Paradox: n. a statement that apparently contradicts itself and yet might be true.
Last night I was babysitting for two little boys, ages 4 and 6. I made them dinner, we played outside, had dessert, went through the whole bedtime routine, read a story, and then I put them to bed with the hall light on (not the bathroom light) and the door cracked open at about an eighty degree angle, so no monsters can creep into the shadows. After they were asleep I did all the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, picked up all the toys in the playroom, and tucked them neatly away.
I didn't have to do any of that. My job as babysitter was to corral the little monsters and keep them from self-destructing. Once they are asleep, my job is done. Yet I cleaned the whole house anyway, even though I don't really know these people all that well, and I'm not being paid any extra to do it. I just did, without thinking about it.
Thursday night I was home. Mom made us dinner. I was watching Netflix, happily enjoying my time not doing homework. I ate the dinner that was made for me, said thank you, and went back to watching Netflix. My mom cleaned up dinner. She just did, I didn't think anything of it.
The paradox is this: although I clearly love my mother much more than I love the family I babysit for, if you looked at my actions, it appears I love the family I barely know very much, and am impartial to my mother.
I was thinking about this tonight as I was voluntarily cleaning up after dinner, a rare occasion especially when I'm not prompted. And really, I was only doing it as an apology for royally screwing up lately and giving my mom some grief. That made me then think how mindlessly I will reach out to help people I barely know, and how just as mindlessly I will talk back or be immensely rude to my family, the people I love the most.
I can't really begin to understand why this is the way it is and how it came to be. But when I realized it, it scared me. The people we love the most should logically be the people that receive the majority of our kindness. I shouldn't have to feel threatened in order to clean up the kitchen. I shouldn't have to be prompted to clean my bathroom. And I definitely shouldn't so easily slip into the worst side of myself, spewing accusations and raising my voice.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have yelled at someone outside of my immediate family. Yet the times I've fought with my family are innumerable. I think it's because I know they will always love me, so there is no risk of being kicked out or never talked to again. So isn't it ironic that because our families extend this unconditional love, we then see it as a free pass to take advantage of?
Like I said earlier, I don't know why this is the way it is. If you do, feel free to enlighten me. In the meantime, I'm going to try my hardest to be slow to anger and quick to kindness, and show all the love I feel through my actions. Maybe that's the point of Mother's Day and Father's Day, to remind us all that even though we can be real buttmunches to eachother, we do still love eachother. More than anything.
~Kat
P.S. Mom, sorry for being such a buttmunch. And thanks for living with me anyway. Love, the pill with a capital P.
