Giving Thanks To Our Children

As a teacher of T’ai Chi and the Alexander technique at the Manhattan Plaza Health Club, I have the opportunity to see the children of 43rd Street Kids Preschool pass by our room on their way to the pool. One day as I was instructing my class through their moving meditation, I noticed how easily their attention turned towards the sounds of little feet scampering down the hall. Welcoming this opportunity to deepen my students’ awareness, I asked them what drew their attention away from their own body towards the passing children. There were many interesting responses: “Their energy, their smiles, their bright eyes, their open faces...” “Yes”, I heard myself say, “they are full of life and very close to the source.”

Long before I became a parent, I sensed that there was something very special about young children that was often missing in grown-ups. So after many years as a professional who spent most of my time with fellow adults, I eagerly awaited the birth of my son. Like most pregnant women, I was filled with a sense of awe as my belly swelled with new life. “How can this be?” I wondered, “Where there was once nothing, there is something.” Despite all the latest scientific information, (and once I passed the nausea of the first trimester), I kept feeling the word “miracle” on my lips.

Since my son’s birth, almost four years ago now, that sense of awe and wonder has been challenged, dimmed, almost lost, found, lost and found again. How was I to know how difficult, how utterly exhausting and exasperating being a parent could be. But somehow I keep returning to a belief in the child’s innate goodness. By this I do not mean that a child will always be on “good” behavior. On the contrary, because children are so purely whole, so perfectly natural, we, as socialized adults, will find many of their behaviors irritating, embarrassing, sometimes infuriating, and just down right unacceptable. Even when I feel as if my child seems to be doing every thing in his power to make my day miserable, my heart still rejects the notion that young children manipulate or intentionally try to control adults.

I’ll never forget the desperation I felt when, at eight months, my son wouldn’t swallow the antibiotic that was prescribed for his ear infection. My well intentioned pediatrician, who I have since switched “comforted” me by saying “Oh yes, these types of children make it so hard for their parents,” as if my son were intentionally trying to make it difficult for us to facilitate his recuperation. Having been raised to listen to and respect authority figures, it was a tremendous challenge to put aside such comments.

Now as a parent of a very assertive, self-directed, expressive preschooler, I find myself in the process of helping my child learn to listen to authorities (teachers and parents alike.) Like many physical boys his age, my son is still learning to use his words instead of his hands when conflict arises. And if there’s a limit to be tested, he’ll find it and test it. I can see that cooperation with others is a skill, and like learning any skill, it takes time. In fact, sometimes it seems to be taking such a long time that I lose faith and I forget that everyone makes mistakes (children and grown-ups alike.) “Isn’t anyone perfect?” asks my child. I take a deep breath and answer, “No, not anyone. Not Mom, not Pop, not your teachers, not you, not anyone. We all make mistakes.”

Yes, children need to listen and learn from adults. After all, we have been living on this planet longer than our little ones. Yet for this very same reason, our accumulated years of being socialized adults, we are further away from our natural wholeness, and therefore have much to learn from our children.

I, for one, would feel impoverished if I let my son’s full range of emotion become something just to get through in order to get on with the rest of the day. Whenever I take the time to embrace his down-pour of tears and listen to his lion-like roars, I feel more in touch with my own potential to feel as deeply as his little heart feels.

Waving good-bye from the 43rd Street Kids play loft, my son, (forgetting to use his “inside” voice), yells across the room, “Mom, I love you. I’ll miss you. When you’re gone I’ll love you in my heart and in my mind.”

Not that this process is always so heart warming. Having come to regard myself as a calm and patient individual, I was taken aback at how many times I’ve lost my cool since becoming a parent. Thanks to my son, my patience has been tried again and again, offering me numerous opportunities to come face to face with my own anger, disappointments and frustrations.

To me, this is the gift of parenthood. To be continuously presented with opportunities to better understand myself. Not just a neatly constructed image of myself, but rather a full, living, breathing whole self. Thank you, children of 43rd Street Kids for breaking our concentration with the joyful sounds of your scampering feet. Thank you, Abraham, my son, for bringing me face to face with my darker side and helping me become whole again. Thanks to all children, for your lessons are our daily blessings.

by Deborah Gladstein

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