Parent yourself Young One

 

Parent yourself Young One

Look past your shoulder, there’s nobody there.

I know they were before, but they aren’t now.

No one is there to punish you, or praise you – both of which seem such gracious luxuries.

How wonderful it would be for actions to be good, or bad, or have consequence.

You have been cursed with setting those bars yourself.

 

Your parents have failed, as all do, but your parents failed so greatly, they died. And still they try to take you with them.

Great concrete coffins filled with metal urns parade around, mocking us with our frenzy. Dust, desperate to dry out. More powder with which to want for things those same parents destroyed themselves with.

You almost made a grand mistake. One that would have wasted more of that precious youth. Desperate to feel that consequence you first tried to make your own parent from ideals and rules. When that failed, you tried to steal the parents of those around you who were busy failing the children they already had. Finally, you landed here. Speaking to me, without a parent and terribly lost.

Well, all must.

 

You wanted to know how to love – instead you were taught assertion and power. You wanted to know how to feel joy – instead you were taught how to chase specters. You wanted to know the meaning of life – and they hid their eyes from you as your question reminded them that they did not know.

 

Now, you are too far from youth to use its excuse AND too close to death to mute its numbing bells peal.

 

Feel the cold pewter of the obelisk you’ve been tasked to defend. Your parents forgot why they protected it. Polished it, worshipped it, made sure you knew that you were less than IT. Just as their parents before them. You may walk away. Many happy have, many ignorant have not. They are happy too I suppose. I beg you to walk away. Be stronger than you have been in the past.

Sneer with God. The God they told you the name of, but do not recognize. Imagine the impudence. Toy with the gift of choice the it of God gave you, and remind your non-present parents that God gave that choice to you just to spite them. Erect playplaces made of wood, cardboard, sand. Lavish yourself in the pleasantries of death and impermanence.

I admit I have tricked you, me. For we am your parent now, and you like all parents will fail me. But just like those desperate wastes of skin we cared for so deeply, We care. I care. It matters very much to me if you – I – am happy. Heaven forbid we raise a child, but if we must, at least you will be practiced, and I will be here if you need any advice.

 

Sit with me. Across from you. Hold our hand in mine. You’re all we have, I’m so glad we’re here. While we are separate to talk, make some decisions, list off some platitudes, then go me, and try not to scrape your knee. When you are done, You will still be me, and I will still be here.