I started cursing when Jaden’s dad left. I’m not saying I
never cursed before, but the divorce proceedings brought out an unrestrained,
almost talented stream of cursing and epithets. I don’t know about you, but I’m
reminded of Clark W. Griswold’s epic Christmas speech.
I am not that talented.
Most often I would save this angst for the trips to and from
my son’s therapies. Nashville traffic, after all, is the perfect sounding board
for projecting anger. Instead of taking it out on him or anything in our
personal lives, I saved it for the asshole who cut me off and made me slam on
the breaks.
Sometimes Jaden would say, with awesome autistic logic, “You
know they can’t hear you, right?”
Well duh. That’s kind of what makes it perfect. Not that
I’ve never told off someone in person who needed the telling. I am, after all,
an autism parent.
Some time ago I read one mother’s account of her “worst
parenting moment ever.” It was a cute little story where she had accidently
blurted out “read ‘em and weep, bitches!” while her angels looked on in open-mouthed
horror.
“That’s your worst
parenting moment?!” I yelled at the computer screen. Because this was part of
my therapeutic M.O..
Keep up.
Either she was lying or she’s the holy mother’s twin. Either
way, she thought her “worst” parenting moment so soul-cringing that she posted
it for all the world to see and have some lolz.
My worst parenting moments I’m not likely to write up and
glorify, but instead crawl cringing on my knees to beg my son’s forgiveness.
“It’s okay,” he’d tell me in soothing tones. “We all make
mistakes. Remember when I said I hated you because I was mad? But you know I
didn’t mean it. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re mad. I know that.”
Because he has the wisdom of Buddha, and the temper of Zeus.
I think of raising a child as one big experiment. The
difference, I think, between raising a down-to-earth human or causing a
personality complex is admitting your mistakes, your humanity, and asking for
forgiveness. And offering a just amount of understanding and forgiveness in
return. Some parents never say they’re sorry. To them it would be weakness to
admit they fucked up as a parent. It would undermine their authority.
I can be human and a parent at the same time. To me, that’s
the only way. My son needs no delusions of me as a God figure.
“What about God?”
someone might ask. Oh right, the whole nary takingeth the Lord’s nameth in vain
clause.
I doubt you want to hear my theological musings at this
point because that would take us well into the night, and require a copious
amount of coffee and personal trust.
But I find it funny that my “god dammit” would offend people
who wrap themselves up in the name
Christian while, I don’t know, cutting off a mother and her child in traffic
(Honk if you love Jesus!) Or calling someone “retarded”. Or telling their kids
that they are lucky they’re healthy and whole and not like them. Or slurring people who want to live differently in peace, or
gossiping, or malice of any kind, all while wearing the name of Christ.
I’m pretty sure that’s the real definition of taking the
Lord’s name in vain.
But hey, none of us are perfect. I forgive you.
My own little angel has a potty mouth too. I tell him to
reserve it for my company only, but he slips up sometimes. I don’t really give
a damn. I’m raising him to be a man, not a perpetual child.
His mouth better run though, if I hear the “r” word, a
racial slur, or malicious gossiping or insults come out of it. I do have
standards.