Hello, Kossacks.
So, I found out not long ago that my Mom tried to kill herself when she was 19 years old after her bipolar disorder first manifested itself. But wait, there's more. Also, my dad was an opiate-addicted pill-popper for 24 years of my life.
Let's back up a bit.
Most of you are older than me. I'm 25, and I am a brand-new Dad. So I'm betting a fair share of you have started families of your own. And even if you haven't, we all have families. So I hope this will be relevant.
My Mom -- yes, I'm a Mama's boy who's never had much in common with Dad -- has always been hung up on the idea that a parent should be a role model. To admit any flaw or weakness is to put the child at risk. This is how it was in the house she grew up in, and it was how it was in our house.
In fact, let me show you that house.
See? It's right there. Along the banks of Denial.
So denial was my Mom's thing, and my Dad learned everything he knows about parenting from Focus on the Family. Those James Dobson parenting books taught him that when I reached a certain age, I was going to rebel. No question about it.
Of course, I didn't really want to rebel. In fact, I actually tried on several occasions to meet him halfway, suggesting we go on a hunting trip or off to the shooting range -- yes, this is what he does for fun.
Before too long, I got tired of the constant accusations that I was hosting wild sex orgies while they were away, and doing lines of blow off the head cheerleader's inner thigh. They actually accused me of huffing cooking spray from the kitchen once because they thought they'd bought a new can when they hadn't. Yeesh.
So I figured I might as well do the drugs and sex anyway. I mean why not? I was already getting blamed for it.
And the unrealistic expectations took their toll on my parents themselves as well as me. To cope with the stress of work, my Dad gradually became a pill-popper.
And my Mom's mental health issues got worse as they went untreated because she was too terrified of being imperfect to admit she needed professional help.
She told me her biggest fear was that she had somehow screwed me up. That was a little hard to take. I mean, did she think I was so unhappy? I have been unhappy, but I think I'm doing pretty good for myself. I suppose putting some of your fears and insecurities into your kids is an inevitable part of parenting, but if you manage your expectations better than my Mom did, maybe it is less of a problem.
I am writing this so that you might learn to have realistic expectations of yourself, and of your family members.
Please don't be afraid of appearing "flawed" in front of your loved ones. They love you, and will understand.
You can be truthful with people, but first you have to be truthful with yourself.
I want to encourage you to make mistakes.
When Mrs. Droogie was pregnant with Droogie Jr., she said she felt so much love for that child that she never wanted anything bad to happen to him. Of course I knew what she was saying, but we both knew that this could never happen.
Bad things will happen in life, and you have to expect you will run into problems. But if you prepare yourself for some bumps in the road, you will be more able to cope with them when they arrive.
As Droogie Jr. grows, I want him to have some scraped knees now and then -- both literally and metaphorically. The boy's got to learn from his own mistakes, like I was never allowed to do.
Further, though, I realize that I'm going to make some big parenting mistakes! I'm going to lose my temper sometimes. I'm going to say things I shouldn't. I will hurt feelings and be neglectful sometimes. But I will be honest and sincere in my efforts to do right by my kids at all times.
So please don't be so demanding of yourselves and others that you can't allow for a little mistake now and then.
That's all.