I remember a time when I was about four or five. It is one of my earliest memories and during a gathering of the extended family - I am guessing, Christmas - I walked into the sitting room to find everyone giggling. I didn't know why. Eventually I managed to ascertain there was something on the wall and it had my name on it, and a love-heart and someone else's name on it - presumably some long forgotten childhood play-friend, I cannot for the life of me recall. I was hurt, ashamed and embarrassed and worst of all I didn't know why. This puerile joke by an uncle, or aunt, or cousin (I never found out who the culprit was because as a grown child/adult I never wanted to bring it up to ask) confused me but I knew romantic feelings were something to be embarrassed about. I had gathered that much. And that people sometimes made fun of you behind your back. I had gathered that too. I am sure at the time it seemed innocent - maybe those complicit and uneasy thought "the kid is young, they won't remember" but I do. I do remember. And have found it terribly hard to start relationships, and harder still to keep them for fear of what others might think of my partner.
I remember another time I had bought a birthday present for my mother. I was proud of it in the way that kids are - even though as an adult I see that it was horrid, cheap and tacky (but what else can you do with saved up pennies!) but kids mean well and it was a sweet gesture. I left the room and the house but snuck around to the window of the garden to listen to my mother's reaction - but instead I heard my father mock the gift. He was cruel, and went to down because he thought I wasn't listening. But I was. I sat under the window blubbing to myself. From then on in I have hated giving gifts. I spend hours in shops, spending more than I can afford, often to not give the present at all and pretend I forgot - or it got lost in the post - or cop out with money and a card.
These minor little incidents meant, I am sure in good humour, or in the knowledge that I was out of earshot have had a profound effect on me and my confidence. I was always a sensitive child and perhaps I took them more to heart than another kid would. Perhaps I was a sensitive child because of them. All I know is I was sensitive, and I got bullied quite a bit for it.
Now I have children of my own and I worry that something I say, or do, seemingly innocuous will have such a profound effect on them. That they will in years to come repeat some offhand joke I made while tipsy at new year, or comment made after I thought they were long asleep upstairs. It worries me.
Can you avoid making these sorts of mistakes with your child? Is it possible to be the perfect parent, and if not why is our whole culture geared towards the notion that "Mum and Dad" are perfect (except when they are not, they are demons for social services to take away). Where is the middle ground? My parents were fine the rest of the time, supportive and encouraged my emotional, physical and intellectual development that made me the person I am today. But I distinctly remember the day I realised they were just human beings. Beautiful, flawed and fucked up human beings like the rest of us. Capable of making mistake and having accidents and being off handedly cruel or insensitive or stupid or insecure too. It wasn't some cheesy american cliché where the boy bests his dad at a sport or girl finds her mother has been passing off store bought cake as her own. It was actually years after I had become an adult, and they divorced and suddenly like St. Paul on the road to Damascus I had a blinding flash of realisation. They were idiots. Just like I was. Just like we all were.
Still though, I promise that as much as possible I will watch what I say or do to avoid causing unnecessary harm and trauma to my children and, thus, ultimately save on psychiatry/counselling bills. Will you join me?
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