It is a common refrain among parents that their children do not listen to them. But the reverse is also true. Most times, we are just busy ‘shaping them,’ and ‘raising them"—our most crucial KPA as a parent. So heavily do we buy into this conditioning that we do not spare any time reconsidering it. What if some of it could be reframed or tweaked? Our children keep vying for our time and attention. Holding our hands, they try to lead us into their world. They love showing off their newly-found knowledge. But do we really listen? Are we mindful of that little window they offer us? The window has a validity period. If we reject it initially, it is closed forever, or at least for a long time. But life is kind. It keeps dishing out experiences until we learn.
My ten-year-old son is not so young anymore. He still loves to cuddle, talk late into the night, and laugh with abandon at his punny lines. He wants me to listen, participate, and compliment him when due.
The point was driven home a few months ago. These days, my son loves listening to music while reading. Not something the parent in me is happy about but has made peace with. From his perspective, he is in a pleasure dome—his favorite book in his lap and Alexa at his command. I went up and hugged him. For me, he is just the little baby I held in my arms years ago. He held my hand and said, “Please sit, Amy. Listen to this song.” It was a number by the Beatles. Long ago, I had made him listen to “Hey Jude,” which he quite enjoyed. Curious, he had explored every other song by the Beatles thereafter. That night, he played a lesser-known Beatles number. I don’t quite remember which one. What I do recall is what he said to me next. “Listen to the lyrics, Amy. You will like it.” Usually, I breeze in and out of his room, paying little attention to his pastimes. Something impelled me to pause. I sat down. Not only to listen to the song but to my son, who is growing up and learning to lay-bare his likes and dislikes, learning to step his foot most gracefully into the world of adults. “Don’t the lyrics remind you of some of John Denver’s?” It seemed as if a different person was talking. It dawned on me that he was growing up, making connections between things, and developing his own preferences. Life’s way of reminding me that I should be ready to forge a new bond. The old rules may not hold any longer in the new country called adolescence. I had to be prepared to learn again. These are rare moments when life registers its presence emphatically. We must drop all parental cloaks, sit by, and feel the breeze of life, for it only has a soft murmur and passes by unnoticed.
“I love this song. Can you play anything else you like?” I asked him. We listened to some more songs. Over these years, I have literally curated the content he should watch and the music he should listen to.
“They have a song called Norwegian Wood. You know, it inspired a famous book of the same name.” The mother in me goes back to the instructing role.
“Oh, that’s a lovely song. Should I play it for you?”
And we listen to the Norwegian wood together, played to me by my ten-year-old RJ.