August 24, 2006

EDITORIAL

Looking back, looking forward, and learning about letting go

About 15 years ago I wrote a column for this paper called “A Walk in the Village.” The title suggested that the column covered life in Yellow Springs, and in some ways it did. But more than that, I wrote about being, for the first time at age 37, a mom. Most of the time, I was accompanied on my walks through town by my small daughter and together we explored Yellow Springs alleys, examined cracks in the sidewalk and tried out the best swings in town. Having a child turned out to offer one surprise after another, and this was the biggest surprise of all: it was more fun than I ever imagined.

Who knew? Not me. I had feared that a woman who had children compromised her individuality, lost her freedom. But of course that’s not what happened. Rather, I had never felt as free in my life, free to relish the joy of living one day after another, of paying attention to rocks and twigs and clouds in the sky, of following the quirky and wondrously silly lead of a child.

There were so many surprises. Always a shy person, I suddenly felt connected by an invisible thread to every other mom and dad in the world. Suddenly a stranger with a child was no stranger at all, but a person who had embarked on the same extraordinary journey as I had. I learned that in the deepest place in our heart we all want the same things: we want the best for our children, we want them to be healthy and happy and safe, and because we can’t always protect them, we share the same fears.

I discovered that other villagers noticed my child, valued her, considered her precious simply because she was here. Besides by her father and older sister, she was well-loved by her astonishing teachers at the Antioch School, by her surrogate grandparents at the Yellow Springs Friends meeting, by other caring teachers and adults and by my wonderful friends, among many others. Like other Yellow Springs children, as she grew up she felt known, and she seemed amused when yet another familiar but unnamed person spoke to her downtown and seemed to know who she was. How come they knew her and she didn’t know them? Well, I would tell her, they watched you grow up. Over the years, I believe she found comfort from knowing that many people watched over her, and that in some essential way she belonged in this town.

Of course, all the surprises weren’t easy ones. If you’re like me, you found that your child learned to push each and every one of your buttons, especially the ones you didn’t know you had. You knew that your child deserved the very best mom in the world and unfortunately that’s not who she got. She got you. You’re just a flawed human being, and you knew that your flaws would hurt her in ways you couldn’t even imagine. But you kept trying.

Did I say that the biggest surprise of parenting is that it’s fun? Perhaps that’s the second biggest surprise. Here’s the biggest surprise of all: they grow up. Eighteen years seemed light years away when you brought that baby home from the hospital but already those years are gone. And you are so proud and pleased because they’re so ready to take on the world, and they’re also ready to- — what? Oh yes, they’re ready to leave you behind.

This week my daughter went to college. Like many other parents of the Yellow Springs High School Class of 2006, I’m thrilled and heartbroken and a little stunned. To those other parents, I say, hey, come on over. I’ll make coffee. We’ll talk.

To my daughter and her classmates and friends, I say: thank you. Thank you for being our children. Thank you for making our hearts bigger, for making us better and wiser and (much) humbler people than we would be without you. Thank you for the years you spent with us and for the years still ahead. Thank you for all the surprises that you will still bring our way.

—Diane Chiddister