I was reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman on my lunch hour today, and read, in a few sparse paragraphs, something that made my blood run cold. No, I’m not going to quote it, just talk about it.
Trust.
Katherine turns three on Sunday. She’s beginning to figure out more and more about the world, and be able to articulate what she’s figured out, but … she still trusts things. She trusts that the world is pretty safe, that people are good and kind, that her parents can and will protect her. She trusts that reality is here to amuse her, entertain her, make her happy and content and joyful.
If a group of people around her start laughing and applauding, even if she doesn’t understand why, she’ll do the same thing. Her face will light up in a great, big smile, and her hands will slap together, and she’ll even jump around. She sees others being happy, and she gets happiness from that, just in participating in their happiness, even if she doesn’t understand its source. And she sees that they’re happy at her happiness, so it’s all good.
I know that won’t last. The world isn’t there just to amuse and entertain her, to make her happy and content and joyful. Even now, she encounters bits of it that trouble her. She understands “No.” She runs into little kids who won’t just give her the ball because she wants it, or who tell her she can’t do something with them. Lessons, all the time. Sometimes it’s a lesson that I applaud, as it chips away at her naturally self-centered nature. Sometimes it’s a lesson that makes my heart sink, as it chips away at her effortless joy, her trust in others.
She’ll learn about pain. Not the pain that happens when you bump up against a wall, or want something you can’t get. But the pain that happens when someone is mean, thoughtless, cruel, manipulative, uncaring, intentionally hurtful. It happens. It will happen. It even has to happen. But it’s gutwrenching to see, and I know it will hurt her over and over and over again, no matter what I might do or want or accept.
And all I can hope is that enough of that childish wonderment, that joy, that trust that she has with her today, can tide her through those times. All I can hope is that Margie and I can teach her enough about love and caring. That we can teach her how, even if you can’t always trust others, you should always try to be someone who can be trusted yourself. That she won’t respond to the hard knocks, and hard people, of life with anger and hatred and hurtfulness herself. I can only hope that she’ll respond instead by trying to build happiness and contentment and trust around her, toward others. And that she’ll get as much joy from seeing others smile and clap then as she does now, only with an understanding of why.
Dave, you’ve wonderfully encapsulated my biggest fears and my biggest hopes for my own daughter.
We do the best we can, but so much is out of our hands–what happens to our kids in school–not just the teachers, but the social aspect of it; then there’s all the cultural influences that spill in throught music, tee vee, movies, books; we can’t control how their first serious love treats them; oh and let’s not talk about what their experiences are as they enter the world of work–oh, man, the list is endless.
And then … and then there’s the question of who we are, the whole nature versus nurture debate.
Have you read about twin research?
There’s a fascinating series of studies been done on twins who have been separated at birth and put up for adoption in different households. There was a great article about it in the New York Times Magazine some years back …
Despite being raised in completely different circumstances, many of the twins have grown up to become startlingly alike people–right down to choosing the same occupation, liking the same music and in one case even the same obscure brand of cigarettes. Yikes.
More of who we become may be hardwired in at birth than we imagine.
I’m not saying that that lets us off the hook as parents. It’s just that it’s an interesting mix. We try to do our best.
I’m sure your Katherine will grow up to be the woman you hope for–she’s being given a wonderful, loving, stable beginning right when she needs it. All kids should be that lucky.
Thanks.
I’m sure there’s a nice middle ground between the hubris that SHE’S ALL MINE, TO MOLD HER AS I WILL and Eh, it’s out of my hands, but damned if I know where it is. 🙂
Maybe I’ll just take up chain-smoking for the next couple of decades.
I recommend that you do everything possible to keep her from becoming a cynic. Manipulate the circumstances if you must. Hide or at least equivocate your own feelings about the world in which we live (something my own father did not do).
Once you’ve seen the man behind the curtain, it’s hard to believe in the Wizard.
Hmmm. Yeah. I want to be honest — I certainly don’t want to be a Pollyanna, because I think that’s ultimately discrediting and disllusioning, too. But “spin” is important (and need not be dishonest, either). Interesting.