Quinn - Parenting by Ikea and Becoming a Man (part 2)
Part two of my rambling on adulthood.
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Hopefully you understand how strenuous parenting can be. If you’re a parent reading this, you know this far better than I do. I describe how impossibly challenging parenting is so I can establish a backdrop for my main point. Parents themselves are human beings. Ultimately, they have no more insight into how life works or why we’re here or what difference anything makes than any other adult on this planet. Let us not forget that parents are children, too. Of course, that does not excuse parents from their calling to be parents. Whether or not a man or woman is ready to raise a kid, when they have one, they gain that responsibility. But they’re still people with struggles and strengths and desires and scars and quirks and everything else that makes people human. Like all humans, parents need to vent their thoughts and emotions from time to time.
Venting is an intimate thing. I understand gossip is wrong; that’s not what I’m talking about here. When a person is willing to pour out the burdens and stresses of their life in front of me, admitting their shortcomings and fears, celebrating their successes and joys, I know I have earned their trust and respect. This thought might be going out on a limb, but in my opinion, venting is done to someone the “venter,” if you will, sees as either equal to or better than themselves. That’s why venting is done to a mentor or friend, someone who the venter considers to be a person who can offer wisdom, encouragement, and support. To whom do you go when you’re overwhelmed by life, or when your heart is broken, or when you don’t know how to file taxes? I know exactly who I call when shit hits the fan: my parents. Yes, I also seek help from my friends, siblings, pastors, etc., but when I really need help, mom and dad are always my go-to support team.
What got me thinking about all of this was a simple email from my father I opened up an hour or so ago. He was sending me an article (which I still have yet to read, thanks to this digression) about the glory of God, a topic I will most likely write about in the near future. What he wrote in the body of the email nearly brought me to tears, despite it being only one sentence fragment:
“Interesting article as I continue to live with the faith that I believe…or struggle to believe.
Dad”
Wow. How incredibly blessed am I to have a father so trusting and loving enough to share this with me. You may accuse me of betraying my father’s trust by plastering this on the internet for all the world to see. I’d argue against that accusation; hopefully my father will not be bitter about me posting this. He’s an open guy and would more likely than not talk freely about his faith and accompanying struggles with anyone who might ask him. One might then wonder why, if he is so open, I would be so moved by this message. It’s because I’m his son.
Both my mom and dad have raised me with love from and through dependence on the Lord. Faith has been the foundation of my family. As I have grown, I have always brought my questions regarding faith to my parents, who have tried their best to give me sufficient answers. Far more importantly than answering my questions, they have lived as examples exemplifying what it means to be a Christian. The older I get, the more I realize my parents are just normal people. They’re not the superheroes I made them out to be as a grade schooler. They’re not the antagonists I saw them as when I was in middle school. They’re just average Christians trying to figure all this out. My father, when he wrote that email, admitted his own shortcoming as a human to me, his son. I didn’t ask for advice. I wasn’t seeking sympathy or empathy. He reached out to me. This is a venting, of sorts.
Now, I might just be reading too far into this, as I often do with a lot of things. I’m certain my father didn’t mean to instigate any of this when he composed this short letter, nor was he conscious of the significance his message holds to me. Even so, let me take this liberty to spell out my thoughts. My dad just acknowledged me as a man. By sending this email with that message, his intention was to share an article he found interesting and challenging to another human who would be equally interested and challenged by its contents. It’s not given as advice from father to son. It’s sent from one man to another in love, trust, and faith. Notice: he does not forsake his position as father. He still signs the email “Dad,” not Mike. I’m still just as much his son as ever. The change is more like the development from student to coworker, if I can use an analogy. My father is and always will be my superior, but something has been leveled. In some small, difficult-to-describe way, I have been promoted.
In a previous work, I wrote how the transition from childhood to adulthood is blurry. This entry is littered with similar ideas. Abandoning that just for now, I’d like to say the following: if there ever was a time I had to point to as the moment I became a man, I’d say it was at 11:07 this morning thanks to a short email. I love you, Dad. I love you too, Mom.
Son
......
Hopefully you understand how strenuous parenting can be. If you’re a parent reading this, you know this far better than I do. I describe how impossibly challenging parenting is so I can establish a backdrop for my main point. Parents themselves are human beings. Ultimately, they have no more insight into how life works or why we’re here or what difference anything makes than any other adult on this planet. Let us not forget that parents are children, too. Of course, that does not excuse parents from their calling to be parents. Whether or not a man or woman is ready to raise a kid, when they have one, they gain that responsibility. But they’re still people with struggles and strengths and desires and scars and quirks and everything else that makes people human. Like all humans, parents need to vent their thoughts and emotions from time to time.
Venting is an intimate thing. I understand gossip is wrong; that’s not what I’m talking about here. When a person is willing to pour out the burdens and stresses of their life in front of me, admitting their shortcomings and fears, celebrating their successes and joys, I know I have earned their trust and respect. This thought might be going out on a limb, but in my opinion, venting is done to someone the “venter,” if you will, sees as either equal to or better than themselves. That’s why venting is done to a mentor or friend, someone who the venter considers to be a person who can offer wisdom, encouragement, and support. To whom do you go when you’re overwhelmed by life, or when your heart is broken, or when you don’t know how to file taxes? I know exactly who I call when shit hits the fan: my parents. Yes, I also seek help from my friends, siblings, pastors, etc., but when I really need help, mom and dad are always my go-to support team.
What got me thinking about all of this was a simple email from my father I opened up an hour or so ago. He was sending me an article (which I still have yet to read, thanks to this digression) about the glory of God, a topic I will most likely write about in the near future. What he wrote in the body of the email nearly brought me to tears, despite it being only one sentence fragment:
“Interesting article as I continue to live with the faith that I believe…or struggle to believe.
Dad”
Wow. How incredibly blessed am I to have a father so trusting and loving enough to share this with me. You may accuse me of betraying my father’s trust by plastering this on the internet for all the world to see. I’d argue against that accusation; hopefully my father will not be bitter about me posting this. He’s an open guy and would more likely than not talk freely about his faith and accompanying struggles with anyone who might ask him. One might then wonder why, if he is so open, I would be so moved by this message. It’s because I’m his son.
Both my mom and dad have raised me with love from and through dependence on the Lord. Faith has been the foundation of my family. As I have grown, I have always brought my questions regarding faith to my parents, who have tried their best to give me sufficient answers. Far more importantly than answering my questions, they have lived as examples exemplifying what it means to be a Christian. The older I get, the more I realize my parents are just normal people. They’re not the superheroes I made them out to be as a grade schooler. They’re not the antagonists I saw them as when I was in middle school. They’re just average Christians trying to figure all this out. My father, when he wrote that email, admitted his own shortcoming as a human to me, his son. I didn’t ask for advice. I wasn’t seeking sympathy or empathy. He reached out to me. This is a venting, of sorts.
Now, I might just be reading too far into this, as I often do with a lot of things. I’m certain my father didn’t mean to instigate any of this when he composed this short letter, nor was he conscious of the significance his message holds to me. Even so, let me take this liberty to spell out my thoughts. My dad just acknowledged me as a man. By sending this email with that message, his intention was to share an article he found interesting and challenging to another human who would be equally interested and challenged by its contents. It’s not given as advice from father to son. It’s sent from one man to another in love, trust, and faith. Notice: he does not forsake his position as father. He still signs the email “Dad,” not Mike. I’m still just as much his son as ever. The change is more like the development from student to coworker, if I can use an analogy. My father is and always will be my superior, but something has been leveled. In some small, difficult-to-describe way, I have been promoted.
In a previous work, I wrote how the transition from childhood to adulthood is blurry. This entry is littered with similar ideas. Abandoning that just for now, I’d like to say the following: if there ever was a time I had to point to as the moment I became a man, I’d say it was at 11:07 this morning thanks to a short email. I love you, Dad. I love you too, Mom.
Son
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