The arrogance of being me

Since my mom passed away 9 yrs back, I have made it a point to call my dad every morning and evening, almost every day. Most days the call ends in less than 30 secs, but some days we drift into a conversation that’s different from the routine. Those are the conversations that make these calls even more special. We walk down memory lane, talk philosophy, politics, sports, social issues, and mythology. Each call leaves me with something worth cherishing and gives me things to ruminate on. The other day, I was talking to him about my son and our current challenges. Most days he just listens quietly, hardly commenting, never judging, and rarely giving advice. He probably has no idea how much I appreciate this — having someone to just listen. As I thought aloud about the things I need to do to tackle our new challenges and speculated what all might work on not work, he, like always, listened quietly. The next day, during our call, he talked to me about the arrogance of thinking “if not me then who”, and quoted stories from our mythology. I instantly knew he had a message — probably related to our previous day’s conversation about me being overwhelmed with the things *I* need to do for my son and his newfound challenges.

This conversation got me thinking. In a frenzy to do everything for my son and to ensure he gets the best and rightful, have I developed a sense of arrogance? The constant need to be his voice, speaking for him, fighting for him, talking about him–has that changed the narrative from being about him to being about me and what I want? Has my role as a mom and his advocate filled me with a bloated sense of self? Is there a false sense of self-importance that makes me presume that if I’m not by his side, there is nothing he will be able to get done? Is my “if not me then who” harming my son rather than helping him? I might have a lot of thinking and introspection to do.

Somewhere along the road, I might have lost track of the goal and forgotten the fact that my son is my North Star, not the other way around. His being is not because of me but in spite of me. My purpose is because of him. It is he who brings me back home, reminding me about why I started this journey and what I am here for. He shows me the way, he guides me around, he is the anchor.

It is very convenient to think that this story is about me. *My* dreams have been squashed. *My* life has been affected. *My* social life has taken a hit. *I* am taking him to therapies and doctors, *I* am constantly by his side, *I* am working with the teachers and school, I am doing this and I am doing that; I am what it takes!!! It’s empowering to place myself at the center of his universe but am I really? Is this not about him– his needs, his challenges, his potential, and what he wants? While I shout from rooftops that my son is capable of much more than we attribute to him, I hypocritically also presume that if I am not around, his world will come crashing down. I am probably the one who believes the least in him and places myself way too high in my capability to decide his fate!

The more I think about this, the more I find myself guilty. My son has his own personality. He is bright and smart. He is extremely naughty but also very perceptive. He knows his limits but he is not limited by them. He is full of love and life. He glides through life like he owns it, and he does. He has his own unique personality, character, and life choices. Why do I feel like I need to decide those for him ? In my overzealousness, I overlook this fact. I forget that I might be his companion, his facilitator, or his champion, but the voice needs to be his, not mine. 

In the last couple of years, I have seen my son bloom–slowly but surely, make strides, and gain skills that everyone speculated he might not be capable of. How far he has come is by his sheer persistence and hard work; by his own willingness to be here, not because of me. 

The need to be humble in my son’s story keeps me grounded and the realization that he is my guiding light illuminates my path. While I might be a vehicle for his journey, he would have made his own way, nevertheless. I am just a device, and “if (it was) not me”, it would still be him– shining bright, making a mark and spreading joy!