For the longest time, I called myself a "psychological parent.
" That meant that from the time my two children were born, I tried to treat them as human beings and not my possessions.
Treating kids as possessions too often means we major in trying to control them.
That might be fine for the time they are infants, but as soon as they begin to become aware of their surroundings, they are little individuals.
We were put here to guide them, not control them.
So, when they were little, I set boundaries but let them work within those boundaries.
I wanted to dress my daughter when she was a toddler; she did not want me to.
So, I would watch as she would put on the most amazing combination of colors and patterns, complete with shoes on the wrong feet, and sigh.
I tried putting her shoes on the right feet, and she would oblige me, but politely put them back on the wrong feet.
"She's an individual," I would whisper to myself.
"I am here to guide, not to control...
" I had to learn how to be quiet, to respect her decisions as well as my sons.
They knew their boundaries, the house rules, so to speak.
Disrespectful speech was not permitted.
They could be angry, but they had to be cool with it.
No stomping up the stairs, slamming the doors.
They had to be home by a certain time once they hit high school.
No driving with friends, or eating while driving when they first learned to drive...
They knew the rules.
From the beginning, the mantra, my mantra, actually, was "I don't reward bad behavior.
" For some reason it worked.
So, imagine my angst, frustration and concern when my son, after a year and a half of college, wanted out.
I could not believe it.
We talked education every day.
We were African Americans; we had to be cognizant of how far we'd come, what our ancestors had done in order for us to be able to get an education.
Yada, yada, yada...
He called and sounded horrible.
"Ma, I want to come home," he said.
There was a pause, because I was cussing in my spirit.
"Ma?" he said.
"Yes, Charlie, I heard you.
Is...
is there something I can do? Do you want to think about this a little more?" "No," he said, sounding irritated, because he knew how important education was to me.
Would he even have bothered to call if there was another way? How about not.
"Okay," I said, "I'll be there soon.
" The word "mad" doesn't do justice to how I felt as I drove from Columbus to Cincinnati to get him.
When I saw him, morose, sad looking, unkempt...
I fretted for a moment, hoping he was OK, but, really, I was more absorbed in my own disappointment.
The ride home was tense.
I was silent, as was he.
In fact, he had the audacity to go to sleep! He unpacked, and after a few months, enrolled in a local community college, but his heart wasn't in it.
Horror of horrors, I realized he might not go to college.
I was not impressed.
He moved out of my house (thank you, God!) and got an apartment, a job, and the freedom to become the individual he wants to be.
He connected with childhood friends and they formed a band; my son is really an amazing vocalist, and his friends, it turns out, are amazing musicians.
He is forming a record label and learning the business side of music.
I forgot my "I am not here to control him" mantra when he visited with his hair matted all over his head.
No haircut.
Geez! I said something about it and he reminded me, politely, that it was his life.
"Ma," I want people to appreciate me for being myself, not because I fit into some mold of what people think I should be.
" I taught him to be independent, to "be a leader, not a follower.
" I could say nothing.
I hated his hair.
He thought it was an expression of his "artiste.
" I thought it was a mess.
When he got it cut and visited, I almost did an Irish jig, but restrained myself.
He came in grinning, but I said nothing.
Finally, he said, "Ma! Look!" I looked up and resisted the temptation to grin, but he wasn't fooled.
"Aw, you know you like my hair better this way.
" Yeah.
That would be true.
He recently visited New York and has decided that he will move there in a year's time.
It takes everything in me not to ask him if college is in his plans at all.
I half suspect he thinks I am going to ask, but I won't.
This is his life, not mine.
I uttered a little sentence about him needing to be careful, but he proceeded to tell me that he had walked the streets of New York a lot while he was there and was convinced he would be fine.
All righty then.
I do not know what course this young man's life will take, but I am sure that my decision when he and my daughter were born to let them be THEM, whatever that would be, was the right one.
I have seen so many parent-child relationships ruined because parents have tried to control them.
I grew up in an era when we were made to go outside and pull a switch off a bush in order to get spanked.
That era has passed.
I had to believe that there was a better way to parent, and I tried it.
I am just waiting to see, though, what this "psychological" parenting will produce in my son.
In the meantime, I pray that he will be safe as he learns to be the eagle that he was created to be.