When
they were small, at bedtime, I would do "worst and best". When the
stories were read, the achy places had acupressure, the forgotten homework
addressed, the bathroom visits finally completed, and they were settled down in
bed, tucked in , why, then I would ask them "Worst and best?"
Sometimes they would lie there, looking at the ceiling, mulling it over selecting carefully.
Other times, they had been waiting for this, and sat up in bed, spitting it out with anger, frustration. Tears.
Unloading, unwinding .Having someone know what they struggled with , what they celebrated .
"I hate this teacher! I can't stand that kid! ". All those secret doubts and mean moments and guilt and oh , the longing.
I learned so much . Slowly I began to realize that, more than my worrying or hand wringing or my own frustration , what really benefitted them was empathy. To be listened to.
That, with those simple supports, they would go off and make choices that fit then better. What a discovery, that I didn't need to do it for them.
Sometimes, their worst /best were surprises.
The injured pigeon in the backyard flying free, to the surprised tears of my daughter. My youngest's fierce barn cat Rona ,chasing a raccoon out of the yard. A quiet walk down to the library, where my youngest found beautiful pale green Tourmaline jutting up from beneath the earth, like true magic . My oldest having premonitions before broken bones. , telling me that when I had my childhood stuff more settled , I too would have them .
It was this precious moment, with each of them. Later , when my teenaged nephew came to stay, listening to his heartbreak and his dreams. Later , when the oldest's girlfriend moved in, her hopes and fears. Even their two friends, a homeless couple, with us for a bit, would tell me the bits of their day.
I was always left tired, and amazed . Young people, learning the ways they were able, gifted, making their way.
Sometimes they would lie there, looking at the ceiling, mulling it over selecting carefully.
Other times, they had been waiting for this, and sat up in bed, spitting it out with anger, frustration. Tears.
Unloading, unwinding .Having someone know what they struggled with , what they celebrated .
"I hate this teacher! I can't stand that kid! ". All those secret doubts and mean moments and guilt and oh , the longing.
I learned so much . Slowly I began to realize that, more than my worrying or hand wringing or my own frustration , what really benefitted them was empathy. To be listened to.
That, with those simple supports, they would go off and make choices that fit then better. What a discovery, that I didn't need to do it for them.
Sometimes, their worst /best were surprises.
The injured pigeon in the backyard flying free, to the surprised tears of my daughter. My youngest's fierce barn cat Rona ,chasing a raccoon out of the yard. A quiet walk down to the library, where my youngest found beautiful pale green Tourmaline jutting up from beneath the earth, like true magic . My oldest having premonitions before broken bones. , telling me that when I had my childhood stuff more settled , I too would have them .
It was this precious moment, with each of them. Later , when my teenaged nephew came to stay, listening to his heartbreak and his dreams. Later , when the oldest's girlfriend moved in, her hopes and fears. Even their two friends, a homeless couple, with us for a bit, would tell me the bits of their day.
I was always left tired, and amazed . Young people, learning the ways they were able, gifted, making their way.
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