by Esther Dusabe-Richards
Blessed are the meek (parents) for their children will make them inherit the earth (possibly)…
I have been thinking a lot about the concept of meekness as it relates to being a parent. This may sound a little strange, or perhaps contrived. It is probably both those things. And deeply untheological. Nevertheless, it is a theme my mind has been caught upon; and anyhow, I don’t claim to be a theologian or even a very deep thinker. Those are my caveats.
Before becoming a parent I assumed I would adopt a firm-but-fair approach towards my child and wield my parental authority with grace, determination and, ultimately, power. I assumed my child would ‘test boundaries’ and I imagined I would push back with the force of my adult, knowledgeable will. I assumed I would be able to establish and maintain (with the help of my partner) a family-based ‘rule of law’ – not infallible – but capable of containing my child’s will within the stronger, taller boundaries of her parents. I didn’t imagine I would become more meek. I certainly didn’t imagine that I would feel the need to become more meek. That in my parenting ‘toolkit’ of, frankly, crappy tools, the mirror of meekness would feature pretty highly.
I’m not sure I’m making much sense. The fact is, my daughter (and I’m guessing most children under 3) has what we euphemistically call a ‘strong will’. It took me a little while to wrap my mind around this fact. At first, I was just surprised she had a will at all. All the things I thought I knew about small children were based on the premise that parents should impose boundaries and children would succumb to them (in time). It hadn’t occurred to me before becoming a parent that my boundaries would feel meaningless to me once my daughter was in my arms; that in order to recognise her as a human being, I would feel (indeed, strongly feel) the need to recognise her will; her ability to choose to be or do something that I might not want her to be or do.
I imagine some would tell me it is wrong, or even dangerous, to even consider a baby’s inclinations as a basis for parental decision-making. There are those that would suggest I simply focus on the fact that babies have physical, emotional and psychological needs that require fulfilling – no more, no less. However, as my daughter’s willpower started to manifest itself, I started to have doubts about my ‘duty’ to override it. I began to question why I should make her do something simply because it was the thing I wanted her to do or the thing I thought she should do. I started to wonder if my determination to have her fit into a mould of my making, might not be for her benefit but might be simply a gratification of my own will (and my belief that as a parent I should be the ultimate ‘boss’).
Over time, I learned to respect her willpower and, as I did so, I felt I started to understand a little bit about meekness. It wasn’t that I felt I had to ‘give in’ to her and be persuaded/manipulated/managed by my daughter (although I expect others may think that all those things have happened to me… I don’t deny that I am something of a pushover when it comes to a crying baby). It’s that there were times I realised that when she expressed her desire to do or be things I wished she wouldn’t do or be (or touch, or suck or eat…) I couldn’t – or didn’t want to – simply overpower her will with my ‘superior’ adult one. I had to stop and listen to her. I had to (dare I say it) humble myself before her. I had to learn to provide room within myself to acknowledge my daughter’s willpower; the space to allow her to choose to be or do the things she willed, despite my wishes or plans or hopes.
This doesn’t mean I let her do dangerous things, or things that would hurt her or others (although those things do happen at times – but I promise not as an exercise in parental meekness). It’s that I learned, over time, that my own set of beliefs, priorities, needs, views, opinions, principles, preferences, tastes were not necessarily important or useful to my daughter. They were and are mine. They are not hers. They influence how I am with her and how I speak to her and how I (falteringly) raise her, but they’re ultimately the things that have formed me and should not be imposed on her without question. Of course I’m not crazy enough to think that my beliefs, priorities, needs, views, opinions, principles, preferences, tastes won’t influence her. I recognise that they will form her to some extent. It’s just that before she was born I assumed that these attributes, and those of my partner, would be the only important things in our relationship with our daughter. I didn’t realise her willpower would come into it (or my ability to be meek for that matter).
We mostly think of meekness in the face of a ‘higher power’, or authority. That we learn it by suffering or submitting at the hands of those who are stronger than us. At least I think that’s the distorted view I had of ‘meekness’ until quite recently (I did admit that I’m not a theologian). In fact, I think that we can learn to be meek more effectively by listening to those of us we perceive as ‘weaker’ than us. Perhaps not our children, but others who are easily overlooked or even despised, socially or culturally. You see, I am learning from a human being who is much more fragile than me and who lacks the usual prerequisites to teach (for one thing she can’t talk). She may have no qualifications and very few social skills; but my daughter is an excellent teacher of meekness.
Of course, my meekness has its limits. I become frustrated with my 20-month-old – incredibly so. And it has to be acknowledged that she is rather on the ‘independent’ end of the spectrum so you may think that I’m simply trying to put a brave face on my parental failure to make her submit to my will. And perhaps that is a partial truth here. But I like to think that another part of the truth is that I am learning, from my daughter, to be meeker – to be more meek.
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