The mysterious, wondrous world of parenting
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 8, 2024
- 957
I realize the things we drag with us from our childhoods are the core memories, ones we want to keep. If we took a Saturday with our parents to pick out a tree at the local tree farm, we retain that and bring it with us into adulthood. It was a good memory, a warm feeling. Maybe on that day, we were able to chat with our parents in ways we were unable to at other times of the year. Their work-a-day defenses were down. They were listening in ways only Christmas cheer can ignite.
The holidays can bring out the tender fuzzies we store away for the rest of the year. It also can do the opposite by bringing out the not-so-good memories.
How I wish I’d had a manual for how to raise children. There’s nothing to do except jump in and hope we get half of it right. Years wend their way like a slow-moving river, and suddenly, we’re faced with moments that bring us face to face with everything we’ve done wrong, despite knowing at the time it was the best we could do. And sometimes it wasn’t. I have to meet myself there for forgiveness.
My fake Christmas tree is too small for my house. I hauled it down from my attic (a cool attic, one you might see in a movie with all the things scatted about cozily) and set it in the living room.
I bought this tree possibly 10 years ago at Save & Serve for $20. We put up a real tree because we always had a real tree during my childhood. The younger two kids were in college, and I didn’t have the strength to tend the tree. All that water and maintenance just to end up with needles all over my house. It was then I realized I didn’t have to buy a real tree. I could stop if I wanted to.
I took myself over to the thrift store and bought this little tree, strung up some lights and watched her glow. She made me very happy, despite my kids telling me they couldn’t believe I had the audacity to get a fake tree.
Core memories we take with us, right?
But this little straggly tree does not fit in our new house. It’s too small for the taller ceilings, and it looks kind of forlorn. I think there’s a new one calling my name down at the Goodwill. It was absolutely filled with trees the last time I was there. I won’t get rid of the one that brought me such joy. I’ll put her on the porch to twinkle away in the cold December air. She deserves that much.
We used to sit at the table and make Christmas ornaments after Thanksgiving. Mom was always crafting something, so the little felt camels with beading and clothespins with red pom poms for hair adorned our real Christmas tree forever. I wish I’d taken better care of them, but those kinds of ornaments are meant for kids’ little hands. They’re meant to be touched, moved around, handled. They are imbued with memories we drag into our adult life.
What I wouldn’t have known is the stress Mom may have felt gathering those craft supplies or readying the house and food for the day. Our children are meant to be oblivious to the greater cares of the day when they’re small. Sometimes it bleeds through because that’s inevitable. Sometimes they remember more than we wanted to let them know. We don’t always get it right.
But as almost all parents do, we persist. We stay. We keep going, not knowing whether we will get any of it right. I’m sure my parents wondered whether they got it right. They may not have had the words for it, but wondering whether they were good parents, well, that’s what good parents do. If you don’t worry at all that your kids will turn out as decent human adults, I don’t know what to tell you. The circle of parenting will continue forever. And for forever us parents will hope we got at least part of it right.
Melissa Herrera is a reflective writer who captures the beauty and sorrow of change. With a career spanning 14 years as an opinion columnist and the publication of two books, she resides in Stark County with her husband and four cats. She writes to preserve memories. You can reach her at junkbabe68@gmail.com.