I’m Allowed

I read a post on Facebook by a Mother about her teenage child, she wrote that there were times she wished she never had kids.

Then she explained in detail what her son did that made her so angry.

I’m not in her situation, I don’t know her pressures, but what he did didn’t sound so awful to me.

However, what worried me was that this ‘I wished I never had kids because the one I’ve got did something than angered me.’ kind of post is so incredibly personal and so incredibly public.

I wondered if the boy would ever read this. Would he see the anger in the post? Would he see the wish that he hadn’t been born.

Is momentary anger an excuse for the public humiliation of your child?

I’m not a parent.

I know that.

But I’m a child of a parent.

I’m not a parent.

But I occasionally provide care for children.

And I’m allowed to wonder.

I was sitting in a food court. Across from me was a mother with her child who had a physical and intellectual disability. She was seated beside him in his wheelchair.

She was with a friend and they were meeting for lunch. At one point the boy in the chair dropped something to the floor.

She got flustered from being interrupted in her conversation by needing to pick it off the floor.

She said, to all listening, “If I’d known he was going to be like this I would have …” She stopped herself. She looked around, “I’m sorry,” she said to her friend, a little loudly, hoping others would hear, “he’s a lovely boy and sometimes I say stupid things.” Then she looked at her son, and whispering lovingly, she said, “You know I love you just the way you are.”

I’m not a parent.

I know that.

But I’m a child of a parent.

I’m not a parent.

But I occasionally provide care for children.

And I’m allowed to be impressed by a woman who knows what words do, a woman that can stop words mid-sentence, a woman that can apologize for what she realized she almost did.

I’m allowed.