The truth is:
Sometimes I am ashamed of my child
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No matter how much you love your offspring or how proud you are of them, sometimes they are just plain terrible.
by Linda Meyerbach
The best thing that has ever happened to me in my life is my children. Still – and I’m a little ashamed to say that – I am sometimes ashamed of her. I don’t mean when they scream too loudly in a restaurant, when they have a tantrum, or when they use words they shouldn’t use. These are all things that children do.
“Your girlfriend is really ugly, mom!”
What I find really bad is when my children are disrespectful to others. When they behave badly. When they’re just completely stupid people. For example, my then six-year-old daughter once said the following very loudly to one of my friends: “You are really not beautiful at all!” and then to me even louder: “Your girlfriend is ugly, mom!” I found all of this embarrassing on many levels:
1. Because this woman was hit right, which I am so sorry about.
2. Because I definitely didn’t teach her how important it is to look.
3. And because I found it so terribly mean and superficial.
Did I create this insensitive monster?
I would have liked to have remained so calm and matter-of-fact, but somehow I couldn’t think of anything at the moment. I fell into shock and just know that I dragged her somewhere and even afterwards I tried rather tense to explain to her that you don’t say something like that because it hurts other people. What irritated me most of all was the way she looked, her expression was downright nasty. Was this little monster really the cute girl I had painfully brought into the world almost six years ago? Did I create this insensitive, mean brat?
Incidentally, my firstborn didn’t understand what my problem was at first – she had only said what she was thinking. I was still terribly uncomfortable. Probably also because I felt responsible. (It doesn’t matter, but my friend isn’t a bit ugly!). The only thing that happened to me was similar when my youngest had brutally kicked the smallest and thinnest girl in the shin and then laughed maliciously. Or my biggest “Whaaaas? Just a book ?! That’s not a gift!” yelped and threw everything on the floor, even though my girlfriend had brought a really beautiful book of fairy tales, and just like that. Not for a birthday or something.
It’s not about the child, it’s about me
And there is the problem: It’s not about the child at all, it’s about me. I am ashamed of this creature that I love like one other: your sister. And I’m ashamed of the shame I feel when she doesn’t behave the way I would like. Why can’t I just let them shit and stand above it?
However, I also ask myself: maybe my shame is just worry? Because I want my children to become decent people. I love her after all. And isn’t that just the right kind of affection? When you love someone you are sometimes ashamed of? Everything else would be very easy after all – and that’s often not the case with children. For all.