Fitting In and Standing Out

Relationships are complicated. Correction: meaningful relationships are complicated. Meaningless relationships are simple. Consider what we used to call the one-night-stand (today known as “hooking up”). This consists of one set of hormones bumping uglies with another set of hormones, after which everyone moves on without a backward glance. If one party stops to think about the interaction or starts to feel something for the other person, complexities begin to brew. The one who cares the least wins, the win who cares the most, most likely loses.

Now remove sex from the equation and consider parent/child relationships, which - typically - rest upon the very foundation of caring. It’s a given. Or should be. The basic variables are: who cares the most, who cares the least, and who or what is cared about.

When my daughter was small I was sitting beside her where she was nestled in her bed, talking about something or other that was of concern to her. “Don’t frown,” I said to her, gently rubbing the place between her eyebrows. “If you do, you’ll grow up to have wrinkles here, like mine.” “But, Mommy,” she replied, “I want to be just like you when I grow up.” That changed, of course, with time. Why? Because humans are herding animals.

Think about horses. They run together in the wild, and individual safety depends on fitting in with the others. A predator’s attention is always drawn to the one among the group that “stands out” by being different somehow… smaller, slower, more erratic, less attentive, a different color, or perhaps the same color but with different markings. When children are small, yes, they want to be just like those responsible for protecting them -- their parents. It’s instinct. But when they leave the home and go to school, dynamics change. Faint stirrings of logic begin to set in, bringing with them the latent realization that teachers and parents are older and less likely to last as protectors. Safety now shifts to fitting in with their peers. As the new group of allies forms, in order to separate itself from the group that was once in control, it rebels, revolts, and redirects its allegiance to members of its own generation.

As parents, we want our children to succeed, which at its core means to be psychologically safe. Most commonly we want them to follow in our footsteps, or to pursue a path we’ve chosen for them based of our years of experience. We know the way! We know the whys and wherefores. Some will do as we desire (or dictate). It’s an easier life for them because we’ve cleared the way. Furthermore, when Fireman Fred’s son becomes Fireman Frank, Dad’s life choices are validated by his son’s replication. If Dad has instead lauded the police force and his little boy grows up to become Officer Alex, the message is still that father knows best, and everyone is happy with that. Despite the generation gap, an emotional connection remains intact. It's win/win... fitting in with both parents and peers. Nancy becomes a nurse just like her mother, but under that crisp, white uniform are racy tottoos that impress her friends.

But what about the maverick? The one who knows the dangers but decides to dart off in an entirely different direction than the one with arrows pointing toward it and footprints clearly leading the way. Here is where humans differ from the four legged creatures of the earth. We are, at least theoretically, more highly evolved. A horse, a cow, a giraffe, a zebra leaving the herd to go his or her own way doesn’t look back. Doesn’t stop to think or start to feel. And doesn’t care, therefore doesn't return in time to say, “Look what I’ve become. Look what I’ve made of myself. Look at me now that I’m my own person. Look at me. And show me you love me -- even though I‘m not who or what or how you may want me to be.”

Yes, they yanked your control over them out of your hands, and perhaps left you wondering where you went wrong. But isn’t good parenting about eventually relinquishing control? As long as they’re doing nothing illegal or unethical, choosing for themselves something different from what you would have chosen for them doesn’t mean they -- or you -- have made a mistake, it simply means they chose a harder path. And perhaps for that they deserve some credit, not denigration or rejection.

When they come back it’s not because you don’t matter to them. It’s because you do. If you don’t hand over the love it takes (with no strings attahed) to fill that empty spot they’ve shown you, they’ll go away again, maybe for good. They care, you care, but everybody loses. Remember: loving an adult child means making their individuality more important to you than your control. This is one of the things that marks the distinction between a good parent and a bad -- and sad -- one.

Humans care. I’ve seen it with my own eyes… youngsters who have grown into adults apart from the herd (family), and come back yearning for approval. They want to be accepted not as one that fits in, but as one that stands out… by choice. This is when the question a parent must answer is “Do you want a lasting relationship? Are you willing to think, and feel, and care -- not about yourself and whether or not your hopes and dreams for them have been fulfilled -- but about this person standing before you, who hunted down their own hopes, domesticated their own dreams, and is here to show you that little empty place in their heart than can only be filled by your acceptance and approval.