Perception is Reality

Because I am an imperfect parent, my children have accused me of many things over the years. I don't listen. I spoil one child (or another) more than others. I don't make so-and-so do as many chores. I allowed others more privileges. I spent more money on the other children. I never keep my promises. I didn't properly warn of consequences. I let one particular child do something I didn't allow the other children to do. I give longer back rubs to another child. I didn't take as many pictures of one child as I did of the others. I delayed seeking treatment for a child's vision problems. I could go on ad nauseam, but I don't want to further depress myself.

I try to listen to each complaint leveled against me and jog the recesses of my memory to see if I'm guilty of the accusations. Perhaps, sometimes I am. I think, however, most of the time I am not. I have learned, though, that no amount of reasoning or explaining convinces the accuser of their errant thinking. To them (and probably to most of us), perception is reality. They really believe they are justified in their accusations.

I must admit that I was dumbfounded when Sara, the 19.5-year-old, accused me of NEVER buying her her very own Barbie. WHAT?!?!?!? For years, we seemed to have a house full of Barbies, Barbie clothes, Barbie furniture, and Barbie accessories. Barbie shoes were everywhere. Lance even built a sturdy, wooden, large Barbie house for the girls. Grandma Markie made lovely Barbie beds. I simply refused to believe that I never bought a Barbie for Sara.

Upon further questioning, Sara admitted that if I actually had bought her a Barbie, I took it away before she was old enough to play with it. Further, we expunged all traces of Barbie from the house during Sara's formative years. How could we be such callous, uncaring parents? What emotional scars we must have caused our precious princess! I am horrified!!!

Today, I did the only thing I could think to do to atone for my grevious sin: I bought Sara a Barbie. Her face just lit up when I gave it to her. She carefully removed the packaging and freed Barbie from her plastic restraints. Lovingly, she stroked Barbie's "stiff" hair. "Her hair needs to be washed, Mom."

Imagine Sara's glee when I said, "She's yours to do whatever you want with her. If you want to mar her face with permanent marker, you may. You may even cut her hair. You're free to do with her whatever makes you happy."

Happiness is knowing that for at least today, I made one child happy.