A child is precious. Children will carry on the teachings of generations passed. Why then, are children treated the way they are? Pushed aside because their parents "don't have time." Or it can be worse.
As the child comes home from school, he or she has had a long day of learning, socializing and dealing with the pressures of peers and the demands of teachers. Home, is their island in the stream. It is where they can rest, or let off steam. Home is where they can know that no matter what, they are loved. Home should never be feared, but only loved. Unfortunately, this is not the way it is at all homes.
Billy came home that afternoon and was exhausted. He plopped down on the couch and forgot to do his chores. His mother came out of the laundry room and caught him sleeping. The loving mother would have, perhaps, covered her child with a blanket letting him know he was loved and cherished for who he was. Billy's mom yelled and he jumped up.
"Young man, what do you think you're doing? I've been busy cleaning your room, cleaning the house, washing the clothes, washing the dishes, and you come home and think you can just plop down on the couch and go to sleep. Get up now and go do your chores!" Her hands were on her hips as she glared at him....her child....the enemy.
"Mom, please....I'm sooo tired." Billy pleaded with his mother but her bitterness continued.
"Fine! Stay there. You just wait until your father gets home young man!"
Billy knew that all too often his dad would stop off at the bar on his way home. He never knew what to expect when the man walked through the door, but, as he heard the tires rolling into the graveled driveway, fear consumed him.
I'll not continue with this story, because what would happen next really isn't the point. The point is, that a child should never feel this fear. To fear a parent is the most unnecessary emotion a child can ever experience; yet it happens every day. As I analyze my own feelings when looking into my little guy's eyes, I sometimes question as to whether I am too over-protective. It isn't long before I have my answer, especially when his little arms go around my neck and he hugs me tightly. I tell him I love him and I pat his back as I return the hug. I watch him sometimes for hours and water fills my eyes with the pride I wish every father would have for their child.
Every day he loves his playtime with me. He looks forward to it. And as he learns to speak, struggling against his own unfortunate disability he will ask his mother if he can play ball, or wrestle or get crazy in some way. It's a wonderful feeling, as a father, to know that she smiles down at him, running her hand through his hair and says, "Just wait until your father comes home."