Lately I’ve been giving a lot of thought about whether or not I raised my kids right—which I realize is pointless and stupid given the fact that they are in their 40’s. It’s probably because of where we happen to be spending this winter, Rockport, Texas. It’s just a short ferry-ride away from Port Aransas, where we lived on our boat with our kids almost 30 years ago, so this area is bringing back a lot of memories.
The kids, 10 and 12 at the time, didn’t like being here at all. They hated school. It was there at our daughter got into the only fist fight of her life, defending her brother from a bully. We were here only a year, and there in lies my regret. We followed wherever the job led, instead of staying put somewhere and establishing roots like most normal people do. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right thing to do; I know at the time we thought it was. Years later, I found out that one thought it was the best childhood imaginable— the other one, not so much.
In spite—or maybe because of—of a nomadic upbringing, they’ve gone separate ways, settling down in their respective communities for years. They’re both single-parenting and doing an amazing job. They both work hard. Thinking of, and being grateful for, the good, productive citizens they’ve become lessened my self-reproach.
I’m grateful I got these thoughts out of my head and onto ‘paper.’ I realize that I have a lot more things to be grateful for than to lament about. The reflection has been good for me, though. It’s shown me once again that gratitude really does change one’s perspective for the better.
I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth. ~3 John 1:4
