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Navigating the Complexities of Parenting Regrets
As the final college acceptance letters arrive, I thought I would be ready for the bittersweet emotions that accompany my daughter’s departure. Yet here I am, caught in a whirlwind of mixed feelings during this uncertain transition. For her, college symbolizes a new beginning, but to me, it feels like the closing of a cherished chapter. Each time she tears open an envelope from potential schools, it sounds like packing tape sealing away her childhood, making it permanent and ready for reflection.
Like many parents, I’ve stumbled along the way, and now I find myself navigating a landscape filled with parenting regrets of all varieties. Some are trivial, like wishing we had made stained glass art with crayon shavings, while others weigh more heavily, such as the challenging move we made between her sophomore and junior years of high school. That transition was as seamless as switching dentists in the middle of a root canal.
When she struggles to concentrate, I can’t help but blame myself for the early introduction of technology and a smartphone. I discussed the importance of chores and allowances, but my lack of organization led to little follow-through. When she forgets to unload the dishwasher or spends money on a lipstick she hardly uses, I feel responsible. Now, as she takes long showers, I worry that I didn’t instill a strong sense of responsibility in her.
There were fleeting moments when she might have been open to learning new skills, and I missed those opportunities. I often introduced her to books at inopportune times—like having her read “Catcher in the Rye” before “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” I enrolled her in sailing lessons when she was already too tall for the boat, leading to some painful bumps on her head. Perhaps if I had shared my love for the Rolling Stones with her earlier, she wouldn’t think my music taste is outdated.
I turned out to be a different parent than I envisioned. I expected to read bedtime stories longer than I did, but fatigue took over. We never moved past silly books like “Dumb Bunnies” to the classics. My attempts at crafts were limited to gluing macaroni on paper, and I never imagined I would miss registration deadlines for activities due to work commitments. Unlike my fun-loving relatives who orchestrated elaborate holiday traditions, I never even dyed eggs with my kids because I dislike the smell of vinegar. One year, we skipped the Christmas tree entirely.
I’ve never been the overly strict parent, and I sometimes wonder if that’s why some parents push their kids into every conceivable activity. Are they genuinely concerned for their child’s development, or are they trying to avoid the regrets I grapple with? Do piano lessons and sports practices serve as emotional insurance against the fear of disappointing their children’s futures? Childhood, it seems, is often viewed as something we must curate, unlike our own parents who allowed us to simply be kids.
I often wish I could apply my hard-earned parenting wisdom in a way that avoids the chaos of diapers and tantrums. The thought of becoming a foster parent or adopting has crossed my mind, but I know I lack the energy and commitment. When my 15-year-old son asked why I’d want another child now, I blurted out, “Because I’m finally ready to be a parent.” But can I truly change who I am to be the parent I wish I had been?
Regret might not be the right term for my feelings; Olivia has turned out to be a remarkable person despite my parenting style, which could be described as benign neglect. She works hard, volunteers, and brings joy to those around her with her humor. So what if she never took the leading role in a play or competed in tournaments? She’s uniquely herself, even if I never taught her to sew (a skill I also lack). At least she knows to roll a lemon before cutting it to maximize juice.
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In summary, while I may feel a sense of loss and regret during this transitional phase of parenting, I recognize the individuality and strength of my daughter. Each moment has contributed to her growth, and in the end, that is what truly matters.