Difficult Child

2022-06-25

"And then I tell myself - he didn’t ask to be here." An obedient son is an oxymoron. Each one of us has rebelled in our own ways in our youth, and have generally not been worse for it (though who’s to say?!). But each story has its variations. And parents have their own tales to tell. And as one myself, I have my tales - and travails! A life is a gift in so many ways. And much more when you see the gifts which come unasked for. And the giving to one’s child has a tender inevitability to it, which makes it both a duty as also an unburdening - it’s a relief to be able to pass on what one has garnered in...

"And then I tell myself -

he didn’t ask to be here."

An obedient son is an oxymoron. Each one of us has rebelled in our own ways in our youth, and have generally not been worse for it (though who’s to say?!). But each story has its variations. And parents have their own tales to tell. And as one myself, I have my tales - and travails!

A life is a gift in so many ways. And much more when you see the gifts which come unasked for. And the giving to one’s child has a tender inevitability to it, which makes it both a duty as also an unburdening - it’s a relief to be able to pass on what one has garnered in one’s life, for the simple alternative is to take it with oneself to one’s grave.

But the corollary which haunts is - why is this passage of rites so fraught?

But then I realise that I generalise, and there are so many imperceptible ways children learn - direct, osmosis, eavesdropping, whilst rebelling, whilst being rejected, when pushed away, when held close irrespective. Our relationship to our children is a lifelong work-in-progress, till the time (and even whilst) they start to tell us what to do.

Because there are no templates for care.

And then we understand the irony that we learn more as we seek to teach. And in that one realisation lies the light which then shines equally on both of us.

If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on children -