When do we snip them off? When do we know it's the right time? Is it a conscious effort? Or will we realize that the string has been tugged loose ONLY when the offspring leaves the nest?
It seems to me (and many others) that I am one dictator who holds the golden scissors, ready to snip snip snip, while the poor child clings on to my legs. All in the name of INDEPENDENCE (for him). Thank you for the apt title.
Look, I don't want him to be a wuss. I don't want him to cry and whine. I don't want to be wiping his arse at 40.
I want him to take care of himself. I want him to be independent. I want him to be confident.
I want.. I don't want.. Sigh.. What about what he wants or what he doesn't what? What if he is just not ready? What if I am pushing him, forcing him, dictator-ing him.. making the emotional distance between us unnecessarily wider?
Once, I met a funny lady who tells subtle, classy jokes. But she throws killer stares at her son. She silences his silly antics with one finger. (She didn't kill him lah) I thought she is a nicer person when she is not mom.
Whadyda know.. I . am . just . like . her . now. Ptoooi~
Ya ya.. 20 years later, he will know how much I had loved him to discipline him. Yada yada yada.
But what about now?
I want to be fun. I AM A FUN PERSON. You all know that....
I don't want to be saying, "Pick up your toys" every 1 hour.
I want to let him eat whatever he wants, wherever he goes.
Hell, I want to laugh when he farts at people's face!
But instead, I am a dictator!
*pout* An unhappy and unwilling one.
Anyhoo, whenever I am in doubt about my dictatorship, I read one of my favourite poems by Khalil Gibran.
It teaches me to be 'steady'
Here it is. Words in parenthesis are my thoughts:
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of Life longing for itself
They come through you but are not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you
You may give them your love but not your thoughts (THIS ONE SUSAH LEH!)
For they have their own thoughts
You may house their bodies but not their souls
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strike to be like them but seek them not to be like you (GASP!)
For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth
The archer sees the mark of the path of infinite and
He bends you with His might that his arrows may go swift and far
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness
For even as He loves the arrow that flies
So He loves also the bow that is stable.
I am the bow. I am stable. I need to be stable. (kenot be saujanjan as a parent, ok?)Steady..... steady.... ('Jajabing' talking. Remember that Starwars scene? Quick! Click 'comment' or X again! I am terkeluar tajuk again!)
6 comments:
your mother did well.
bet she didn't worry as much as you do. (but who knows, maybe in her own ways she did, like making sure you ate well, and and.. all those worries that moms our time normally worry about).
and you turn out good. in fact way too good.
so, don't worry too much.
nature will run its course.
as long as you are not putting your child in a box and feeding him through holes. he'll turn out psychologically balanced like you (hyiak hyaik hyak. couldn't resist that).. says the purple blob now taking form, from the messy juice from your pail.
and thanks for collecting every blob. it'll be hard to do without a leg or a ear.
*in straight jacket*
u make it sound like we are in Hogsworth.. where ears and legs can be left here and thee.
me likey.
NA.. this poem jau high class tit tit lak. hok yeh laa!!
i believe one thing about being a mom, the apron strings will always be there till our last breath. whether they r good or bad or happy or sad or young or old or lengjai or yeongsuisui. so, throw the golden scissors away...
... and let's go karaoke. (eh, it rhymes!)
GG
Go karaoke, eat satay
I wan to learn ballet
and play ukelele
Sekian.
i m in my late 40s (cham moe)... till today, i m still wearing the invisible apron.. mana boleh cut? as GG said, sampai nafsu terakhir first..
psst.. goolymama, between u and me, u wrote that poem? really u wrote it?
claire! Apa nafsu???? Nafas laa!
Apa poem? That one? Khalil Gibran maa.. I got say ma.. Not i write one..*scratch head*
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