Not a Problem to Be Solved
“Don’t ask me; I don’t know anything about that,” was the most common response I got from my father whenever I asked him for advice or guidance.
He had an undiagnosed learning disability when he was growing up. There wasn’t much recognition or help for learning disabilities in the 1930s and 40s. He was just told that he wasn’t very smart. And my mother, who was difficult to live with, was often critical of him.
By the time I started asking him for advice on classes and activities, girls and sports, colleges and careers, I think that he thought it was best not to express an opinion. I grew up longing for his guidance.
When I started having children, I determined that I would not deprive them of helpful direction from me. But as is often the case, I went too far the other way. I was a helicopter parent.
Child psychologist Haim Ginott coined the term helicopter parent in 1969, but it came into wider use in the late 1980s to describe an overly involved, micromanaging parenting style. That was me.
I directed everything my kids did—classes, friends, extracurricular activities, clothes, TV, and, well, you get the idea.
I recall making my older daughter take oboe lessons when she was in fourth grade because it would give her a good chance to get a college scholarship. This might have been an okay idea if she were interested in the oboe or becoming a professional musician. She was not.
Then there were the hours and hours I made one of my sons throw a lacrosse ball against a wall and catch it so that he could improve his stick skills. Again, this might have been a good idea if he wanted to play lacrosse. He didn’t, or at least not very much.
I put a heavy burden on my children to be who I thought they should be rather than helping them to discern who God wanted them to be.
My helicopter parenting was also combined with the short temper and angry responses that I inherited from my mother. It was not a good combination and not good for my children.
Every so often, I see someone post on social media the question, “If you could go back and live your life over again, would you?” The most common answer is an emphatic “No!”
I would love to be able to live that part of my life over, to have the opportunity to redo much of the way I raised my children. I would love to be able to go back and treat them more like the way Jesus treats me.
Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).
In Ann Patchett’s essay “The Worthless Servant,” she wrote about Charlie Strobel, a Roman Catholic priest who leads a homeless ministry in Nashville called The Room in the Inn. She related a story of Doy Abbott, a homeless man whom Charlie described as “his terrorist.” Here’s what Patchett wrote:
“He was my terrorist,” Charlie said. “Every morning, he woke me up to demand breakfast. He was a regular back at Holy Name. He kicked in the screen door. We had to have that door replaced three times. He cussed out everyone in the parish. He expected everything to be done for him. My mother used to say to me, ‘Doy is your ticket to heaven.’ And I’d tell her, if he’s my ticket to heaven, I don’t want to go. Everyone in the parish was afraid of him.
“Everyone except Mary Hopwood. She was the housekeeper and the secretary and the bookkeeper for the parish. She’d come to work at the age of fifty-five, after raising twelve children of her own. With Doy her tone was always quiet and respectful, and he was respectful in return. They listened to one another.
“About that time I read something Dorothy Day had said. She said what she wanted to do was love the poor, not analyze them, not rehabilitate them. When I read that it was like a light clicking on. I thought about Mrs. Hopwood. I realized that Doy was not my problem to solve but my brother to love. I decided on the spot that I was going to love him and not expect anything from him, and overnight he changed. He stopped the cussing, stopped the violence. I feel we became brothers. I was his servant and he was my master. I was there with him when he died.”
My kids were not terrorists like Doy. Most of the time, they were not difficult at all. I thought micromanaging my kids was an act of love. Unfortunately, I think, it came across more like I thought they were problems I was trying to solve than children to be loved. I regret that deeply.
Jesus treats me with gentleness and kindness. The yoke he places on me is light. I’d love to be able to go back and take back the heavy yoke I put on my kids and show them more of the gentleness and kindness of Jesus’ light yoke.
But of course, I cannot. So, I pray for them every morning. When we talk or text, I try to be kind and encouraging. I tell them I love them.
And I try to keep this in mind in my interaction with others, especially when I go to prison. I know that every person there has made serious mistakes with life-altering consequences. But I do not go there looking for problem people who need me to offer them solutions. I go looking for brothers I can love. I hope that benefits them. I know that it benefits me. When I look for opportunities to love others the way that Jesus loved me, I am the one who gets the reward.
Loving God and loving others is really what it’s all about.
Much love, Barry
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