Serenity
August 8th, 2008, 01:39 AM
In six hours, my nephew will be a week old. Zyaire’s birth, his existence, is still almost incomprehensible to me; imagine it- my big brother having a child. Well, imagination is out the window now and Gilbert has a baby boy.
I am 17 years old and Gilbert just turned 21. As I try to wrap my head around the fact that yes, he really is a father now and yes, he really does have to shape up and grow up, I can’t help but think back to our childhood years. Let’s just say we didn’t have the best time of it growing up...Most of my pre-high school memories at home include lots of yelling, things being thrown and broken, and us kids trying our best to find some escape. Gilbert and our younger brother were always able to go out on their bikes, making tons of friends and spending hours outside playing games, racing, and gallivanting about doing other such adolescent male things. I, always the awkward oddball, fluctuated between hangin’ out with mah gurls and roughin’ it up with the guys, never really able to find my niche in the world.
One position I almost always ended up in, however, was that of helper, protector, defender, savior even- if I may be so pretentious. I always tried to stick up for my little brother, unless he was teaming up with Gilbert to gang up on me, and I always tried to protect him from the ruthless neighborhood kids who like to provoke him and laugh at him because of his extreme anger issues [inherited and/or learned from our dear mother]. I’ve also read back in old diaries from my elementary school years about how I took it upon myself to intervene in my parents’ many arguments and quite literally saved the day, calming them down and reminding them of the fact that they had a family to take care of and that whatever petty subject was being ‘debated’ that day was less important than dinner that night.
So I guess it doesn’t really surprise me that I now find myself doting over my nephew, doing everything I can to ease Gilbert and Dana’s load and trying to keep everyone as happy as possible. It’s only logical that I’ve already offered every single minute of free time to babysit for them, to feed him or change him so Dana can take a break and just lay down for a minute, to hold him and carry him and rock him and make cooing noises at him to try and replace the almost unbearable crying with that smile that just makes your heart melt. I want to do everything in my power to make this baby’s life the best it can possibly be. The first time I touched him hours after his birth and looked into the black eyes he inherited from my brother, I saw the infinite possibility in this tiny yet immeasurable life. I want him, I need him, to break the cycle.
My brothers and I grew up in a dysfunctional household, subjected to the wrath of our mother. She grew up in an equally if not more dysfunctional household, subjected to the wrath of her father. My mom is the image of her father, both in looks and demeaner, and Gilbert is next in line. He is just as willing to sacrifice any and anything for his family, just like our mom before him and her dad before her, but that doesn’t mean any of them know how to be smart or at all compassionate about it. There are so many repeating patterns it’s not even funny. No, really, it’s not funny at all. And the question that must now be asked is, will Zyaire grow up to be like his father?
Not if I can help it.
This time, though, there is a small problem with my crusade for world peace: I’m not Zyaire’s mother or his big sister and I really have no right to try and take over his life. I see the looks of jealousy Dana gives me when I pick him up and soothe his cries, the slight irritation mixed with relief when feed and burp him. I tell myself it’s ok because she’s a struggling young mother who needs all the help she can get, which is true, and that she’ll be grateful for the moments of rest provided when I take care of these basic needs, which is also true. Still, though, I can’t help but wonder when my path-to-hell-paving good intentions cross the line separating innocent help and intrusive pushiness. I know Gilbert is infinitely grateful because he definitely does not have the patience for the crying, feeding, diaper-changing scene [hm…sounds like a problem with that whole parenting thing…] but I don’t know that Dana appreciates my efforts so much. I just can’t help but be skeptical towards their parenting skills just because I’ve watched so many bad couples in my family fail to raise their children, my parents included.
Maybe I need to back down and let Gilbert and Dana work out this child-rearing thing on their own, but as Zyaire’s aunt I’m going to take at least some responsibility in his life- it takes a village to raise a child, right? The question is, though, how much of the raising should be done by the parents, and how much by the ‘village?’
I am 17 years old and Gilbert just turned 21. As I try to wrap my head around the fact that yes, he really is a father now and yes, he really does have to shape up and grow up, I can’t help but think back to our childhood years. Let’s just say we didn’t have the best time of it growing up...Most of my pre-high school memories at home include lots of yelling, things being thrown and broken, and us kids trying our best to find some escape. Gilbert and our younger brother were always able to go out on their bikes, making tons of friends and spending hours outside playing games, racing, and gallivanting about doing other such adolescent male things. I, always the awkward oddball, fluctuated between hangin’ out with mah gurls and roughin’ it up with the guys, never really able to find my niche in the world.
One position I almost always ended up in, however, was that of helper, protector, defender, savior even- if I may be so pretentious. I always tried to stick up for my little brother, unless he was teaming up with Gilbert to gang up on me, and I always tried to protect him from the ruthless neighborhood kids who like to provoke him and laugh at him because of his extreme anger issues [inherited and/or learned from our dear mother]. I’ve also read back in old diaries from my elementary school years about how I took it upon myself to intervene in my parents’ many arguments and quite literally saved the day, calming them down and reminding them of the fact that they had a family to take care of and that whatever petty subject was being ‘debated’ that day was less important than dinner that night.
So I guess it doesn’t really surprise me that I now find myself doting over my nephew, doing everything I can to ease Gilbert and Dana’s load and trying to keep everyone as happy as possible. It’s only logical that I’ve already offered every single minute of free time to babysit for them, to feed him or change him so Dana can take a break and just lay down for a minute, to hold him and carry him and rock him and make cooing noises at him to try and replace the almost unbearable crying with that smile that just makes your heart melt. I want to do everything in my power to make this baby’s life the best it can possibly be. The first time I touched him hours after his birth and looked into the black eyes he inherited from my brother, I saw the infinite possibility in this tiny yet immeasurable life. I want him, I need him, to break the cycle.
My brothers and I grew up in a dysfunctional household, subjected to the wrath of our mother. She grew up in an equally if not more dysfunctional household, subjected to the wrath of her father. My mom is the image of her father, both in looks and demeaner, and Gilbert is next in line. He is just as willing to sacrifice any and anything for his family, just like our mom before him and her dad before her, but that doesn’t mean any of them know how to be smart or at all compassionate about it. There are so many repeating patterns it’s not even funny. No, really, it’s not funny at all. And the question that must now be asked is, will Zyaire grow up to be like his father?
Not if I can help it.
This time, though, there is a small problem with my crusade for world peace: I’m not Zyaire’s mother or his big sister and I really have no right to try and take over his life. I see the looks of jealousy Dana gives me when I pick him up and soothe his cries, the slight irritation mixed with relief when feed and burp him. I tell myself it’s ok because she’s a struggling young mother who needs all the help she can get, which is true, and that she’ll be grateful for the moments of rest provided when I take care of these basic needs, which is also true. Still, though, I can’t help but wonder when my path-to-hell-paving good intentions cross the line separating innocent help and intrusive pushiness. I know Gilbert is infinitely grateful because he definitely does not have the patience for the crying, feeding, diaper-changing scene [hm…sounds like a problem with that whole parenting thing…] but I don’t know that Dana appreciates my efforts so much. I just can’t help but be skeptical towards their parenting skills just because I’ve watched so many bad couples in my family fail to raise their children, my parents included.
Maybe I need to back down and let Gilbert and Dana work out this child-rearing thing on their own, but as Zyaire’s aunt I’m going to take at least some responsibility in his life- it takes a village to raise a child, right? The question is, though, how much of the raising should be done by the parents, and how much by the ‘village?’