I recently had a conversation on parenting with friends, where I shared some of my childhood experiences and memories. And as with most human things, the darker memories are often the stronger. My friends seemed quite surprised that I should talk about some of my experiences so openly, and that I should have had similar conversations with both my parents.
Here are a few thoughts that have since been turning over in my mind, and which I would like to write down and share with my good friends. These are some of my memories interwoven through a philosophical reflection on love, faith and the relationships between parents and children. The memories are not strict accounts but reflections filtered by and shaped through time, new experiences, conversations and a growing awareness of my own humanity and limitations as a parent.
In this post, Rembrandt's images of family accompany my own. I am no art connoisseur, but I like Rembrandt. Not only because he is a fellow compatriot, but because he pours himself into his work - his face, and those he loves, become the characters in his paintings. He breathes life into his work. In all his work, light and shadow interplay as though to reflect our human existence in this world - fragile beings shrouded in shadow and darkness. Occasionally we huddle by a flickering flame, at other times we are bathed by radiant light. But always, we are reminded of the shadows beyond the light, the darkness that is never quite extinguished.
So, accompanied by Rembrandt, here begin my thoughts on love, parenting and this strange creation we call a family.
Isaac and Rebecca (The Jewish Bride) c.1666When we first meet that "special someone", we plan the future with boundless optimism. Our future is bright, we are young and carried along the tide of blossoming love - a love that is youthful, enthusiastic, idealistic and passionate. That is how it was for me, though I did not recognise it at the time. But I was young, and there was definitely.....plenty of passion.
Holy Family c.1645The first child is born - an amazing, wonderful experience. Literally - full of wonder. When we are young and naive, we are not always aware of it. But truly, we can hear choirs of angels surround the birth of the first child born into the relationship of young love. Despite the sleepless nights, the newness and unfamiliarity, the young family is bathed in radiant light. Their enthusiasm, passion and ideals carry them through the teething problems of early parenthood.
Portrait of a Family 1668But the pressures of life begin to buffet youthful love. The first baby, the single object of parental devotion and adoration, becomes the eldest child, with two, three, four young siblings. The parental adoration becomes parental expectation. I suspect this is how it was for my own brother, Willem. This is certainly how it has played out for my own daughter, Ebony. But this is the natural course of family life and perhaps of love.
The choirs of angels, the adoration and devotion become sweet memories as we encounter the shadows in life. The pressures begin to build on the young family, and the tender love between the parents must be reforged of stronger steel.
This is how it was for my parents. When Willem a small child, and I was not yet two years old, they separated for a time. My mother returned to her family home. But the separation did not last more than several weeks. While apart, my parents became Christians and were reconciled to their God and to each other. To Willem and my good fortune - over time we were blessed with six younger siblings!
After reconciling, my parents made an effort to rekindle the flickering flame of their love. My father reduced his work hours, and despite a smaller income, they managed to devote time to each other with budget friendly bicycle trips and picnics. My parents were now new Christians, and perhaps this gave them a hope and faith in themselves and each other that was previously lacking. The world a little less dark; the future a little less grim.
This is how it was for my parents. When Willem a small child, and I was not yet two years old, they separated for a time. My mother returned to her family home. But the separation did not last more than several weeks. While apart, my parents became Christians and were reconciled to their God and to each other. To Willem and my good fortune - over time we were blessed with six younger siblings!
After reconciling, my parents made an effort to rekindle the flickering flame of their love. My father reduced his work hours, and despite a smaller income, they managed to devote time to each other with budget friendly bicycle trips and picnics. My parents were now new Christians, and perhaps this gave them a hope and faith in themselves and each other that was previously lacking. The world a little less dark; the future a little less grim.
The Angel Stopping Abraham from Sacrificing Isaac to God 1635 But newfound faith, like blossoming love, must face and survive the test of life. New faith must be reforged of stronger steel as we find ourselves in the shadows of our existence.
Our faith and love are tested when we encounter responsibilities that come with the rich blessings of children. As a parent you provide more than food, shelter, warm clothes. You shape the very lives of your children. We may not be consciously aware of it, but we are moulding them in our own image. For a time, we are the gods of these small human-beings, we are the center of their world, we are all they know and all they love. And they want to grow up to be just like us.
My parents were blessed with more than a quiver full. Her eight children were my mother's joy and happiness. My mother had always wanted a large family and each of her children were welcomed with love. There were times of darkness and doubt for my mother - pregnancy difficulties, post-natal depression, as well as the nameless and faceless worry that stir a mother's heart from the moment her child is born. Her faith and her love gave her strength, particularly when one of my younger siblings was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour at the age of ten.
For a very long time, I was quite certain my mother was the perfect mother, and certainly the perfect Christian. She embodied everything that was good, all the qualities a child seeks in her mother. Sure, she had her failures. She was not an enthusiastic cook, she did not play with us and she hated birthdays! But these things didn't matter because she was kind, patient, encouraging and a good listener. If we wanted to try or do anything new, she would give us all the support she could - financially, materially or emotionally.
My relationship with my father was more complex. If, in my childish mind, my mother was a saint, my father was at best, a sinner, at worst - a devil! Out of the mouth of babes! If parents are the gods of their children, my mother was undoubtedly Hestia, the Greek goddess who peacefully tends the hearth. My father embodied Ares, the god of war. Or in Christian terms- my mother represented Christ and my father the God of the Old Testament.
But these are the impressions of a child. As we grow up, our parents cease to be gods, they cease to be either sinner or saint and become human beings. And as I became a parent, and experienced both the joys and responsibilites, I began to see my own parents in a new light. The time came to discover and acknowledge my own humanity and theirs. The journey from child to adult is never easy. It is not easy to let go of the gods. I have had a few sessions with my counselor to dethrone Hestia and Ares, and to recognise and accept the humanity of my parents. Parents are mortal human beings who bring us into the world, do their best to raise and educate us, then step back and release us live our own lives. Surely the deepest and strongest act of love is to step back, to let go and to allow your child, vessel of all your hopes and dreams, to step out into the world to fulfil their own hopes and dreams.
Jacob blessing the sons of Joseph 1656Now I recognise humanity is the greatest legacy of my parents. My parents never sought immortality, never enacted or claimed to be gods. My mother was never just the peaceful Hestia, but also Athena, goddess of war and sister to Ares, and wisest of all the gods. My father was never just the warlike Ares, but also Apollo, the god of music, poetry, light and truth. Their humanity was always there, hidden and veiled behind the immortality assigned to them by me - their reverent offspring.
My parents were never more than human. The growing pains of life are not confined to children. Parents are not given a handbook and manual. Parents must suffer their own growing pains. But in these growing pains, love is born. Tears, frayed tempers, reconciliations and honest conversations are the mortar that cement the relationship between parents and children, and ultimately, between human beings.
The Return of the Prodigal Son c1668-69The gifts and legacies of a mother and father last long beyond the few years of childhood. Each of us are given a suitcase with which we venture forth into the world. When we first set out, we curse the weight of the suitcase. It slows us down and holds us back. As we begin to face the vagaries of life, we open the suitcase to look for aid. We take out the most obvious gifts - gifts like courage and strength. We close our eyes and mind to the less welcome "gifts". It takes us a long time to honestly look at the contents of our suitcase. When we do, we slowly realise the most valuable gifts are the less glamorous variety - the ability to smile through difficult circumstances, patience, empathy and that most precious gift of all - forgiveness.
Each of us has a suitcase - a heritage from our ancestors, a gift from our parents. Each of us needs to open the suitcase and look at our gifts with new eyes. May you find that most precious gift of all. For those of us who are burdened by the past, or who battle with flawed gods, let us have the courage to begin a conversation with those who taught us how to love, and those we are teaching how to love.
Acquaint or reaquaint yourself with the work of a master artist.
Follow the link below to an online gallery of Rembrandt.
Follow the link below to an online gallery of Rembrandt.
