In the best of all worlds

You would think that something that has been going on as long as people have existed would be perfected by now, but it isn't.

In the beginning there was Adam and Eve, or Pa and Ma Neanderthal. Then they got bored, or raised a little cain, and parenting was born. 

In the beginning, they fed it and tried to keep it alive. For eons keeping it alive was all they had. Then life got easier and someone realized there was potential here.

The potential to allow them to live out their dreams through their child. The potential to create a piece of art rivaling God. The potential to drive them all to the brink.

In spite of the fact that there were books and seminars, television shows and movies, even coffee cloches and barroom brawls about the best way to parent; the first job was still to keep that child alive.

After that, reining in our own desires and needs comes into play so the child can find his own.

Parenting is trying to teach another human being how to survive in the world and fulfill its own unique potential.

Trying too hard to make their lives perfect is like painting another man's picture. There is just no way to do that without losing something. Chances are pretty good that if you have four children who all turn out the same, at least three of them are not as happy as you might think, because pushing everyone into the same play-dough extruder and pumping out perfect children just doesn't work. Children are different.

Parenting is an art.

There are basic tenants in life that human beings need to know: first do no harm, respect others, be yourself, and never stop learning. The rest takes care of itself. Given half a chance we are who we are.

The most content people I know have internalized these things so deeply that they are like breathing in and breathing out.