Writing Isaiah Entry #8

Writing Isaiah 

Entry #8

May 27th 2013

Jonah Douglas-Siegel

Do you experience any tension between needing to protect your child and fostering freedom/independence? How do you expect to experience and reconcile this over time? 

Emily Joye McGaughy-Reynolds 

Sliding into dialogue with you feels like sliding under my favorite blanket on a cold winter day. Thank you for this question and for the challenge it poses (me/us). For some reason, knowing that I'm answering you, in specific, unlocks a certain level of creativity and demands a high level of intellectual integrity. Like, I'm bringing you color and vibration. But no bullshit. Does that make sense? I want to give you the best I have in the way of beauty and truth. I think that says a lot about who you are, Jonah, and about what you make possible for others. 

There's an article/essay by Audre Lorde entitled "Man Child: Lesbian Feminist's Response" that I read right when I found out I was pregnant with Isaiah that helped me think/feel deeply into these issues you've raised, the issues of parental protection and fostering freedom. Because it opened so much for me, I want to share two lengthy quotes from that essay as a way into this conversation with you. 

"Raising Black children--female and male--in the mouth of a racist, sexist, suicidal dragon is perilous and chancy. If they cannot love and resist at the same time, they will probably not survive. And in order to survive they must let go. THis is what mothers teach--love, survival--that is, self-definition and letting go. For each of these, the ability to feel strongly and to recognize those feelings is central: how to feel love, how to neither discount fear nor be overwhelmed by it, how to enjoy feeling deeply."  

(pg 74 of Sister Outsider)

"It is as hard for our children to believe that we are not omnipotent as it is for us to know it, as parents. But that knowledge is necessary as the first step in the reassessment of power as something other than might, age, privilege, or the lack of fear. It is an important step for a boy, whose societal destruction begins when he is forced to believe that he can only be strong if he doesn't feel, or if he wins." 

(pg 76 Sister Outsider) 

What's most compelling, and therefore informative, for me in these passages is the way Lorde deals with fear. In both quotes she acknowledges how important it is to be aware of but not ruled by fear. This is what it comes down to in the work of protection in parenting. One can get utterly fucking stuck, immobilized, terrified when thinking about all the things that are painfully possible in this power-imbalanced, injustice-soaked, naturally-chaotic (in a threatening as opposed to generative way) cosmos we inhabit. When one brings a child into this realm, the dangers become all the more discernible, partly because you've never loved this much which fosters a kind of protectiveness, but also because there is no way to avoid encountering day to day dangers due to one's physical responsibilities as a parent. For instance: there are corners of tables and long sharp knives and potentially suffocating blankets that baby-bodies make apparent by their very wobbly, vulnerable existence. I never thought about those things before Aurora came. Now I think about them every 10 seconds when she's moving about the house with a tongue that wants to taste everything, legs that barely support the rest of her body, and hands that haven't learned the degrees of things like heat, sharp, etc. And here's the kicker: this is just stuff that freaks me out based on proximity. This isn't even touching stuff that acts of its own volition, like bullies on the school yard, people who blow up public buildings, rapists, bad teachers or coaches. You feel me? There's the stuff you can protect against by being vigilant and pre-emptive, but then there's stuff you can't do anything about. I find the most zealous fear to be of the latter kind.

Which takes me to your question about fostering independence. I think that fostering is directly proportionate to the level of dependence my children have on me. For instance, Isaiah is entirely dependent on my biological system right now. Therefore I am not invested, at all, in fostering his independence, other than through keeping myself healthy which enables his independence to proliferate in utero. With Aurora it's different. She is acting independently all over the dang place! Speaking when she wants. Touching what she wants. Running where she wants. To the degree that she is not in harm's way, physically or emotionally, I try to cut her loose. But it doesn't come naturally to me, as J.R. can most certainly attest. In fact, I think my natural tendency is to worry, to be over protective, to hold on too tight. It's not good, so I'm practicing something else. 

About two weeks ago I went to a local play group at the Burma Center. I was the only non-Burmese parent there. And I went there on purpose. Here's why. For years our church used to host a Baptist Burmese worshipping community on Sunday mornings. I noticed that in general Burmese parents were much less hovering than European-American parents. They let their kids run, play, and rough-house in huge packs, often unsupervised by adults. At first it troubled me because I thought it was unsafe. But the more I witnessed their cultural style of parenting, the more respect I began to develop for them. You see, their kids were always engaged, with other children, with diverse kinds of play, and with adults (other than their own parents) who would come in and out of activities with them. It seems really healthy to me now. The parents appear less flustered and anxious and the kids are caught up in present-moment joy. I want to be in play groups where that ethic is embodied. It's not a lack of presence or concern. It's a more trust-filled way of being and it really speaks to me. When we were at the Burma Center play group two fridays ago, I couldn't speak to anyone nor could they speak to me, but Aurora had the time of her life. Point is: I'm trying to learn from the Burmese. How to be more trusting of my child, of my parenting peers, of the world. 

Yesterday there was a picnic for my church community at the Ryberg's house. There were all kinds of families, many with young children. Aurora was the youngest (born) child there. I noticed that most of the other parents stayed pretty close to their kids. I, on the other hand, let my girl go wild with different adults. She was often out of sight. Sometimes she was too close to flying balls that the other kids were throwing around. She had grass in her diaper when I brought her home. And her feet were totally caked with dirt because I let her roam around barefoot. Some might accuse me of being careless. I just want her to know the diverse dimensions of this life. And and and. I never want to be so laze-faire that my child unnecessarily comes to harm nor do I want other people feeling like I am passing my supervisory role over to them without consent. So it's a dance. Which takes me to Lorde. 

In that second quote she talks about the importance of children discovering that their parents aren't omnipotent. And how hard it is for children and parents alike to coming into this knowing. I wonder if this process isn't similar to theological deconstruction. For many years I've watched people confuse God's love with God's power. As if God's greatest attribute is God's capacity to keep us entirely safe. To protect us from all harm. I gotta say it seems to me like this kind of belief system is most rampant in two groups: 1) those who are economically privileged enough to privatize their lives to such a degree that they never meet 'threat' & 2) those who are so threatened every single day because they are most vulnerable/targeted that nothing other than safety could possibly feel 'divine' or 'sacred' or like 'salvation.' But that's another essay for another day. Point being: is the highest degree of care, the pinnacle of love, merely about safety, about being entirely protected? This particular theology or parenting world-view neglects love's capacity to endure risk in the promise of one's (unique) becoming. There's no development, no novelty, no complexity without risk. I'm willing, as a parent, to lay down the illusion of omnipotence, in order to create space for my children's development. And, I think without enough security and safety (materially, emotionally, etc) they cannot develop. So there's a balance to be had, no? 

How does one achieve that balance? "How do I expect to experience and reconcile this over time?"

Trial and error. Every day. Talking it all through with one's partner, mother, mentors, friends, etc. Emulating the style of other parents who seem to 'get it' (at least some of the time). Reading articles and books about it. Eventually watching and listening to the feedback loops that play out through Aurora and Isaiah's lives. Like if they're too hesitant, back up. If they're too daring, squeeze a little harder. I don't know, shit. Just being open to life? Maybe that's the answer to everything...

(((Jonah)))

Love,

EJ