“When you’re weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I’m on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down” –Simon & Garfunkel
I have held a job since I was 14 years old and my father forged working papers for me. In the ‘80s, you would find me scooping ice cream at Friendly’s or selling tablecloths at Fortunoff, and in the ‘90s, I was the woman on the phone calling
to ask you to donate to your alma mater in the mornings and serving you a beer and fries at the local college bar in the evenings. Those were tough jobs; however, my work these days is much harder. I don’t like to complain, but my work environment is often hostile, and I have been met with disrespect and have even been told, “I hate you.” My work is so intense that it can rip apart my soul at times—just like lightening through a cloud—and then just as quickly as the storm comes, it passes and I’m met with a rainbow of love and gratitude from the people I work for.
Seriously, my work environment is bipolar at best and psychotic at its worst. I don’t want to sound self-important, but in my job it is absolutely critical that I handle matters both delicately and firmly. I try to explain to my “bosses” (I have two) over and over that while I want to do everything for them, I simply can’t do everything for them. They don’t understand that while I would gladly “lay me down” and be their bridge over each and every one of their troubles, it requires much more courage not to do so. I am not speaking about my job as publisher of this fine magazine—no, my real job—the one that keeps me up at night—is the job of being a parent.
This job is made even harder because of my proclivity toward being an un- apologetic control freak. Allowing my children to fall, fight, fail and feel pain is so much harder for me than just fixing every problem for them. Teaching my children to “build their own bridge” often feels cruel. Fueled by my love for them, I want to save them from their first broken heart. I want to protect them from the meanness of children and at the same time to protect my children from their own capacity for meanness. Knowing that both can lead to pain and, even worse, regret.
I am blinded by my desire for my children’s unending happiness. But that isn’t real, is it? Unending happiness? Of course not. They must know the feeling of heartbreak so that they know that they can overcome it. They must experience a sports or academic failure (without my calling the coach or teacher) so that they feel the desire to do better the next time.
In spite of my need to protect them from unpleasantness, they must experience disappointment, face pain and, ultimately, build bridges so that they truly under- stand what success and happiness is. I believe that my children are aware that their parents root for their success and love them unconditionally. And while I watch them navigate through life, I am comforted that my children know that if they were to get to a place where all seems absolutely lost that “I will lay me down.” I hope that with that knowledge in their hearts, perhaps I may never have to.
I hope this parenting issue that we put together helps you navigate any and all of the parenting trials you face.
Malama Pono!
Kelly Martinsen, Publisher
