I’m sculpting an image of you
molding and twisting clay into your likeness.
You emerge from mud as a miniature relief
and I sigh that I remember your face at all.
I’m sculpting you, creating who I wish you were
You emerge determined to be yourself,
no matter my intentions.
In the end, clay is inadequate for both of us.
So many mothers:
mine with her great gardening gams
independent and active, just like always,
and I with my empty nest
working, writing, studying and more.
Busyness channeled in different directions,
but independent.
I always said, “I’m raising independent children,”
like my mom
I did my job.
Far away my children lead their independent lives
and only rarely feel the need to call home to update us
on the latest news.
Other mothers,
keep their chicks under their skirts,
want to be involved in every aspect of their lives,
with weekly dinners, frequent phone calls,
dependent interconnectiveness whatever their ages.
‘Not better,
not worse,
Just different’
like the exchange student mantra.
Family is the place you begin.
Family is where they have to take you in.
Family is many things
and there are many mothers.
The nest is empty
and without the chicks holding them together
some birds fly in different directions.
Job done.
So sad,
for others find the absence of young
brings far more joy in one another
than they could find while struggling
to satisfy the demands of youth.
The empty nest is the next gentle chapter
where romance can thrive again,
when laughing songs of
swooping lovers twitter through
the afternoon air and soft whispers
fill the nights.
As they approach
your relaxed droop stiffens
your body tightens
each cell constricting.
You’re too old for
oppositional defiance
yet you shiver with it.
“Myself!” I hear your
two year old self echoing
through the decades. “No!”
But look,
this is a time of change,
and nothing changes without effort.
You have experts at your fingertips
and you refuse support and aid
because
Why, exactly?
You were so ready to fly,
and you’ve gone so far,
but now you’re quivering beneath the nest
while the parents flap about squawking
about winter migration,
and that cat on the porch.
You heedlessly tuck you head
beneath your wing
to nap.
You toddle over,
your two tooth grin wide.
When tapped
upon your button nose
you burst with
belly laughs.
.
.
I met Iona today. Iona is little, and doesn’t speak yet, but she oozes personality!
What you wanted to be
Everything you wanted to see
Was it you who lied?
Or was it me?
What dreams did you hide
in the tears you cried?
Was it you who lied?
Or was it me?
When your mother sighed
When your father denied
When you tried to foresee
Was it you who lied?
or was it me?
Were we lacking in pride?
Why could you not confide?
We simply could not see
so was it you who lied?
or was it me?
He said
his mother was dead,
because the gulf
between them
was wide with guilt
and jumping it
was beyond
their capability.
She said
her son was lost
because his choices
marooned him
on an island of his own making
and would not let
anyone in.
They said
their journeys
were in opposite directions
but eventually,
on the other side of the world,
they’re bound to intersect.
You
were the stranger in the house
the sullen face across the table.
You
were the accuser in the house
certain of your imaginary world.
You
were the lost in the house
confused by our reality.
You
were in the house,
but we did not reach
You.
On a non-stop eight hour drive,
we paused for fuel.
“What?” you asked
As you intercepted smirks
passed over your head,
when you climbed into the back seat
after the gas station bathroom break.
“Nothing,” we said, as we pulled
back onto the highway.
Even though your sister had been
traumatized when I left her
standing in the driveway as we tore off to the bus stop
that time,
while you waved at her from the back seat
and waited for me to notice,
this time
when your dad slammed the car door,
buckled up,
and drove away,
destination in his mind,
she was the one who said,
“Missing anyone?”
so when you climbed into the car,
you never even knew
you’d ever been left behind.
Shawn L. Bird 
drain kids August 14, 2012
Tags: children, drain, grown, independence, kids, parenting, support, twenties
I’m thinking about grown kids and pondering some things I’ve been noticing lately.
First, it seems that a lot of twenty-somethings these days seem to expect that their parents should still be supporting them financially (and the odd estranged spouse who thinks the OTHER spouse should be supporting adult kids who have been poisoned against them). I’m kind of baffled by this concept. It seems to me that if you are no longer living at home, if you are healthy, if you are in school, or if you are in a couple, you are definitely old enough to be responsible for yourself. I observe many who seem to think they’re entitled to a nice house, a nice car, an expensive education, and a large entertainment budget, and that their parents should still be footing the bill for this.
Really?
When do they plan to grow up and be responsible for themselves?
I was married at 21. Our wedding budget was $1000. We went to school, scrimped, shopped at thrift stores, had babies, and we never moved back in with our parents. We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, or even vacations for many years. We visited our parents. Now, our parents definitely tried to help us out. They would always send us home with groceries, baking, canned goods, and even clothing. But we never would have imagined monthly financial support from them. They didn’t even help with tuition unless we were paying them back (which we did promptly).
We still earned degrees, bought progressively bigger houses, and eventually went on vacations. I know it’s possible to do this even now, and know young couples who have a mature and responsible view to their independence.
The drain children alarm me. I feel particularly for their parents, who are being manipulated by kids who won’t talk to them if they’re not forking over cash. At the same time, I recognise that parents often like to help their kids and feel good to know they’re giving them a leg up. When those kids are ungrateful, malicious, or obnoxious, I don’t think there is anything wrong with letting them live with the logical consequences and to earn their way. When they’ve been supported, helped, loved and encouraged their whole lives and then are horrible to their parents, I think that is a sign of immaturity that requires some time and distance. At some point they have to learn what mutual respect looks like. I’ve heard the, “but then I’ll lose them” argument and I wonder at what point we let our kids make their own choices? It’s like that poster from the 70s,
They can leave, and they can come back when they’ve matured a bit and learned to be responsible for their own decisions and budget. (Or more likely, when they need grandparents to help babysit.) We do the best we can as parents, but we have to let them go at some point! They have to be free to make mistakes so they can grow. They have to be pushed out of the nest even if they sit on the ground peeping frantically, convinced they can’t do it. We have to force them to learn to use their wings, or they’ll never fly.
What do you think? Are you a 20-something? Are you supported by your parents? Are you a parent? Are your kids a drain?
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