Letters from the Nest
https://lettersfromthenest.substack.com/p/my-legacy-stinks
Lately, I have been asking you, “What will you do to make Sunday special?” This is me encouraging you in your worship without giving you a prescribed list of things to do. One thing I do differently on Sundays is that I read a Sunday book that’s “different” than the fiction I read during the week. Usually, it’s a religious book, but sometimes it’s an inspiring biography or narrative nonfiction with an uplifting theme.
My Sunday book for the past few months has been “Both Things Are True,” by Kate Holbrook. This collection of essays explores a range of topics, including faith, forgiveness, women’s roles, trials, history, and more. Each chapter contains a dichotomy that fuels the discussion. For example, the chapter on forgiveness explores both the concepts of forgetting and remembering. Last Sunday, I began reading the chapter entitled "The Weight of Legacy," in which she discusses the dichotomy of focusing on personal pursuits while also directing our efforts to lift and bless others. She also talks about the balance of wanting others to think well of us without being vain or prideful. Her discussion of planning our obituaries reminded me of a conversation I had with Logan.
He’s a new dad, so I’m guessing legacy is a topic that has crossed his mind from time to time over the past couple of months. If you don’t know this already, becoming a parent is a whole mental shift. When I became a mom for the first time, I remember sitting on the couch with this tiny baby asleep in my arms and thinking, “I’m a mom. I’m a MOM. I’m always a mom now. Always. No more am I not a mom.” These thoughts were both fearful and awe-inspiring. I now had this responsibility that was both wonderful and scary, which would always occupy space in my brain. I was overwhelmed, and almost twenty-six years later, I still wonder at this weight and privilege. I’m still a mom. Kind of scary. Kind of great.
Anyway, back to the conversation with Logan. He’s coming to terms with this giant responsibility, so naturally, he's thinking about what he learned from his dad and considering the traditions and lessons he wants to continue or implement on his ongoing parenting journey. One evening, we were tidying up the dinner dishes together, and he told me about a lesson he learned from his dad. I’ll get the exact wording wrong, but it was something like “Whatever you do, do your best. Always give 100%.” I thought this lesson was a wonderful one to have from a parent and is completely worthy of being passed on. But then Logan asked me a hard question: Are there any phrases or lessons I want my children to remember from their experiences with me? The question took me some time to answer, and I still wonder if I answered too quickly, because what I said felt a little vain and maybe untrue to what you, as my children, have experienced from me.
My first thought was not the answer I gave, but it’s kind of a funny part of who I am. I thought, well, I know the kids will remember my poo words. Poo words? Let me explain. I don’t swear. Those words just don’t come out of my mouth. It’s not a virtue, really. It’s just not how I talk. I don’t swear, but I do say “poo” a lot, along with other variations on that theme: poopy, nugget, turd, cow pie, lumpers, stinkball. Sometimes I make up other dumb things to say instead of swearing, but I don’t swear. I do think you guys might remember that about me. But is that really a life lesson? Not really. So I didn’t say that. Because wouldn’t that be weird if, at my funeral, the main topic was my creative word choices that didn’t involve swearing?
So after I pushed that weird thought aside, I did think of something that I would like to be remembered for. If Logan’s Dad says, “Always do your best,” I will say, “Give people the benefit of the doubt.” As in, when you see somebody behaving badly or being a flaming air biscuit (see?), instead of judging them quickly and harshly, take a beat and think what might be going on for them that causes them to act this way?
The reason I worry that this pronouncement as my legacy might be vain and inaccurate is that I know I don’t always live up to that phrase. Also, maybe that advice could be taken out of context because there are certainly times when a quick judgment is necessary to protect yourself or others from harm.
First, let’s address the conflict between what I believe and what I do. Sometimes I judge too quickly and harshly, especially when I’m surprised or hurt, or if someone I care for is hurt. If I hear of one of your peers telling you you’re stupid, I automatically think they are stupid. If your little brother is crying, I assume you hurt him. When the clerk at the grocery store answers my questions with condescending sarcasm, I think they’re a lumpy turd.
I know who I want to be and how I want to show up in the world--especially in my closest relationships, but sometimes I fail miserably. Even though I want to be thoughtful, forgiving, patient, and understanding, I’m more often defensive or accusatory with my thoughts or language. I want to be better than that.
Also, what if giving the benefit of the doubt isn’t the right course of action, like when a quick judgment is necessary, and my muted reactivity allows greater harm? I have often been described as calm or patient. Indeed, some things don’t elicit much of a reaction from me: damage to vehicles, broken flat-screen TVs, holes in the walls, and lost money. They’re just things. I’m annoyed at the loss, but it’s not the end of the world. A few months ago, one of you was at a friend’s house, messing around (boxing, actually), and your glasses broke. Their mom had you Facetime me to let me know. I said, “Poo, I guess we will have to get new glasses.” The mom thought for sure I’d be mad, and maybe yell at you for not being careful, but the glasses were already broken, and how would yelling change that? This is when it’s okay to keep emotions in check, but sometimes things are important to me, and I should speak up, but I’m in the habit of dampening my reaction. “It’s fine.” “Not a big deal.” Maybe my muted reactivity perpetuates people treating me (or you) badly because they think I don’t care. Then I’m faced with the unintended consequence of being interrupted, misunderstood, and disrespected. I wouldn’t want any of you to be hurt unnecessarily because someone took advantage of the time and space you took to evaluate a situation or give someone the benefit of the doubt. Silence or calm doesn’t always mean acceptance or agreement. Sometimes people need to know, without a doubt and quickly, where you stand.
So, I’m a little at odds with this legacy of always giving people the benefit of the doubt. Like my Sunday book says, both things are true: reactivity can be both slow and immediate, soft and loud. It depends. I suppose what it boils down to is discovering what’s true and acting on that truth. Sometimes, seeking the truth takes time, and action must come first. Living good, honorable lives and teaching our children how to live good, honorable lives is a tricky business, eh? Maybe I’ll go back to Logan’s dad’s mantra. “Always do your best.” Ya, that sounds pretty good to me.
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