Unlived Lives

Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on their environment, and especially on their children, than the unlived lives of the parents.
~ Carl Gustav Jung

Last night was perhaps the best and worst of possible nights. I spent the evening trying to sleep in the parking lot of my daughter’s high school, while she attended a dance.

Earlier that week, I’d had a party planned. I was supposed to be divorced this week, and was looking forward to a night spent celebrating my new life with some good friends. Instead, the divorce was postponed, the party cancelled, and a quiet evening spent with a girlfriend whose husband was away traveling replaced my original plan. It still would have been a nice evening.

Friday afternoon, while attending a volunteer training at the charter school where my younger two daughters attend, I received a phone call from my oldest daughter. There was a dance at the high school, and she wanted to go. This is the high school, mind you, that is a good 45 minute drive for us, because she attends the county tech school’s theater academy.

Her first dance as a high school freshman, how could I say no? I’m so proud of my blossoming daughter. I rushed home to make sure she ate something, and she apologized for screwing up my evening. It was ok, I reassured her. Dances are fun, I was glad she was going. I noticed her outfit, and in one of those bizarre brainless moments of parenting that you curse yourself for later, I ignored it. I choose my battles wisely, or at least I try to, and it really wasn’t that important what she chose to wear to the dance. It was nothing bad, just dressier than I would have chosen myself for a dance in high school.

So, into the car we went, and we had a nice discussion on the way down about how she was feeling about her new school. We haven’t had a lot of time to talk in the first week. I started school, and A. goes to sleep early because she leaves for school at 6:30 am, so her little sisters are still awake when she goes to bed. I was valuing my parenting time, enjoying our conversation.

When we arrived at the high school and A. realized how everyone was dressed, she panicked. She had on a funky skirt and top with sandals, exactly the kind of outfit that I wear to parties and camp dances, she was using my example as a choice for her outfit, and much to her dismay, her mom is just plain weird and follows her own unique path. Certainly she doesn’t follow a high school teen’s path…

“Please, Mom, take me home. I’m so sorry I made you drive me all the way down here. Please take me home, I can’t go in there dressed like this.”

I tried brainstorming … do you have any clothes in the car, do I have any clothes in the car, is there anything else you can put on? Do you have anything in your locker? You’re not that dressy, maybe the other theater people will be dressed like you, let’s wait and see. (It was only 7 pm, and I knew others would still be arriving.)

“Mom, please take me home,” she begged, with a rising note of panic and desperation in her voice.

My mind was now racing at top speed. She was looking forward to her first dance, this was a *huge* step for her socially, and I was so proud that she’d made the decision to go. How could we set this right??? I know, I know, let’s find somewhere to buy a pair of jeans. There must be somewhere we can go.

At that point, I would have paid designer prices for something for her to wear. This was my daughter, trying to blossom, and I was worried that a failure tonight would set her back months or years in self-confidence!

We live far from the school, so I didn’t know the neighborhood at all. I hadn’t noticed any stores that would sell clothing, but Wal-Marts and K-Marts are endemic – surely there must be somewhere that we could go for an emergency replacement. I was racking my brains to think who I might know that lived locally to the school, and A. finally remembered that she had a friend from the charter school who lived nearby.

We called, got directions to the closest Wal-Mart, and found a pair of jeans for only $18. Can you hear my sigh of relief from here? Back to the dance we went, with Alanna happily waltzing into the building to find her new friends.

Meanwhile, I’m looking at the clock in the car, realizing that it’s now 8 pm, the dance is over at 10 pm, and I have at least a 45 minute drive each way. No sense driving home now. Can’t have my nice quiet evening that my friend and I had planned, drinking wine and commiserating over the newest changes at school. Now what???

The best I could come up with was to lower my seat back, and take a nap. I was far too sleep-deprived to even think about reading a textbook. I was so sleep-deprived I couldn’t even think about trying to find a movie theater or somewhere else to spend time. I was cursing myself for not thinking to bring my laptop – I would have paid to buy a dvd at that same Wal-mart, only 7 minutes away.

So, an uncomfortable hour and a half later, complete with stiff neck, I woke from drowsing, drove down to the Dunkin Donuts (the only thing I could find open) to use the restroom and buy myself a bagel, since I hadn’t had dinner, and sat waiting the last 10 minutes for the dance to end so I could drive A. and I home.

She had fun. I didn’t, but I had a proud mommie moment. It’s almost impossible to describe the feelings of pride that we experience as we watch our daughters stretch and blossom, grow into young womanhood. My daughter took a deep breathe that night, and threw herself headlong into life.

Maybe the divorce was worth it. I chose to live my life fully, to reach out and grasp happiness when I could no longer find it in my marriage. I’ve worried that I might have done damage to my children by thinking about myself, in spite of reassurances from my therapist that I wasn’t helping them by modeling self-sacrifice for their sakes.

Last night I watched, and helped my daughter realize, that it’s better to live life fully, and not retreat to an unlived life. Last night my daughter made a choice to help herself choose to live fully, eagerly, with passion.

I am content. Even with a stiff neck.