Be Someone's Biggest Fan

“These damn kids.  I swear.  They are on my nerves.  I just want to run away and not look back.  I’m sick of this house being a mess.  Every time I turn around somebody wants something.  I can’t have anything because of them”.   I overhear her talking to one of her friends.  I look around the house at the mess that I have indeed contributed to.  Why did you leave your things out?  You are so stupid and lazy. I scold myself as I start to clean the house.  She notices my attempts to pick up and scoffs.  I take in her gaze.  It is one of pure disappointment.  There is so much disappointment all the time. I’m not sure what to do to change this perception.  As a little girl I’m not even aware what perception is or how one would change it.  I just know that I am lacking.  I am always lacking and there will never be anything I can do to undo the disappointment in my mom’s face when she looks at me.  I know there is this perfect life that she could have had if I didn’t exist.  Her marriage wouldn’t be strained.  The bills would be paid with ease.  The house would be spotless.  Weekends would be filled with carefree adult activities without worry or guilt about where the kids would go.

            I was 17 before I got my biggest fan. A person who looked at me without disappointment and disgust.  A person who saw the good about everything I did and said.  It was a bit weird at first, but believe me it didn’t take long to adjust.  I soared.  There was nothing I couldn’t do with him backing me.  He spoke words of praise and encouragement.  He called me beautiful and the smartest person he had ever met.  It wasn’t long before he had me convinced.  The world was a better place with me in it.  It was as if someone had unlocked this amazing place inside of me where I was allowed to be flawed, but remain good.  Flawed and good?  Is that possible?   As the years passed I would goof things up.  I misbalanced the checkbook a couple of times.  I burned more than my share of biscuits.  I bombed a test in nursing school.  I backed into a pole with the car.  Yes.  I was human.  Yet every time I messed up in life, there was this person who I wanted to tell.  You heard that right.  I couldn’t wait to call him and tell him what I had just done.  You see this is the gold my friends.  This is what counts. I wanted to call him first, immediately.  For so many years I concealed my shortcoming and failures because I knew they made me even more unworthy than I already was.  I carried such a heavy burden of pretending to be perfect because I couldn’t stand for more disappointment to be heaped on me.  Now I found myself laughing at my occasional failures.  Laughing!

I would call my husband with tears in my voice spilling out the horribleness of what I had done.  I would tense up, waiting on the response I dreaded, only to be relieved when his gentle voice would return words of kindness and understanding.  Relief and comfort flooded my frayed nerves.    He would remind me that we all mess up and this too shall pass.  He would insist I calm down and quit crying over something so silly.  He would ensure me that we would fix it together.  Before we hung up he would make sure I knew that he still loved me. 

I walk into her bedroom and it looks like we have been robbed. I pick up the jacket from the laundry room floor and the pockets are full of half eaten candy.  I’m pretty sure the sticky mess is not going to come out.  I get a call from her teacher.  She hasn’t completed some of her assignments.  My natural reaction, one that was instilled in me young, comes with a furry.  My anger bubbles up at these infractions.  She knows better.  She knows she is supposed to clean her room.  She knows to not put candy in her pockets.  She knows that school is her only and most important job.  I want to scream at her.  I have indeed screamed at her, a time or two.  I look over at her.  I try to pause and remind myself that she is human.  I try to cool down and put things in perspective.  I play this out in my head.  I can act on my emotions or I can calmly talk to her, remembering that she is a human just like me.  I recall the time I misbalanced the checkbook, burned the biscuits, and bombed my test. I want her to know that it’s ok to be flawed.  It’s ok to not perform at 100% in this life every. single. day. However, I want her to know that life is tough and there are consequences for what you chose to do and not do.  So, I talk to her.  What is going on, kiddo?  You have things you have to do in life, and you are not doing them.  Why?  A lot of times I get back a dramatic 13-year-old response that is full of bologna.  A lot of times she is just being a teenager, who finds it easier to ignore responsibilities and just chill out.  I give her the ole mom speech that many before me and many after me will give their teenagers.  I remind myself of the words of wisdom bestowed upon me by her dad, my biggest fan, “This too shall pass”.  She will be grown tomorrow.  Soon after that she will be lecturing her teenager about their responsibilities. 

My hope is that my daughter always knows that I am her biggest fan.  I want her to feel my love and the fact that I always see her heart and her good intentions, even when those intentions fall flat.  I pray that I instill responsibility in her all while keeping her self-worth intact.  I don’t want her to be 35 and struggling to find anything worthwhile about herself on a daily basis.  I want the core of her spirit to be filled with joy and understanding.  Understanding for herself and for those around her.  It is easy to pardon yourself at times, but difficult to give others space to fail.  When we allow ourselves to be human; we can give others that right as well.  This space is what makes good relationships.  When we do this we allow ourselves to find joy in our journey, as well as the journey of those around us.  Be someone’s biggest fan.  Everyone needs one.