I'm reading a book right now called "Still Alice". It's about a woman who has Alzheimer's disease, and is slowly watching her mind stop working. Amazing book.
As any good book does, it's making me look at my life differently. As I watch my kids sleep each night, my mind tumbles over all the things that I love about them, the gifts they have, the challenges they face, all those things that make them a blessing to me. What if some chemical anomaly took place in my brain, and I looked at them without knowing they were mine? Would they be so amazing?
I've always said that there is an innate ability to love one's own child above all others. I realize that there are sometimes bonding issues, but I'm talking the general rule. We look at our child, and see the extraordinary. Although I've never adopted, I've seen this rule apply there as well, and I love my adopted 'nieces' like they'd been born of my best friend. I mean your child, the one who you parent each day. You look at them and see greatness. Their singing, or dancing, their ability to name every Cars character known to man. The way they can cartwheel, or whistle, or speak perfectly by the time they're three. Honor Roll each semester, science fair projects, riding a bike.
We also see greatness in their shortcomings. When they can't say their 'R's, or their 'S's. When they try to do hopscotch, but land on two feet each time, joyously bouncing along the chalk lines. We see potential in the stick drawings where the arms and legs extend from the tilted happy face, and in the overlapping colors of a finger painting.
There is something about it being 'your' child that makes all of this measure up to perfection.
But what if they were not your child? There are degrees of love. I love my nephews and nieces more than the neighbor kids, but less than my own. Sounds bad, but if I can't admit it, who can? I can look objectively at any child and see some wonderful things about them, but the closer they are to my family, the more I see those things.
I see the bad too, of course, but tempered with rose colored glasses. The glasses are pinker the nearer the child comes to my heart.
I remember sitting through one of the worst singers in the world (he was 5), and I mean I really had to hold back from covering my ears. When I turned, I should not have been surprised to see the glowing countenance of that child's parents, radiant with pride. Maybe it was pride that the child was on stage, not on account of singing ability? Lol!!
I fear that if I lose my mind one day, I will lose hold of the fact that these wondrous beings are my children, and that somehow I will find them less extraordinary. Heaven forbid.
In the meantime, I will spend each day reminding my kids of their greatness. I will extol their virtues and rejoice in their victories. I will purpose their defeats with experience and perseverance. And if that one day comes, when my mind is robbed of it's greatest success, I will be assured that my children will stand strong at my side, and tell me how wonderful I think they are.
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