"That's Not How I Raised You!"

“Whoa,” was my first, less than articulate, reaction.

And then I thought about it more. Specifically, I thought about the parents. And how parents react when their children reject the values they grew up with and strike out on a different path.

Without knowing the ins and outs and family dynamics, the parents in this story are clearly upset (understatement of the year?) that their daughter decided to adopt a stricter form of tzniut than what she had grown up with. To the extent that they apparently forbid her from wearing long skirts. (What do they do, wait outside her room and slice off the skirt above the knee? Wrestle her into a pair of jeans?)

As parents, we raise our children in the way that we think is correct; if we are religious, we raise our children the way we believe is Godly as well. We inculcate our children with our beliefs, and both by watching and doing, they absorb what we hold true.

So it is strikes at someplace deep and personal and primal when our children reject our way of life. Whether they choose to veer right or left, it’s a lifestyle that’s alien to us. Of course, we just want them to be happy and fulfilled in life, and make decisions that will help them achieve those goals. But secretly, we want them to make the same decisions we made.

My own children are young enough that they’re still doing what we do, wearing what we wear, believing what we believe. But I know that it may not always be the case. I try to imagine how I’ll feel if my daughter comes home one day and tells me she wants to wear pants, or wants shirts with longer sleeves. I tell myself that if she came to this decision through thinking and discussing and debating, then I’ll be okay with her choices, because it means her process was honest and true. That would “hurt” less if she chooses a different path because over the years I unconsciously passed on a resentment or unhappiness in the way I was leading my life.

My children have half my DNA; I grew them and brought them into this world. Yet despite that, I am reminded over and over that my children are not, in fact, me. They have different interests, likes, dislikes, reactions, ways of thinking and processing. How often have I projected my own fears and insecurities onto them, fears and insecurities which turned out to be completely unfounded? (Too often, is the correct answer.) They are their own people, I constantly tell myself.

And I am prepared that these different people, these children who are half me and half their father and yet completely unique, may grow up to believe and observe differently than we do. I hope that if (when?) that happens I accept who they have become openly and warmly, ready to discuss anything should they need, or just keep my mouth shut.

And even though I would never “forbid” a child from doing something because it does not comply with my own person religious observance, I am also prepared that, despite all my preparations, it will still hurt. Just a little.