I don't remember who taught me about this very serious disease that parents get, whereby they believe that the sun shines from their child's ass, but I always try to keep it in mind when I'm on the verge of praising Squire. Everybody thinks their own kids are great, it's a good way to make sure we don't kill them when they're annoying. Also, if we didn't think our own kids were fantastic, who would? Like, this is the person who you are hormonally gifted to unconditionally love; if you can't do it, who will?
And I do unconditionally love Squire. I only rarely look at him even now, nearly seventeen years on, without feeling a rush of pure love. I love the parts of him that are not like me (his love of video games and music without words, his neglectful hygiene, his preference for red meat and sugar, his patience with stupid people) and the parts that are me (blue eyes, giant ears, the need to rewind the funny parts so he can laugh harder the second time). I loved him when he was five and wouldn't put his damn shoes on when we were late and I wanted to squeeze his lazy head until it exploded but I was prevented from doing so because I loved him. And I loved him when he was nine and so unbelievably miserable and I had to be physically restrained from beating up his stupid teacher for saying he asked to be beaten up in class. And every step of the way I have looked at this love, this overwhelming heart exploding love and thought: Ok, that's it, can't love him more, this is the max, and then the next year comes and whoa, and now I am blown away to see that my grinchy heart has grown seventeen times its original size.
THAT SAID, you guys, that said. He does stupid stuff. There are some things I should have taught him that I did not. I see these flaws in him, some flaws of habit and flaws of thought. None of them are evil, none of them will probably hurt anybody other than him. But I SEE them. And I keep wondering about parents who don't see the flaws in their children, wondering is it because they really think their child is perfect? Or is it because they're unwilling to admit there's something that they could have done differently to prevent that imperfection? Or do they love their children so much they are blind to these flaws?
If you know me, you likely know who I'm talking about in particular, though it is a general obsession of mine. I just can't stop thinking about it. Do you not see the flaw, are you unwilling to admit to others that there's a flaw, or are you afraid the flaw is your fault and that's more than you can handle? Is this unconditional love, should love have conditions under some circumstances, when does blindness excuse you from responsibility? Is this the result of the feel-good "raising confident children" style, do most or some people naturally love their children this way, are we all blind to our blindspots (i.e. am I also doing this and just don't see it?). I feel like I've spent more than the average amount of time dealing with people who love their adult children to a shit-don't-stink degree, and I keep coming back to it like a canker sore, and I am no closer to understanding.