Perfectly Imperfect

Whenever I drive past Coe School, a part of me is in that playground, watching my children play foursquare or dangle on the rings as I chat with my mom friends. The eleven years that my family spent as a part of that elementary school community were sweet on so many levels, many of which I did not realize until years later.

On the last day of my younger daughter’s fifth grade year, she and I held hands and ceremoniously stepped across the threshold on our way out of the building and out of that chapter of our lives. I was unable to speak for the lump in my throat. I knew that this was a significant moment, but I didn’t know, fully, how significant. And she, certainly, had no idea. She just went along with me, trusting, accepting my explanation that once we step over that line, we will never, in the same way, come back.

My children, now 22 and 27, are hardly “children” any more. They are old enough to be the moms in the picture I painted above. Old enough to pronounce what they will do differently when they raise their own children.

It is a shock when, somewhere between leaving the sanctuary that is elementary school and sending your child off to college and beyond, you see yourself reflected in your child’s face – and what you see is not the loving, perfect, wise parent of your imaginings, the one who had righted all the wrongs your mother allegedly did to you, but a tired, cranky, conservative bore who just doesn’t get it. Ouch.

I am here to say, if this has happened to you then you have done your job and done it well. I am not a psychologist, or a parenting expert (that is debatable after 27 years in the field) but I am very clear on this point: for our kids to move on to be successful, independent adults, they have to see us for the novices we are – at least for a while. 

We are programmed from the start to protect, nurture, hold, and guide our babies. But from the moment they are born, our real job is to push them away. To sever the connection as we move them towards independence. It is counter-intuitive but absolutely essential that we do so. We wean them, teach them to walk, to tie their own shoes, to use the bathroom, to dress themselves.

And, if we have done our job right, as they gain independence, our children will slowly begin to realize how imperfect we are. It hurts because we don’t want our children to leave us, to think ill of us. But mostly it hurts because it’s true. We are oh so flawed and oh so busted. When they become clever enough to argue our points, disagree, disobey, it throws our world into chaos. How do I do this? Where is the guidebook?

Perhaps a better question to ask at this point is why do I want to appear perfect in the eyes of my children (or siblings, or co-workers, or peers)? Why am I afraid to let my flaws in all their real and raw beauty shine? To shout, “CHECK ME OUT! I AM FLAWED! I AM OFTEN WRONG! I HAVE REGRETS AND I AM NOT PROUD OF SO MANY THINGS! But here I am. Here I still am…” 

Why do we try to hide our imperfections when they connect us so much more deeply, richly to one another? We can learn more from them than we ever will from perfection. And we relate more easily to one another when we are telling the truth.

It’s difficult today with Facebook and Social Media, for people to know what the truth is. The vast majority of people post only the most glowing, glamorous versions of themselves. And so we seek a false perfection – one that simply doesn’t exist.

When our children begin to see us as – well – as we once saw our parents – dorky, annoying, even stupid – take heart! We have, albeit inadvertently, done our job well. Because at this point, nature takes over and we no longer have to worry about letting go. We are exasperated and as ready as they are to part ways.

And then, just as incredibly, once the final piece of Velcro has ripped apart, we fall in love with them again. And, with a little bit of luck, they with us.