Insanity
I came to something of an epiphany today. I was conversing with Renee in the car about how much Jordan has been effecting us lately. The tone of our conversation was pretty intense, as it has been a lot of late.
I tend to think in analogies. Maybe it lets me get my mind around something that I normally wouldn’t be able to. I don’t know. In any case, it occurred to me that Jordan, being the child that she is, is by any adult psychological standard – insane. I’m not speaking for her unexplained mental condition, which I’m sure adds to things, but rather the state of a child – ANY child – at age five (or three in Jordan’s case).
Consider… They are not rational. They cannot be bargained with. They make illogical, often whimsical choices. They purposely aggravate their charges, knowing full well that it will result in punishment. They make obnoxious and rude statements for no reason whatsoever. They talk to themselves… and get answers. They are insane.
And the problem with this setup (that is of being a parent) is that we willingly allow ourselves to step into their world. In fact, we have a built-in genetic commitment to protect the little buggers by any means necessary. We wrap ourselves around them to keep them from harm, and the tighter we hold on, the more of their insanity rubs off onto us.
Oh, we try to maintain that we’re unaffected, that we can handle it, but you can not be both child and adult. You can not be sane and insane, and the crazy will always win out if you don’t let go.
It was this very thing, the letting go, that hit me as we drove down Interstate 15. Every parent knows that they must release their kids to “let them experience the world on their own,” but what we sometimes forget is that we also let go in order to save ourselves. We can’t hold on forever because if we do, then we’ll end up a middle-aged five-year-old, talking to ourselves and making completely irrational and illogical decisions just to tick-off our new charges…
But how do you let go and protect them at the same time?
I guess that’s the secret that rests within the smile on the face of eighty-five year-old great grandmothers. They’ve figured it out by trial of fire, and damned if they’re going to let us take the easy road and get that knowledge for free. They’ll tell us various tidbits here and there… Teasers only. The real secrets they take to the grave, or willingly forget into senility, so that they might finally be absolved from the genetic commitment they undertook long ago in their youth during a brief moment of another sort of insanity.