My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Games Some Parents Play
There is a child intent on performance and needing the response of his family, but they are unfortunately a diverse audience and so when one smiles the other frowns. As one is drawn closer, the other draws back. Applause and rejection have to go together even though he shifts from one action to the next as fast as he can. There are a lot of children being the board on which parents play games, games more cruel than anything else. To respond only to himself might mean both would frown and maybe for now that is too much to tolerate. Maybe someday, and maybe then his parents twill deal more directly.
Labels:
argument,
children,
confusion,
parenting,
vulnerability
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