Talks with the Mirror

Only Seventeeeen: Parenting

2020

What kind of parent do you think you'll be? Or perhaps are - depending on what kind of audience this book is attracting.

I feel like everyone takes a look at the job their parents did and then pick-and-choose what they see fit for their own child, and vow to never do the things they believe to have been detrimental to their relationship with them.

I, for one, am one of those who has already made a list of what to take with me from my home experience and what to leave behind. My parents, as much as I love them, are not perfect people. I am sure I won't be anywhere near perfect with my kids either, but there are certain things that I will always keep in mind to avoid.

When your kid is being vulnerable with you, do not be condescending to their feelings just because they aren't yours. Youth is not an excuse for something not to be bothersome. It is in those moments where your kid comes to you in confidence, that you are supposed to be their judgement-free anchor. The single first time you tell them that what bothers them doesn't matter is the last time they will approach you with anything they believed you would care to help with.

Being hot-and-cold makes for short-lived romances. Being hot-and-cold makes it so your kid develops trust issues with everyone they come to meet. They don't believe that anyone can mean good because at the next minute they will be abandoned. When a parent does this, sometimes they don't mean any ill. Could be a bad day at work, some financial struggle, failed relationships. But, as a kid, you don't know that. All you feel is rejected by someone you thought would always love you, and you start to connect the dots that sometimes it's better not to even begin to think that someone will stay around. You stop letting people in because you don't have the energy for the temporary nature of links.

Those were the things that marked me the most negatively in my youth. Some of this my parents have fixed on themselves through the years, which taught me to believe in growth, but the scar is one I still work on daily.

Despite the imperfections, my parents did me a world of good, each in their own way:

My mother taught me a lot about discipline. I was a kid without stitches. Some call it a youth spent being too preserved, but I see it as careful parenting. I did not put myself on the line, and whenever mistakes were made that landed me in the hot-spot, I was able to maneuver myself out of it through logic (this also means I was an okay liar for a kid).

She taught me about being giving. No matter the status of the person, she would never hesitate to help. Sometimes she helped a bit too much and outstretched herself for someone who would never come to repay her, but the payback was never on her mind. That puzzled me as a kid. I always saw an eye for an eye. People gave money, they got an item. People gave an item, they got money. People worked, they earned money. People wronged, they got punished. But when it came to my mother, most times it was just giving. She never expected anything, just believed in the good she was doing. That was a habit I sponged and have continued to do in the most unexpected situations.

My father taught me about strength. Up to the point where him and my mother got back together, I had always depended on my mom. I saw her as my safe place. Somehow, in the middle of the talks with him, he taught me the importance of learning to be self-sufficient. Hearing his stories of going out on his own to a whole new continent to study and build a life in different places, taking jobs that were out of his comfort-zone and learning to do them well. His stories inspire me to this day to be a do-all kind of person. Not specialized in a single trade, but rather a jack that learns from everything and carries themselves through.

He taught me about pride. Being proud of who one is when moments seem to drag you down. Back in his day, he was perhaps one of the only black people in Iceland at a time when people weren't always that accepting. Racism was more transparent, and he stood out. That did not make him cross the ocean back to his home to fit in. He stayed. He grew. He learned. He persevered. That was an important thing for me to see as I came in as the different-looking outsider who would, of course, stand out in between the cliques of white, blue-eyed, blondes. Learning that just because I look different, it doesn't mean I can't belong. Learning that just because I may feel uncomfortable, it doesn't mean the feeling will stay for long. Learning to know that I am worth the Earth I stand on just as much as the next guy.

What both of them taught me that marked me the most is Acceptance.

Because they love me, there is nothing I could do to make them stop. I am their daughter and whatever is part of me is a part of what they love. When, as young girl, I decided to play a mainly male sport, they supported me all the way. My mom got me into classes and my dad is my best cheerleader. When I rejected feminine clothes and behaviors, they did not care the least. My mother helps me buy what I'm comfortable in and my dad always supports my boy-ish clothing decisions. When I revealed my feelings towards gods and entities, though against it, they did not judge. Tattoos? Sure! Get all the ones you want. Changing study field? Knock yourself out! Find your passion. They love me so much that they do not stand in the way of anything that makes me happy.

When I came out as a lesbian, it was the scariest experience I ever had. I prepared myself for judgment, disbelief, criticism, maybe even abandonment. Instead I was met with a "I knew it!!!" from my dad, and a "you could still marry a female doctor" from my mom. Their love didn't budge no matter how many controversial things about me I threw at them. 

It wasn't a test, but they still passed with flying colors.

When I grow up and have a child of my own, I can only hope I'll be even half of what they were to me.