Telling on myself

Writing The Golden Slide filled me with an incredible need to tell on myself. Who do you think you are, Maayan? I heard myself saying inside my head over and over again. Why did I, at 9 years old, feel that it was my job to take care of my parents or “own their fears”? They were fully grown, functioning adults who have never failed to provide for my needs. What did I really know or understand about their fears anyway? At 9? Probably very little. 

Going back to the time I was very little, I actually remember trying to figure out my mom's schedule so that I could explain to her how there is enough time to go to the park, or the store, or the library (my favorite). When we came to America and money was tight I would run through the family income and expenses with my mom to show her that she could spare a dollar to buy this or that for me from the dollar store. "You know everything, don't you" she would say, and I would feel very proud of myself. Yes, yes I do know everything! Imagine when I grow up!

Wow, did I miss the point!

But somehow over the years, my parents stopped getting annoyed by my "wisdom" and started relying on it. They didn't put me in charge. I put myself in charge and didn't take no for an answer. I was determined to prove myself to them. I thought I was helping them, but I made myself their crutch. And in return, they became mine. Letting go of controlling their household was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I would have never had the space in my life to create the family I now have had I not let go of that. I had to trust that they have what it takes to be just fine without me. They would rise to the challenge and prove they never needed me to take charge in the first place.  I had to leave my mom in the parking lot, and trust that the confidence on her face wasn't an act. Really, what gave me the right to decide it was an act in the first place? I had to believe in her, so I could get on the slide and fly into the sky. Turns out, that's all she ever wanted for me too. 

She's the best grandma in the world today, and a remarkable human in this world.

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Kids, Drums, and boxes

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The Golden Swing (in my living-room)