Give Them Wings

One of the hardest things in life is to be a parent. It's also one of the most rewarding -- at least most of the time. I thought by the time my son turned 23 (which is next month) that I'd be done parenting. I was so wrong. I think the parenting is just harder now than it was when he was 13 or 3.

Why is parenting difficult? Because, despite our best intentions, we have expectations. I always said I wouldn't. I just wanted my child to be the best at whatever he chose. Yeah right. How many of us don't hope that our children will do better than we've done, will have more opportunities than we've had, will make "better" choices than we've made. Tied up in all of that are those expectations. When our children then grow up to lead lives so unlike what we'd envisioned for them, we find ourselves up against a wall. I love my son more than I love any other human on this planet. It always amazes me that he can't see what I see and make the decisions I would make were I in his shoes. I usually realize my mistake at some point and back off, but I still find myself sitting there wondering why I can't direct his every move. But, then again, did I ever direct his every move? Didn't he have a personality all his own from the very beginning? I'm seeing now why there were so many frustrating moments when he was 3...and 13...and 23. If he'd only seen life the way I wanted him to see it... Yeah, life would be pretty boring.

So, right now, I'm stuck on my novel. These darned characters are NOT behaving. They're acting "out of character". They just aren't doing what I want them to do. I told Samantha (my heroine) she couldn't say that. I warned Logan (my hero) that he needed to change his approach. Why won't they listen to me? Like my son, my characters are just intent on creating their own lives. It doesn't matter how hard I try to mold them and make them behave the way I want them to behave, they go in the opposite direction, intent on challenging my position of authority.

When I feel frustrated with my life and the choices my son makes and the direction he's going that is nowhere close to the direction I'd hoped he would go, I turn to my writing. I can escape into my characters. Characters who listen to me, who want to do things just because I tell them they should, who grow up to be just what I want them to become...

...Now I'm convinced. It's all my son's fault. He's the one who told my heroine what to do and how to get under my skin. He's the one who convinced my hero to do just the opposite of what he was supposed to do. I feel ever so much better. It's all my son's fault.