Because every child achieves things and has accomplishments--even if perhaps what they accomplish is a little different. Read on:
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There were a few regularly-used Yiddish words in my house when I was
growing up. Like the word “kvetch” to refer to my great-aunt, later
dubbed “Aunt Kvetchie,” who was a known complainer.
Or “you are
such a klutz” – as in uncoordinated. I heard this one often. An accurate
description of my always bumping into things, not the least bit
athletic self. And “what a schmuck he is” – my dad describing someone
who was a real jerk.
One Yiddish word I didn’t learn until I
became a Mom is “kvelling” – when a person is bursting with pride and
pleasure. As in – “His mother was kvelling over his early admission to
Harvard.” Kvelling is done by all mothers, Jewish or not, when
discussing their children.
In my lawyering years, I ate lunch
several days a week around a conference room table with younger female
colleagues. There was a lot of kvelling among us. My friend, Lisa, would
tell us about her daughter’s star soccer skills. And Michelle would let
us know that her son got an A on a tough social studies test. Denise
was naturally thrilled when her daughter was elected class president in
6th grade. I shared my kids’ accomplishments as well. And when your kids
are young, you have lots of achievements to kvell about. It isn’t
boasting or bragging; you are just proud of your child. And okay, I’ll
admit, maybe a little back-patting.
When Lisa, Michelle and
Denise’s kids were in elementary school, mine were of high school and
college age. Kvelling gets a bit trickier as your kids get older.
Especially if your kid happens not to be on the do-not-pass-go direct
path from high school to early admission into Harvard, then on to elite
grad school or Wall Street or a fancy internship.
What happens to kvelling if your kid is on his or her own very different path?
By the time one of my kids was in high school, we were on a
first-name basis with mental health struggles. In college, the same
mental health challenges grew worse. An elite grad school, Wall Street
or a fancy internship did not seem likely. (although hope does spring
eternal).
Since I’m not one to sit back and watch life happen, I
sought out other parents whose young adult kids were also on different
paths to adulthood. I didn’t find one, so I created a support and
resources-sharing group in 2008 at my synagogue. Called – wait for it,
very clever name coming –”Parents of Young Adults who Struggle,” we have
met monthly for the past nearly 6 years to share our stories, to talk
about the roller-coaster rides that our kids put us on, to strategize on
how to cope as parents and to laugh. Lots of laughing. We even have our
own Facebook page.
In our support group we kvell often.
One
of us will say how thrilled she was that her son managed to get up on
time and get to his doctor’s appointment. Yay, we respond. Or that
another remembered to take his meds. Terrific, we cheer. Or that one’s
daughter is taking a class at community college and hasn’t dropped out
yet. Great news!
And while this different kind of kvelling was
going on, I was still having lunch on weekdays with friends whose kids’
accomplishments were of the more typical variety. While my work friends
were true pals, I wasn’t always comfortable talking about my kid’s
struggles. I was dealing in two parallel universes here – I was
certainly happy for my friends and their kids, even if I couldn’t always
keep up in the kvelling department.
But when minor (to me) problems were shared – a son got a B- on a
test or a daughter didn’t make the soccer travel team – I had some
trouble summoning up the required murmurs of sympathy. “You just have no
idea what real problems are until you’ve met some of the people in my
support group,” I would think.
So the next time you are having
lunch with friends and the talk turns, as it often does, to what your
kids are doing and the kvelling begins — one of the moms is happy that
her daughter aced the SATs, the other’s son just got into law school, a
third mom glows about her daughter’s engagement — and you see that one
of your friends around the table is sitting silently, fiddling with her
drink, just waiting for that part of the conversation to pass? Consider
that quiet mom. She loves her son or daughter just as much as you do.
Smile at her, and ask how her child is doing. She may need to do a
different kind of kvelling.
Nancy L. Wolf, the mother of two
young adults, erroneously thought that the difficult years of parenting
were behind her. She is a recovering lawyer, who lives in Washington and
blogs at Witty Worried and Wolf.
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