Like a host of other parents this spring, I have a child wrapping up his last year of school. (Our end-of-year festivities will look a bit different from most, as he’s been homeschooled since the first grade, but my son has been educated all the same.)
A dog-eared photo of him actually lives on the side of our fridge. It’s been there forever, this wallet-size keepsake of my son at eight months old, sporting jeans and a white shirt and showcasing a toothless grin. Usually I don’t notice it, too preoccupied straightening the surrounding magnets or ignoring it altogether as I pass through the kitchen in a rush. But with this very boy turning 18 in a couple of months, suddenly that grease-specked picture has become everything— it, and the countless other snapshots I’ve captured in desperate efforts to chronicle his whole life.
As this portion of my son’s story wraps up, it seems like the part of my brain overseeing memory function is trapped in a relentless loop. In one moment, I’m recalling my son at three years old, celebrating his birthday Hawaiian-style with a lei circling his neck and wearing Elmo swimming trunks, and in the next, he’s 15, nervously learning how to drive behind the wheel of our Dodge Caravan. My thoughts have been all over the place, wondering how this kid’s life will unfold and if I have done enough as his mom.
More than anything I’ve attempted to instill in him, though, I’m hopeful my child sees—anytime he looks back and wonders what on earth I was thinking—that every choice, big or small, stemmed from a place of love.
Because I know there are some things he will question. No doubt, he’s going to wonder why I always insisted on a buzz cut when he was a kid and why we went to church every week. He’s going to question why I refused to let him have a cell phone when everyone else was getting one and why I was unflinching in my efforts to govern all he watched and listened to. He’s going to wonder about the little things, like why I made tater tot casserole just about every week (one of those more affordable meals that definitely was not his favorite), and the big things, like why I decided to homeschool him in the first place.
It’s only natural he’s going to question the various decisions his parents made that got him where he is today.
As moms and dads, God has truly entrusted us with so much. When our children are born, it’s on us—from prepping bottles to inspecting for every potential choking hazard—to literally keep them alive. Then, as they grow, it’s our job to keep them from going too far, until, eventually, we’re compelled to show them how far they can go. (As I’ve watched my own teenager take on part-time work and buy his first car, his determination has only encouraged me.)
Let’s face it: we’re imperfect people charged with making gigantic decisions that affect those we love the most.
As our grown kids look back, may all parties recognize that—ideally—we did our best. Though not all of our decisions as parents will be understood, love was at the heart of every one.
What foundation could be better than that?
A resident of McDonough County, Erin Eddy lives in Macomb with her husband, Mike, their five boys, and two zealous Australian Shepherds. She aspires to uplift readers, penning stories of encouragement and everyday life. Her work has been featured on the influential website Her View From Home, as well as the book series Chicken Soup for the Soul. Contact [email protected].
