John F Kennedy once said— “Mothers all want their sons to grow up to be president, but they don’t want them to be politicians in the process.” All what he told us that how apparently we show our expectations when it comes to our children’s future. Suddenly, we start building those castles of cards for the ‘silver present’ and ‘golden future’ of our kids, without even realizing that the fact of being an over-expectant parent drags us miles away from our kids’ heart. As long as I love my kids and keep their best interests at heart, there is no right or wrong way to parent. And, buddy parenting is indeed the best way to commemorate my kids’ interests and well-being while being friends with them.
The day she was born, I was born again— ‘twas the birth of a mother. Two new lives came into this world— a new born baby and a newly grown mom. It was the transition of a girl into a woman, the transformation of a wife into a mother and the evolution of a carefree daughter into a responsible mother in true sense. When she opened her eyes to see this new world of hers, I got a new vision too, to see this world with a new perspective. I started visualizing all the situations and the related conditions with a novice approach and that was the birth of a new woman— a mother.
As a kid I was not that close to my parents, reason being that the parents of our times were quite reluctant in showing their softer side. My parents belonged to that genre of people who thought their kids wouldn’t learn moral values without them being strict. I, sometimes, even think my parents touched me only while punishing, as expressing their hidden love for us was kind of a taboo for them. So the day that affection-deprived girl was turned into an affectionate mom, she decided to be her child’s first and best friend, the buddy parent for sure.
I lived her infancy and childhood like a little baby apart from being a responsible mom. I always tasted her baby-food prior to her feed just to know how she finds the taste. I rang those rattles for her, sang lullabies for hours, combed her dolls’ hair along with hers and learnt all those nursery rhymes I had almost forgotten by then. Yes, two babies were growing up mutually and gradually.
Even we ate the same breakfast, “Kellogs Chocos” and celebrated those “Khushi Ke Pal” playing with the little toys that used to come along with the Chocos packs as surprise gifts. My baby’s smile after seeing those gifts was really a ‘khuljaye bachpan’ experience for me when she used to say “Mom, you own only 1 car while I own 8!” Her innocent pride used to make me proud of my buddy parenting. 🙂
We grabbed the same thought process simultaneously though there were clash of thoughts as well. When she made mistakes, I thought for a while to let her touch the fire herself and realize the pain of burnt fingers to become mature. But I never did that as the over-concerned buddy parent in me didn’t allow me to do so. So, whenever she wanted to touch that fire and was not listening to me to stop, I stopped stopping her. Rather what I did, eventually, was to touch the fire along with her and let her realize she did not only burn her fingers but mine too. And that made her even more sensible.
If she fetched poor marks in her exams, I was there to share her guilt as scolding might make her guilt-free and obstinate. Yes, I was her best friend in all good and bad times. My baby was growing in me as my inseparable part and I was born again as the teen mom of a teen daughter with my buddy parenting.
She tried to match my vocal cords, my surs and sargams, while I tried to tap my feet along with hers on her moves and beats. I guided her fingers on harmonium keys while she mastered mine on the computer keyboard. While I taught her the correct pronunciation of words, she taught me how to pronounce them with accents. While I encouraged her to drape a saree, she inspired me to try denims. And, we were born like two ladies who think alike, who look-alike, who dress alike and live a life quite-alike.
I made friends out of hers when she was a grown-up college student. Just to know what’s going in her mind, I interacted with her friends. She was not happy this time, she thought I was interfering too much in her personal space and I thought I had failed in my buddy parenting. I stepped back for a while and let her touch that fire alone this time. When she had burnt her fingers and was crying out of pain and loneliness, I whispered from behind with all cure for her wounds, all the trust for her disbelief and all the support for her bad times. Two friends were born again.
– This is my true story of buddy parenting to my daughter Maitreni.
Together we fall, together we rise, together we live and together we blog for The Style Symphony— doing my part of buddy parenting through this post! 🙂