When all parties are taken into account, I am the oldest of nine children. I’ll give you a minute to let that sink-in here in the twenty-first century. My mom either completely raised, or played a significant role in raising six of those children. Like many first born children, I was certain that I got the raw deal. Christ, I was washing dishes at eight years old and she still cut meat for the youngest when he was fifteen. Tonight, I finally figured out why this happens.
My children love when I take them to play in the cul-de-sac adjacent to our street. They have a small group of friends there to ride bikes and play games. At the time of writing this, my oldest daughter is closer to seven than she is to six. My other two are four and “two an half” (as the youngest will insist I tell you). Tonight was different than their normal play.
There were new children, pretty close in age to my oldest and further away from their house than the others they normally play with. After they all had their fun in the cul-de-sac, they decided to head towards the home of the “new” children -out of the safety of the cul-de-sac, along our (very quiet, but still a street) street. I watched as my oldest grappled with the challenge of knowing she should stay on the sidewalk, but also longing to be in the mix of the friends and fun. She chose fun.
I own my part in creating the confusion. They are allowed to ride in the road in the cul-de-sac. She is even allowed to cross the street if I am watching and have given permission. But riding her bike down the road with her group of playmates? I’m not good with that! In my mind, she instantaneously became 6 months old again. I had to stop myself from freaking the f*** out, embarrassing her in her new relationship and damaging her faith in me forever. So I calmly called her over, explained my feelings and expectations for safety and sent her back down the sidewalk to join her friends.
As I turned around, my two year old was barreling towards me and right into the road- something she is not otherwise prone to doing. This time, I did freak the f*** out. Her response? “Jossie do it.”
So there it is folks- I will forever torture my first born daughter with a slow release of control, because there will always be her younger siblings watching her every move; growing up in hyper-drive so they can keep up with her. And since the others are growing up in hyper-drive, it will seem to her that I was “too hard” on her, or that I softened with age.
I always tell her, “what I do as a parent, I do out of love for my children. It won’t always be right, but it will be the best decision I could make with the resources I had at the time.”
