it made me smile!
Thanks for the article. It’s making me think about appreciating my son more for who he is, and exploring that realm (his mind/way of being) that is so hard to understand. Great writing, too. Thanks!