Parents are our first teacher. Parenting is not a popularity contest. Can be risky and risque’

Risk.

Risky.

Risque’

Gate.

Gait.

Gaet.

If you choose to enter into the crazy mystifying world of Parenthood.

Be Not Afraid.

But.

It can be scary.

Very scary.

When you make and take a vow to protect.

Another life.

Because babies are not toys, dolls to be played with. They are human people.

There is no manual.

There are few written rules.

Disclaimer: The Bible book hands down beats “What to expect when you are expecting” book.

Most of the lifelong lessons we learn are just that.

Lifelong.

All bets are off. Even the highest bidding ones.

We absorb the world the milisecond we are a blip on the radar.

A blip on the radar. Of the machine.

From the moment of conception, inception, introspection and inspection.

You had better be ready.

With eyes in the back of your head.

Side of your head.

Under your head.

Wherever prudent.

Yes. You may look like the scariest of monsters with eyes all over your head.

No worries.

No problem.

They serve a very important purpose.

They are the parental radar of all radars.

Leave the make up and botox at “home” because it will not matter how much you choose to “cake” on to hide your face, intentions and motivations when the business of protection begins at conception.

One will never be able to hide the intentions and motivations bubbling under the surface.

Explosions will occur.

I. Will go out on a limb.

On this day two days before the American Mother’s Day.

I will even admit it.

The desire, the longing to be liked by one’s mother never really goes away. Never really “leaves us”.

Ironically, that is exactly what happens. The abandonment is stifling. The lifelong lesson is too.

Especially if and when that mother-person is:

Incapable.

The journey of good and bad begins the moment your awareness does. And up and until the teen years. Even after. Watch out. That is the time wherein one of the tests occur— of operating a machine, a moving motor vehicle machine.

Ironic.

Looking back.

Would you do what you did when you did it?

If you had only five minutes to live, what would you do, who would you call?

To tell them you love them?

Telling another person, no matter who or whom should not be a “risky”, proposition. It can be risque’ though. Choose carefully. Whether or not to divulge this feeling. In some cases, it will not matter. Doesn’t matter. Never mattered.

In the least. In the most.

Yield. Wait. Walk away. Gait. Wait. For the gait. Wait for the gate. All good and meaningful options.

Especially at this age, this time, this period of your life. The so-called dreaded teen years. The adults in the room may have left. Checked out. Never been there in the first place. You may really be on your own. Have been on your own.

And you punted. Guessed. Trusted. In some cases, the wrong people.

Hey. It happens. To the best of us. To the worst of us.

At the end of the day. The mother IS the one person who is supposed to like us. Right? Warts and faults and all. Right? Hard when that does not occur. Why might this be?

Responsibility can be a fickle bit**. Responsibility to and for another. It helps a bit, if you at least “like” them. But it is not the modern day “like” you young persons are used to. Not the like of connection that you are used to. That is artificial. Not intelligent. And far from even artificially intelligent.

Personally. Have been around the block a few times. Myself.. And. Some folks do not grow up. Ever. They hide and escape, escape and hide until the cows come home. And then they wake up and do it all over again. The vicious cycle and the power to pull the plug rests squarely in their hands and they are not afraid to use it. Very scary.

No. Thank. You.

Heartbreaking. The only solution: Kindness. And. Resolve. A resolve to be kind.

Otherwise your multi-headed monster self rears its ugly head in the feeling that no one is standing next to you. Has your back. Has your hand.

It’s a yucky feeling.

A really yucky feeling.

True.

False.

Our parents are our first teachers. We just may spend a lifetime not wanting to admit it.

Spend. A. Lifetime. Not. Wanting. To. Admit. It.

It is a truism that everything which has ever been DONE in the history of the world has been done by SOMEBODY; some person has exercised some power to DO it. Our share of the responsibility for what we do individually or in concert with others varies with the social and political structures within which we operate, but it characteristically increases with maturity. (wb)

Characteristically increases with maturity.

(Reminder: character is the ability to carry out a good resolution long after the excitement of the moment has passed—Good to remember)

Like, nowadays, “they” say the magical ages is 26.

I dunno who came up with that, just passing it along…..

Irresponsible behavior is immature behavior.

The ramifications can last a lifetime.

Accountability. Responsiveness. Answerability. Power. How? Why?

In St. George and the Dragon, by Eisenstein and Stockard, ambition may be the reason. The motivator. The course of morally ambitious conscience, habitually searching to aid others. Such people who go out of their way to help are sometimes called knights, saints and philanthropists; sometimes they are called ministers, teachers, coaches, policeman and parents.

St. George said, “Somewhere perhaps there is trouble and fear.”

Indeed.

Nature versus Nurture.

No matter which way. A parent as teacher’s first responsibility: Nurture of the young.

By: Oliver A. Wadsworth

Over in the meadow,

In the sand, in the sun,

Lived an old mother toad

And her little toadie one.

”Wink”, said the mother;

”I wink”, said the one;

So she winked and she blinked

In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow,

Where the stream runs blue,

Lived an old mother fish

And her little fished two.

”Swim,” said the mother;

”We swim”, said the two;

So they swam and they leaped

Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow,

In a hole in a tree,

Lived an old mother bluebird

And her little birdies three.

”Sing”, said the mother;

”We sing,” said the three;

So they sang and were glad,

In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow,

In the reeds on the shore,

Lived a mother muskrat

And her little ratties four.

”Dive,” said the mother;

”We dive,” said the four;

So they dived and they burrowed

In the reeds on the shore.

And her little ratties four.🐀🐀🐀🐀

I rest my case.