My Legacy

My kids have parts of me. It’s a fact that they will come to terms with in about 30 years or so. When they reach their teenage years and people comment “X is just like your Mom,” they will cringe, scowl and deny any relation. These things I am fairly sure of.

Physically, my daughter looks like I did at her age. (Sorry, M!) But she inherited her beautiful blue eyes from her father. My son? He inherited my brown eyes (although his are much bigger and more handsome than mine ever could be). My daughter is tall, (as I was) but not as lean as I was as a girl. If only I could still be that lean. My son is leaner, like his mother was, once upon a time.

The ladies at CHBM have posed the question “What parts of yourself do you hope your child gets from you?” I assume they mean the non-physical aspects, since the physical aspects are a done-deal.

I hope that my children love their family as I do. My family was not overly demonstrative with their love, but I think I have (so far) fostered an openly demonstrative home. I let my feelings out. I cry when I’m sad, or mad, or just because I need to. My kids (especially K) often stop and say “I need to give you a hug (or kiss) Mom.” I can only hope that when they are in their 30s and if I am still around they will still come to me and say “I need a kiss Mom.”

I hope that my children love to read as much as I do. I remember hiding under the covers with a flashlight as a child because I wanted to continue reading after lights out. As an adult, I still read with a flashlight so I don’t disturb my husband too much.

I’m torn about whether I want my kids to acquire the trait of feeling things deeply. M, I’m sure already has. It’s troublesome in that, when I get really angry, I cry. When I get upset, I cry. When I’m really happy, I cry. Yeah. A lot of crying. Miss M has followed in my footsteps, and in some ways, so has K. Empathy has its good and bad points. There really is only so much crying you should do over Grey’s Anatomy.

I hope that my kids love dancing and singing as much or more than I do, and that they continue to practice these loves into adulthood. (So they don’t get big like me.)

I hope that my children are colorblind. Not that I want them to see only red and green, but that they see only people. (So far, I think, this is going well. M has never mentioned anything about a person’s skin color. She has named a (white) baby doll after a (black) classmate.) Maybe my terminology is off, I’m not sure. However, you can be assured, my heart is in the right place.

I hope that my kids see the glass half-full most of the time.

I hope that my kids love their parents as much as I love mine.

I hope that my kids love their children (should they choose to have any) as much as I love mine.

I hope.