I thought she was perfect, and could do no wrong.
She always took care of my brothers and me with the energy of a superhero. When the fear of the world crept upon me, just running into Mom’s arms changed everything. It wasn’t until later that I learned superheroes have weaknesses too.
My father was different. I wondered if he loved me. I didn’t cuddle with him in the cold. And I didn’t fully trust him.
Mom was my role model, while Dad was the man I wished would make better choices, so Mom wouldn’t be so worried about money. She was the loving one who worked hard. He was the lazy one who made her upset. If he just got his act together, maybe my aching insecurity over money would go away.
But in high school, I started to see it — where the money had gone. Sure, Dad wasn’t always diligent about financial matters. However, I discovered that Mom wasn’t as frugal as family arguments had implied.
I thought of all the times in high school when Mom bought clothes, concert tickets, and cheerleading uniforms for me. I didn’t need any of it; what’s more, I couldn’t enjoy it when I saw the face mom made as she bought me just one more outfit. The worried denial would flash across her face. I would worry if she could afford it, but if I acknowledged her concerned look, she would quickly hush me. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. You just enjoy your life!” Out of selfishness, I took her advice.
College looked similar, except I wasn’t an oblivious child anymore. I knew my parents were struggling, but I would take what I could get until I entered the real world.
But then Dad lost his job, and we lost the house. Welcome to the real world.
Reality punched denial in the face and kicked our family in the shins. I had recently graduated from college. When most people were starting careers or moving home, I was moving out of the house I had grown up in, feeling the financial insecurity seep into my soul. Mom and Dad couldn’t be my back-up plan anymore.
As I packed away years of childhood memories into boxes, I thought of how much my parents had changed. Rather, how much they appeared to have changed. I saw the broken parts of them: the part of my father that wanted to do better. The man who started trying harder, but was kicked down the moment he stood up. The woman I loved and trusted the most was forced to take the blinders off. I saw the whole picture of my parents, and it wasn’t as beautiful as I had believed it to be.
During my childhood, my mom was beautiful and loving beyond reason. But as I grew up, I uncovered a woman who was demanding and untrusting and in denial. And my father, whose struggles to show affection and be ambitious I had always viewed critically? Now I found him cherishing me and taking care of me. In that empty childhood room, I saw the full extent of their humanity.
As a child, I could only categorize my parents into good or bad, right and wrong. But they are not either/or. They are real people, whose qualities I dream I’ll have one day, and brokenness that, I daresay, I’ve inherited in spite of my best efforts.
The freedom that came with that realization — that my parents aren’t who I thought they were — is shocking, and heartbreaking.
Feelings of despair followed close behind.
But now, I actually feel relieved.
Because suddenly I’ve realized the Jesus who loves my broken parents can love the broken me. If He loves them so much more than I ever could, it makes His love infinite. Because despite the mistakes, struggles, and imperfections of my parents, I cannot imagine a love more deeply set in my heart than the love I have for them.
Flickr photo (cc) by Rev. Xanatos Satanicos Bombasticos (ClintJCL)
