If we only knew then...

Remember when our children asked our opinions — and took our advice? Better yet, remember when we just told them what to do? That was that — end of discussion: eat your peas, drink your milk, go to bed, wear a jacket, curfew at 11:00, no driving with friends, and don’t talk back. It was all so easy then, wasn’t it? Actually, I bet we all thought it was difficult at the time and it just seems easier in retrospect. As kids grow up, their issues grow accordingly. As they get older, we have to keep reminding ourselves that they aren’t kids anymore. They are adults — at least they are according to the laws governing our nation. However, this doesn’t mean that they act like adults or even think like adults. It certainly doesn’t mean that parents are ready to let go of parenting.

When the word “adult” is used as a noun, it means one who has attained maturity or legal age. When used as an adjective, it means fully developed and mature. Even the various definitions of this word are at odds with one another. One can be physically mature, and an adult according to the law, but just because one is fully developed biologically it doesn’t meant that he or she is emotionally mature. I know people in their 40s and 50s who haven’t matured emotionally yet, and probably never will. They are kids at heart. Peter Pans, if you will.

Currently, I have several friends struggling with some of the life choices their “kids” have made. One friend is heartbroken over her son’s choice to brand his skin — the skin she lovingly protected from sun and scars for many years — with tattoos. Another is upset about the careless way in which her daughter lives her life — as in one day at a time with no worries or plans for the future. Yet another friend is concerned about the wife his son is about to choose. I would guess that every one of these “kids” has told their parents that it’s their life, and that they’re happy. They’ve probably thrown their parents words right back at them, as in “you always told me you just wanted me to be happy. Well, I’m happy! Isn’t that what matters?” Hmmm...if they only knew now what we know now. Wait a minute. We didn’t know then what we know now. Or did we? Has life and the world changed so much that we actually had all the answers back when we were in our 20s? Or did we get the answers from our parents? Did we acknowledge that our parents were older, wiser and that we could learn from their experiences — and not have to experience everything firsthand? Some of us probably gave our parents the same pain in the hiney that our kids are giving us now. I guess it depends upon our age, our generation, and our parents.

Let me think back. Was my mother happy with everyone I dated? Not so much. Was she happy with the man I ultimately married? Hard to say, she didn’t weigh in, which means that no matter how much she adores my husband now (and she does), she probably had some valid reasons for concern back then. He was a lot older than I was, he had been married before, and had had young children. Yes, he had baggage, but so did I. Yet, my mother never said a word. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that my husband and I had a secret marriage ceremony and told no one in advance of our plans. We didn’t do this to silence any naysayer or to avoid the advice of loved ones — but I guess that’s how it worked out in the end. Thank goodness it worked out well. It’s not always a bed of roses, but it’s always the same bed no matter what — thorns and all.

My mother did steer me clear of some bad relationships, even if I didn’t want to hear (or believe), what she had to say back then. It was also my mother who insisted that I finish college instead of returning to Spain and Portugal to become whatever I thought I would become back then.

What if I had stayed in one of those bad relationships? What if I had returned to Spain and not finished my degree? Would I still be me? Yes, but I wouldn’t be the same me. I believe that we become who we are through our own life experiences. Would I be happy today or happier than I am now? I can’t answer this because I chose door number three, not door number one. My point is that even if I had been in a bad relationship for a long period of time, and even if I had gone to Spain, not finished college and made another life, I still wouldn’t have any regrets. At least not any valid regrets. How can I regret what I don’t know? I couldn’t know then that I was going to meet my husband — or that he would be ten years older, divorced with two young children, and that I would spend most of my life in Southern California behind the Orange Curtain. If I were counting regrets instead of living my life, perhaps I would focus (or obsess)on the fact that my husband had a vasectomy and we never had children together. I don't. The only time this issue ever hits my radar is when other people tell me that it should bother me. When this occurs, the only thing that bothers me is the people telling me what should bother me…as if they know. I always assumed I would have my own biological children, but that wasn’t behind door number three. Furthermore, I don’t know if it was behind door number one or door number two, because I didn’t choose those doors. I could play the “coulda woulda shoulda” game forever. We all could, but why should we? Moreover, why should we play it for our children? Will we still love them if they’re covered in tattoos? I guess it depends upon the tattoos, but probably yes. Will we still love them if they live their life for the moment and not for the future? I guess it depends on if we're financially supporting the moments — and still, the answer is probably yes. Will we still love our children if they marry someone we don’t think is the right mate…and if it ends up in a divorce? I guess it depends upon how stubborn we are, but yes, we will probably still love them and any of the grandchildren that come our way. We shouldn’t confuse disappointment with love. We shouldn’t live life in fear of disappointment. We shouldn’t expect others to agree with our definitions of love, disappointment or happiness.

It may seem as if I am taking the “kid’s” side. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I remember what it was like to be at the kid’s table — faced with these decisions, and feeling these emotions and desires. Perhaps I remember some of the doors I locked because someone else didn’t think that these were the right doors for me. Perhaps I remember doors that I opened just because someone told me not to open them. But maybe, just maybe, I have faith that whatever door we choose is the door we were meant to choose at that time, regardless of the consequences.

Please don’t think I’m advocating tattoos, eloping, or living life with no future plans. I’m not. I’m only remembering what it was like to be a “kid,”or more accurately, a young adult. I’m not saying that every marriage will turn out great. I don’t even know if I have a great marriage. I only know that it works for my husband and me, and that’s what matters. My main point is that even if we take a path that doesn’t get us where we want to be, or where we thought we were going, it doesn’t mean we took the wrong path...we just took a detour. Thank goodness for all my detours; they led indirectly to my husband and my boys. Hmmm? I guess in hindsight mother did know best about that degree, and Spain, and all those bad relationships. One of these days, I’ll have to tell her. I’m sure she doesn’t agree with the many detours I took, or all the doors I chose to open, or the many doors I chose to ignore. She does know that I’m happy, and this makes her happy. After all, she was only worried about my happiness and wellbeing. I know this now, as I worry about the happiness and wellbeing of my boys...biological or not. So, I wonder — if I knew then what I know now, would I still take the same detours? Would I open the same doors? Would I still choose to ignore doors two and three? What do you think?

Dedicated to me…for actually taking the time to think about the past for a moment, but only for a moment. Now, it’s time to cart some more trash out to the curb. The trash man cometh...

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta