The Worth of Children

Sociologist Viviana Zelizer describes a dramatic change in American society’s perspective on children since the Second World War.  She writes that children have become “economically worthless but emotionally priceless.” Whereas, at the turn of the 20^th Century, parents had children as a “customary” or “economically necessary” expectation, today’s parents have children as an end in themselves and  “invest more emotional and financial capital in them than ever before.” (Sarah Boesveld, National Post, January 2014)

My father commented on this cultural change, remarking that when he was a child at a family dinner, the adults served themselves first, while the children came last.  “Now that I’m an adult,” he said with a laugh, “the children are served first and I’m still served last.” 

At my family gatherings, when there are toddlers about, we spend inordinate amounts of time watching their every move – they are the centers of attention, and they know it.  I suspect that my parents, with seven siblings each, rarely garnered such attention, and I furthermore suspect they were emotionally healthier as a result.  What I witness in so many parents these days borders on a kind of idolatry of childhood.  Children are considered precious, and as to idols of ancient days, parents make sacrifices not only for them, but to them as well. 

Instead of a child’s life revolving around her parent’s goals and ideals, the parent who idolizes their child allows the child’s preferences to rule - “What do you want to do, dear?” - thrusting upon children decisions they are not mature enough to make, allowing them freedoms the consequences of which they are not old enough to bear.  Loaded up with such out-sized expectations from the adults in their lives is it any wonder we have widespread drug and substance abuse among teens and pre-teens seeking to escape their parents’ worshipful expectations.  After all, they are children, not gods.

I think our children might be better off if we practiced a little more emotional detachment from them.  While we might esteem them as highly valuable, some casual disregard might serve them well.  Free from the idolatry of the adults in their lives, they might develop healthier egos.  We might give them more opportunities to prove their worth as did previous generations, so that they measure their value according to their accomplishments for, or contributions to the family unit, rather than simply in response to the unceasing but vacuous adoration of their parents.  I have known many a teacher who must deal with parents whose children can do no wrong.  Maybe it's time for children to eat last again.

What I’ve just written seems a little severe, even to me.  I think every child is of intrinsic value to God, apart from anything they do.  But I also think that many of us have confused our children as the subjects of our worship, and ultimately I think this is destructive to both the worshiped and the worshiper.  Jesus said something about “seeking first the kingdom of God.”  If we do so, then our children will drop a bit on our priority list, but that drop will be exactly where they need to be.  And they will not be worthless, and still priceless, in God’s sight.  And that’s what matters.

  

To Be a Part of Something Bigger Than Yourself

One of the things I love about my wife’s family is the stories they tell whenever they get together.  When we were dating and we sat around the dinner table eating a simple meal of hot dogs and potato chips, there was also served a healthy helping of stories about when her little brother had tick fever, or the way her daddy used to drive his ’57 Chevy too fast when he was sixteen, or the time she broke her toe kicking her other brother in the shin.  There was a lot of laughter in the midst of the stories and it didn’t matter how many times they told the same stories,  I always enjoyed hearing them.

My family had stories, too; vacations at the beach, the boat trip from Brazil to Miami, life on the farm.  I thought most families were like mine until I spent time with my (eventual) wife’s family.  Their stories, like their family, were very different from ours but, like us, they enjoyed telling them. 

I learned recently that young people who have an active knowledge of their family stories are better adjusted than those who don’t.  If a child can tell you where her grandmother grew up, or knows what kind of work her grandfather did, she tends to have a higher self-esteem than those children who don’t know about their family heritage.  Children who can articulate stories about their crazy uncle, or their eccentric cousins, seem to do better in school than children who are oblivious to their lineage.  It is as if the stories of family, the ups and downs of fortune, the ins and outs of relationships, are a reminder that they are a part of something bigger than themselves and as a result, they are somehow better able to cope with the challenges they face in their own lives.

There is a myth in American culture that we can make it on our own without anybody’s help, and there may be rare individuals who overcome deprived backgrounds and flourish in their own lives.  But most of us who thrive do so only as a result of having been a part of a community, being part of something bigger than ourselves.

I am a part of a large community – a community that is unbound by time and space.  At the breakfast table where ancestral stories were shared, I also heard stories of Abraham and Sarah, of David and Bathsheba, of Hosea and Gomer, of Mary and Gabriel, and, of course, Jesus.  I learned that I was not only part of a family that had lived through many adventures in the 20^th Century, but I was also part of a people who had suffered, endured, and thrived through millennia – a part of a story of God’s redemption of the whole of creation.  I am a part of something that is, indeed, bigger than myself.  And that something has made all the difference.  

Far from the Tree

          I have not read the book yet, but the title attracts me.  It is a work by Andrew Solomon entitled, Far From the Tree.  From reviews I have read, including an interview with the author, the book apparently deals with the expectations all parents have about who their children are going to be, and the disorientation that results when their children turn out to be different than they had anticipated.

          This is true for every parent.  We often envision our son or daughter fulfilling some shattered dream we had for ourselves --- if you are an academic, you might imagine your infant growing to become a Morehead scholar, setting the world ablaze with her insights or research.  If you are a shade tree mechanic, you may imagine hours spent together with your son, under the hood of a ’57 Chevy, extolling the virtues of polished chrome, or cubic inch displacement.  We often anticipate our children turning out to be a lot like ourselves.

          However, we are often surprised at how different our children turn out to be than we had imagined.  She turns out to be an average student.  He wants to be a dancer.  As parents, our dreams for them are sometimes disappointed, occasionally crushed, frequently requiring a reality check.  As the book’s title suggests, our children often fall “far from the tree,” that bore them.  This is especially true for parents of exceptional children --- children born differently-abled --- perhaps he is deaf, she is blind.  The athlete you anticipated arrives into the world with cerebral palsy.  The pianist you envisioned has Down’s syndrome.

          Some parents experience a period of grief as they come to terms with the dream versus the reality.  But what Andrew Solomon lifts up in his book is the discovery that many parents make, that there is great blessing to be discovered when we acknowledge and affirm the child that “is” rather than the child that we imagined.  In my own experience with parents who have raised, or are raising exceptional children, I have been encouraged to discover how they delight in their children, even with the special challenges their child may present. 

          As a Christian, I affirm the scriptural truth that we are all created in the image of God; an image that is not marred by physical deformity, or mental slowness.  There is a sense in which the voice of God speaks to us the same words that God spoke to Jesus at his baptism, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased.”  No matter how far from the tree we have fallen, we are precious in God’s sight, and there is that of God in us.    

          Perhaps to be made in the image of God is to be able to see blessing no matter in what guise it is hidden.