Yesterday my son invited me to sit in on his Constitutional Law zoom class. He thought I might be interested in the case they were studying that day ~ Roe v. Wade. Because I worked for Planned Parenthood for twentyish years, my kids both grew up hearing about reproductive rights. I am reminded of a time Hilary asked to record the greeting on our answering machine (remember those?). She was in grade school at the time. "You have reached the Brennan-Marquez family. You have a choice to leave a message or not because we are a pro-choice family." That about sums up the political indoctrination of my children. Poor kids didn't have a fighting chance of being anything but liberals. I also remember one of Kiel's few acts of rebellion as an adolescent. He came home from high school one day and announced that he was a Libertarian. Ah, a knife through the heart. But I digress...
Let me tell you what it was like to hear my child so eloquently discuss the complexities of Roe v. Wade as he encouraged his One L students to consider its flaws. Cold calling his students by their surnames and hearing them respond by calling him Professor felt otherwordly to me. As I heard him ask his students to consider the time of Roe v. Wade, the impact of the Vietnam War on the Court at the time, the question of equality and women's rights in 1973, I thought 'when did my little boy learn all of this?. He wasn't even born then.'
I remember the first time I realized, really understood, that my children were separate human beings who were going to continue to develop independently from me. I had Hilary on my hip as I picked Kiel up from his parent co-op preschool and asked him what they did that day. "Played" he responded laconically as was his way. Played with whom, played what, was it fun? I was not going to know about his morning. It was his and he was keeping it to himself. It was the beginning of knowing the bittersweet grief of successful parenting.
Just hours before I sat in on my son's lecture I went downstairs for lunch to find my daughter taking a break from her work to sew a gift for her sister-in-law. "I decided to make a french seam because the fabric is so delicate" she informed me. How did she learn to make a french seam? I am the one who taught her to sew on the very machine she was using today. I have no idea how to make a french seam. "It's pretty simple, Mom. Just follow the directions."
So I choose to think of it this way. My children are version 2.0 (a concept that barely existed 30+ years ago when they were born). Being a good parent is not just about taking care of them and being there for them, it really is that corny sentiment about letting them go and blindly trusting the universe. Now I get to watch my granddaughter differentiate at a mere fourteen months old as her parents stand by. Crawling and cruising away at every opportunity. Trying every dangerous act of climbing and poking and ingesting with complete faith that the world is a safe place. The Covid baby who has really never been without one of her parents is about to start day care next month and she will have her own experiences that her parents will never know about. Version 3.0 is about to help her parents experience the bittersweet grief of successful parenting.
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