Permission to Contribute
It never occur to me that I’d need a permission to contribute to my daughter. You know the kind contribution such as sweetie, you forgot to make your bed or honey, can you brush your hair before leaving for school, or a more serious one like do the math homework before the music because it’ll get you further. My daughter says that day in and day out, I’m bombarding her with nags and that listening to my so-called contributions is like swallowing garlic it maybe good for her but surely stinks.
NAGS? GARLIC?
Rats. Here I am trying my best to to pave the road to growing up; looking after her; looking out for her; and all I get is NAGS. GARLIC. When I was growing up, my absent-minded parents were too busy navigating through the tortuous post-war Chinese communist system to bother me with NAGS and GARLIC. Are you kidding me, I’d be so grateful for a helpful tip on my two ponytails that never lined up so the kid who sat behind me wouldn’t laugh his head off each morning.
NAGS! GARLIC!
Darn. I don’t want our mother-daughter relationship to go bankrupt because of the contributions I deemed necessary for her proper upbringing. Like everyone else, I want my daughter grow up to be efficient, fulfilled, content and happy. So, when it comes to garlic, here are my choices: #1 – force feed; #2 – give up; #3 – mince it and slip it in. I choose choice #4: build up my emotional bank account with my daughter and consciously decide if garlic is called for moment by moment.
NAGS…GARLIC…
Why such white-glove approach? Well, I don’t want to drive in silence when she becomes a teen and allow me the privilege to drive her; I don’t want her ask her girlfriends which college career she ought consider; I don’t want her to hide in her room instant messaging all day; I don’t want to be the last one to know that she got in trouble at school (or anywhere); I don’t want her shut me out of her life. I know that my door will always be open for her, but the choice to come in or not is hers. I want her to trust me and come into my door, so I can help her, listen to her, be there for her. For that to happen, I’m willing to handle garlic with a white glove.
NAGS. GARLIC.
All I need to add is the WHITE GLOVE then I’m there.