Oh, I have issues. So many issues. But, my #1 issue is: intimacy.
Today during a well-deserved lunch time at the park for me (well, me and God; okay, me, God and Attachments -- by Rainbow Rowell - a book that has taken me far too long to finish), I came face to face with that issue.
In the middle of the park was a young father walking his son to and from the park bathroom from the playground area -- a good 40 yards in each direction The father was holding his young son's hand the entire journey to and from. The young boy was probably five or six - certainly old enough to have made the journey side by side, without holding hands. The area was safe with no dangers between here and there. But, the father held his hand the entire time, and clearly his son was delighting in the moment of intimacy with his Dad.
Well, I lost it. Tears full of childhood regrets. Rewind my memory. Search. Scan. Search. Scan. Do I have any mental picture of my parents holding my hand to lead me on a journey? I do not. Did they and I just don't remember? I don't know -- but a large part of me doubts it happened because that intimacy was lost by the time my memory kicks in.
My parents were 18 when they had me and in quick succession they had two others - three kids by the time they each became adults at 21. Even in the 60's I imagine such a family plans was a rarity. Perhaps people looked at our family and said "Wow, those poor kids with parents that young."
Truth is, we were well taken care of. We had two sets of grandparents who lived in town and who stepped in to help and were true grandparents, loving and spoiling us unconditionally, playing with us, and sharing special moments with us. My Mom didn't work; my Dad had a factory job from the day after graduation (and stayed for 42 years - same job, same department). We weren't dirty, hungry, deprived. They had their own home and we created happy memories (from the pictures I see - my mind remembers relatively little) until I was 8 and life changed on frightful Halloween night.
Years later our marriage counselor would tell me I, as the first born, became an adult that Halloween when our parents told us of the impending divorce and my Dad moved out, and Grandpa came over to make us pancakes before trick-or-treating. We had no clue what had hit us except a lot of crying and our father walking out the door with a suitcase and his rarely used overnight travel kit.
Immediately - instinctively - I knew I had to care for the babies in the family.
Perhaps from that point on I appeared to not need any intimacy - anyone to take my hand and lead me along life's journey.... but I did. Perhaps my parents didn't have anyone in their childhood holding their hand and leading them, modeling for them how to parent their own children. Perhaps they had their own growing up to do a midst the crisis of turning 26 with three kids and a crumbling marriage. Certainly my parents didn't have the wisdom that comes with maturity or gained from watching others succeed or fail as parents.
Marriage is a hard journey, only made better with true intimacy. It's a work in progress. Dog gone it I hate to say it is a work in progress after 20+ years. Unfortunately, my husband has his own intimacy issues for completely different reasons. We continue to journey together slowly and surely (might I add: audaciously), settled it is the best way, but uncomfortable with the rocky path.
But, when it comes to our kids - we've done much better, I believe. I hope they'll remember the intimate moments we've created over the years. The hand holding during church or on long car rides; the cuddling late at night to watch tv or early on a lazy Saturday or under the starry Friday night skies; the footsies under the table during meals; or, the "why" he can feel comfortable still calling me "Mommy" at 18. On my death bed, may my hands not feel like a stranger's hand. May it still be ever so natural to hold hands, cuddle, kiss my forehead and call me "Mommy". Lord, please let it be.
They'll have issues -- oh they will -- but I hope intimacy isn't one of them.
