Parents
The other day my mom came down to where I work and took me out to lunch. She had never seen the street the office is on before; and it has been a few years since she’d driven through Over-the-Rhine, so I knew it was going to come as a shock to her.
Why is it that the one day my mother, who has never really taken in the sketchy neighborhood I work in, announces she is going to come down and meet me there is the day that a) the street is littered with garbage (ok, so some garbage is normal; but this much?)and b) the neighbors have unaccountably decided to empty the entire contents of their wardrobe out the window and onto the sidewalk? LOL! I suppose it was either a tiff or an eviction by a landlord.
Why was I so nervous about this? Why do I care? I did some deep soul-searching and came up with a few ideas, although they are not conclusive.
This place is mine, now. My job, my desk, my office, my street, my neighborhood. This is my first real job. Everyone wants their parents to be proud of them; to think that they are doing well. This involves approving of their career and their job. That’s all very understandable. But I went into this knowing that I wasn’t going to get that. My parents weren’t going to like where I worked or what I did for a living. They weren’t going to agree with all of the decisions I made. They were probably going to think that I was running away from responsibility and real life. (And maybe I am. I’ve looked that question solidly in the face and haven’t found any answers yet.) I want to honor my father and mother, but when it comes to a job, I have to do what God has put on my heart.
But why, oh why, if I knew all of these things going into this job, do I still subconsciously seek their approval and feel hurt if they don’t give it? Oh, she was nice about it. But I knew it kind of freaked her out. She didn’t like it. The relationship between parents and child is such a complicated one; especially one between mother and daughter. I’m on my own, now. I pay my own bills and live in my own place. Isn’t that enough?
I need to just move on. But it fills my mind as I stand in the cold wind and the snow each morning waiting for the bus. The bus taking me back to my place; the place my parents don’t approve.
So I go to work, and I love my parents, and I love the people down here–even though they don’t love me back; in fact some of them hate me because I’m white. I try to love myself, which is equally difficult. And most of all I try to love God as much as he deserves, because the reason I’m here is that it isn’t my job; or my desk, my office, my street, my neighborhood. They are all God’s. And I have to trust him–my Father–to take care of them, and to take care of me. After all, trying to do it on my own wouldn’t be honoring to my Father.
February 20th, 2006 at 10:13 am
Yes, it all comes down to motives, doesn’t it? Your parents’ disapproval is only motivated by their love and concern for you and you know that… it is still hard to swallow, I know. It will take time, and believe it or not, God is growing them, too….