Right and Wrong
Mun note: For those of you who don't watch the show, LOST is now doing a narrative that is basically an au of what if the plane never crashed and the passengers' lives were slightly different. I will be using that storyline for some posts and prompts. This will be tagged "flashsideways", and it's up to you guys if you want your character to play in that sandbox or not.
I never wanted to be a father. There's so much that goes into raising a child. It's not that I didn't want the responsibility, I'm the kind of person who always has a mental to-do list. The simple fact is that I was intimidated. I loved my father, there is no question about that, but he was also a harsh man. He taught me how to not give up on myself, a trait I know I have and I'm grateful for.
The flipside to that is that in the back of my head I was always second guessing myself, wondering if I was a failure. Dad was always there, if not in body, in spirit, telling me that I didn't have the guts to handle failure.
What I'm not sure I have the guts for is parenthood. My son is thirteen. I understand that it's a rough age for both teenagers and their parents, but I'm finding it difficult just to be in the same room with him, let alone talk to him. He brushes me off to hide in his room. I don't want to pry or be a nag, but I do want to be a part of his life and I want him to know that he's important to mine.
The other day he left. I came home after grabbing dinner for us and he was gone. I've been frightened plenty of times in my life but nothing, nothing, compares to the flaring panic of not knowing where your child is. I had already wondered many times what I was doing wrong by David. This wasn't just wrong. It was failure. Failure is one of the things I dread most, and I had placed it on the shoulders of my own son. I was right. I'm not fit to be a father.
After searching everywhere I finally tracked him down. He was auditioning for the Williams Conservatory here in LA. Piano. I didn't even know he was still into piano. It had always been a passion of mine, and I was happy when he'd first taken an interest in it. Watching him play, I forgot myself - that I'd ever so much as touched a piano. David was brilliant and playing at a level most people never get to even witness. And he was doing this on his own.
I'd never been so proud.
After his audition I sought him out to tell him how much I enjoyed his performance. He told me he'd hoped to be done earlier, and home before I got there. He didn't want me to know of his enormous talent, and for the second time that day I felt my chest want to sink into my stomach. David knew how much I enjoyed the piano and didn't want me to judge him. Then he used the word. He said that he didn't want to fail in front of me.
I told David what my father never told me. In my eyes, my son can never fail. I have not been put on this earth to pass judgment on the greatest blessing that has ever happened to me. I know that there is no right or wrong way set in stone to raise a child, but I want him to have all the love and support he could ever need. It was always there, but now I know to be careful to let him know that I am always here for him.
We're all only human, but when I hugged David that night I felt the strength of a much greater man than I, a man that will undoubtedly be a terrific father one day.
I never wanted to be a father. There's so much that goes into raising a child. It's not that I didn't want the responsibility, I'm the kind of person who always has a mental to-do list. The simple fact is that I was intimidated. I loved my father, there is no question about that, but he was also a harsh man. He taught me how to not give up on myself, a trait I know I have and I'm grateful for.
The flipside to that is that in the back of my head I was always second guessing myself, wondering if I was a failure. Dad was always there, if not in body, in spirit, telling me that I didn't have the guts to handle failure.
What I'm not sure I have the guts for is parenthood. My son is thirteen. I understand that it's a rough age for both teenagers and their parents, but I'm finding it difficult just to be in the same room with him, let alone talk to him. He brushes me off to hide in his room. I don't want to pry or be a nag, but I do want to be a part of his life and I want him to know that he's important to mine.
The other day he left. I came home after grabbing dinner for us and he was gone. I've been frightened plenty of times in my life but nothing, nothing, compares to the flaring panic of not knowing where your child is. I had already wondered many times what I was doing wrong by David. This wasn't just wrong. It was failure. Failure is one of the things I dread most, and I had placed it on the shoulders of my own son. I was right. I'm not fit to be a father.
After searching everywhere I finally tracked him down. He was auditioning for the Williams Conservatory here in LA. Piano. I didn't even know he was still into piano. It had always been a passion of mine, and I was happy when he'd first taken an interest in it. Watching him play, I forgot myself - that I'd ever so much as touched a piano. David was brilliant and playing at a level most people never get to even witness. And he was doing this on his own.
I'd never been so proud.
After his audition I sought him out to tell him how much I enjoyed his performance. He told me he'd hoped to be done earlier, and home before I got there. He didn't want me to know of his enormous talent, and for the second time that day I felt my chest want to sink into my stomach. David knew how much I enjoyed the piano and didn't want me to judge him. Then he used the word. He said that he didn't want to fail in front of me.
I told David what my father never told me. In my eyes, my son can never fail. I have not been put on this earth to pass judgment on the greatest blessing that has ever happened to me. I know that there is no right or wrong way set in stone to raise a child, but I want him to have all the love and support he could ever need. It was always there, but now I know to be careful to let him know that I am always here for him.
We're all only human, but when I hugged David that night I felt the strength of a much greater man than I, a man that will undoubtedly be a terrific father one day.