I heard an interview of writer Emily Rapp on the radio back
in March. She was talking about her
book, The Still Point of the Turning World.
You can read a review of it here. The book was about her son, Ronan, who at
nine months was diagnosed with Tay Sachs disease. Tay Sachs is a fatal genetic disorder and its
victims usually don’t live past the age of three. As a mother of an eight-month old at the
time, I was drawn to this story. I immediately
requested the book from the library and greedily dove in when I finally got my
hands on it.
Turns out I didn’t care much for the book. I desperately wanted to hear about this mother’s
personal accounts. What did her son’s
regression look like? How did she
care for her child while carrying such a heavy load of grief? How did their world change? She wrote about that minimally. More often, she applied the situation to
pieces of literature, like Shelley’s Frankenstein and other works by C.S.
Lewis. Even her title is taken from a T.S. Eliot poem. The book reminded me of an advanced
college essay. I’m sure it was beautifully
written for those who appreciate comparative literature. I, however, am not a literary type. I write stream-of-consciousness blogs and say
things like “Turns out.” So I struggled
with the book, staring at it as it sat on my nightstand while overdue
fines compounded.
I gave up the battle and returned the book to the library
unfinished. Still, not a day goes by
when I don’t think about that story. Not
for the book itself, but for the experience it represented. The point that forced me to open my mind was
how future-oriented parenting is.
Everything we do as parents is for the betterment of our children’s
future. Everything. We water down their juice so they don’t go
crazy in 15 minutes, or so they don’t get cavities, or so they don’t get
fat. We read to them every day to
improve their academic achievement. We
limit their screen time so they don’t become zombies. Ronan wasn’t ever going to go to school. He would never learn to read. Everything he did gave him instant
gratification and nothing more. He lived
in the moment. He played blocks not to
improve his visual-spatial skills, but because it’s fun as hell to play blocks
when you’re a baby.
I think about this idea a lot. The idea of now instead of years from
now. It’s really hard to get my head
around parenting without considering the future. When I watch cartoons with my daughter at
bedtime instead of reading books to her, the guilt threatens. But I’ve decided that it’s okay. It’s how we live in the moment. And it’s fun as hell to watch cartoons curled
up in a blanket with my little girl.
