Why I Am Not My Sons Hero

Why I Am Not My Sons Hero

Remember being a kid and looking up to all adult as if they were these giants. You couldn’t believe you were ever going to be as big as them or smart as them. They have all this knowledge and you wonder how you might ever become as wise as they are.

Then you become a teenager and you think you know everything when realistically your terrified of the world around you and no matter how grown up you try to be you always fall back on your parents for help (some of us still do this!) For most, your parents are your heroes, they have it figured out, they’ve created homes, afforded cars, pay bills and make phone calls without looking terrified. (Still hate making phone calls!) they don’t show the struggles and hide pain with smiles.

Until you become a grown up, and you realise  that this adulting stuff is hard and it sucks and slowly you see through the cracks in your heroes, you eventually realise that they don’t have any more of a clue than you do. Eventually the pain and frustration they kept hidden from you before begins to seep through the cracks. For my family this meant actually sharing our feelings (something we were never good at) and learning not to be so stubborn in the face of pain. (I had both parent in hospital within the space of week) You soon realise that life is a bit of a dick to everyone and we’re all just surviving the best we can. No matter how old we get, how many lessons we learn, they’ll always be another lesson to learn. Maybe life has just been to tough on me, maybe I was forced to learn to many harsh lessons before I was meant to but I means I know that I don’t want to be the hero in my kids eyes.

I don’t want to be the hero to only let them down later. Of course I want my son to have a better life than I did, I want to share everything I know so that he doesn’t have to suffer as much as I did but I want my son to see my cracks, see the imperfections that have made me who I am because I wouldn’t be me without them.

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