Deep Calls to Deep
by David Mercer
I figured it was drugs. Poor guy. He was straight now but his brain had been fried beyond repair. That's the only thing that could explain why his eyes often lost their focus and his speech faltered in mid-sentence. His friends would gently bring him back to the subject when he drifted off, and for a while, he'd be okay.
But drugs didn't do this to him. Something else had sapped his brain cells of their vitality:
Kids. He had six of them.
When I became a parent, I learned that children make you brain damaged. I understand now why adults forget where they left their cars in the store parking lot. I look back on my childhood and understand why Mom burned the first batch of toast most mornings. I know why Daddy used to haul the TV to the back porch to watch in solitude and subfreezing temperature.
The moment the first child is born, parents become sleep-deprived, short-fused, addled, blithering, brain-damaged victims of society who desperately need a babysitter.
It's a demanding job. I constantly struggle to balance my parenting role with career and school. However, I'm fairly certain my wife would like to trade with me so I could see what it's like to spend whole days refereeing, chauffeuring, and debating, along with wiping, laundering, and supervising the bathing rituals.
Parenting is hard because it's so important. The child I hold will soon be bearing his own responsibilities. People will depend on him. Jobs will demand his hard work and creativity. So I've got to give him the love and the skills that will equip him. Training up a child in the way he should go is a big time commitment.
Before we had our children, people often told us how much one's life changes and how much one has to give up in order to be a good parent. But they neglected to tell us how much we would love the children.
O, I figured I'd grow attached to the little guys. But I didn't expect to be hit with a thunderbolt of love when I heard their heartbeats while they were still in their mother's womb. I was unaware that I would be silly with pride every time one of them performed a child-sized achievement. Nobody told me how panicked I'd be if I didn't know where they were. I never knew about the outrage I'd have to tamp down if I suspected one of mine was being slighted.
While parenting is exhausting to the point of making me look stupid, I have to admit that loving my children has made me a better person. I work harder, try harder and set higher goals. I've given up many trivial pursuits. And I treat other people's children with more respect .
If loving my children makes me appear brain damaged, so be it. It's worth it.
Brain Damaged Parents
It happens the moment the first child is born.