What Do I Make?

What do I Make?

a poem inspired by Taylor Mali's What Teachers Make

I helped make my children.

But I aside from that, I haven’t been able to make

them do or be anything since

--at least with any measure of success.

Have you ever tried making a four-year-old clean his room?  

By the time I had raised all three of my children,

I had tried every “loving and il-logical” way imaginable:

manipulation,

indulgence,

coercion,

bribery,

punishment,

reward,

over-positive reinforcement,

conditioning,

and my all-time worst mothering method--i-Robot,

in which I stood behind my second son,

his wrists in my hands,

and forcefully bent him over,

refusing to let him up

until he had a toy in his grasp,

so we could walk it to the closet

and put it away in its "proper" place.  

We both cried that day.

And I remember realizing

(much sooner than most parents, I believe)

that I cannot make my children do or be anything.  

I can teach.

I can expect,

I can lead,

I can hope,

I can allow,

I can encourage,

I can champion,

I can ignore,

I can praise,

I can love.

So I did.

Then, I sat back and watched as they became  

a dancer,

a musician,

a runner,

a singer,

a missionary,

an orator,

a listener,

a loving sibling,

a writer,

a funny girl,

and perhaps most importantly,

my children became exactly who they were meant to be

--not out of force or manipulation or because

“You’ll be a nerd if you don’t make the basketball team like the Cluff kids did.”  

And, because I was a coach more so than a creator,

I do not mistakenly take the credit for who my children have become.

I now sit in a seat of satisfaction

and honor the beautiful, imperfect human beings they are

--people who any other beautiful, imperfect human being

will benefit from knowing and loving.