He had an interesting school career because he was intelligent, creative,
and utterly disinterested in gaining approval — so there were lots of conferences,
phone calls, and suspensions. It was torture for everyone. His father and I blamed
each other and ourselves. One day when I was chewing myself out as a terrible
mother I had a sudden insight: This boy had an incredible strength. He didn’t need
anyone’s blessing but his own. I looked at him with awe, as a man with solid faith
in his own way. But I got trapped! I was in the middle of taking the blame for a
liability when I realized it was actually an asset. I was holding the responsibility,
with no time to drop it before I acknowledged that it was something positive. I was
forced to examine it, and to accept that he was a complicated person made up
of an infinite variety of influences. I knew I loved him more than anything; if I
loved him, I would also have to love his reflection in his father and myself, and
our reflections in him.
            The second the baby’s born we start looking for resemblance — his
mom’s chin, his uncle’s elbow. It’s sort of cute, but it’s a slippery slope that leads
to trouble. I’m not even thinking about what it does to the kids here, but of the
burden it places on the parent. There are two choices: Either take credit for the
good if you take blame for the bad, or, much better, do your best as a parent, get
help where you can, and don’t get sucked into who caused what. He got my eyes
with no help from me; he got the defiance through no fault of mine. It’s easier to
love him than to love myself, but loving and accepting all of the me-in-him makes
it easier for me to approach loving myself, and to complete the circle by modeling
self-acceptance to him.

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