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Linda Olson's avatar

I’m the grandma of a little boy. He is 2 1/2. My heart is so full of love for him. I want to be there for him, to listen, love, counsel, encourage beatitude understanding, spiritual fruits, seeing people from different perspectives, walking a mile in someone else’s shoes before we judge.

I have a granddaughter who is 1 1/2. When she came along, my heart immediately expanded with another miraculous gush of compassion, care, love. I want to be there for her. I want to listen, love, counsel, encourage beautitude understanding of us and others. I want to help her find and nurture the fruits of the spirit.

Where are the grandparents? We have an amazing and special role. I am only 5 minutes away from these grands. I am blessed to come and play with them, care for them, share stories with them, and hear their stories.

If you are blessed to be a grand. Do not hide behind a scrolling cell phone. If you are close, get closer and go listen. Don’t judge, listen for the children’s hearts. Your heart knows the way. If your u are far away, you are still a phone call or FaceTime away. Check in. Listen. Love.

If you are judgmental toward your kids, reconsider. Maybe you have broken relationships, and that brokenness is being reflected in your kids and grands. Step back. Seek help finding a way to honestly observe. You see, you had a hand in it. You have to see that. You have to acknowledge that. You have to lay it down. You have to find another way.

We have hard work to do if we are going to honestly help our lonely, frightened children. Grandfolks, we can play a role. I know this is hard. I know it because I had to imperfectly step into this messy process of laying down judgement, learning to listen, learning to love. I’m still in it. It goes backwards into your relationships with your parents and the thoughts you brought forward. It goes forward into how you love your spouse, how you love your kids, how you love your grands, how you love your friends and neighbors.

Our hearts have amazing capabilities. They are full of bullet holes, scars, leaks. And yet, they are capable of mending, expanding, changing, growing. But we can’t deny the state of our hearts and expect others to change to fit our ideas and needs. We have to do the work of seeing what scarred us. Seeing where we have holes that need to mend. Seek help in the mending. Seek spiritual help, mental help, physical help. We heal in community, not in isolation.

Keep your eye on the prize. We do this for the children. The one and two year olds who are fresh and full of all emotions. But we hold space and open arms for the older ones too. Who else can help them navigate their woundedness?

Don’t give up on yourself, don’t give up on the children, don’t give up on the community. 💔❤️‍🩹❤️

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Robert D Cameron's avatar

Interesting as usual Summer. I once was a bullied sensitive child. Then I became a bully. There were lots of dark reasons for that.

I never cried out for help, because I was told, therefore it was so, that men don’t cry. Then I became a man, a soldier, a spouse, a parent, and a cop, in that order.

In my forties, I realized that my life and parenting were a parody of Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle song. My boys were just like me. And I was just like who raised me.

It took a lot of time introspection and stop & start effort (and some counseling) to drop the facade. It occurred to me once, maybe more than once, that men do cry. Usually alone. And that that’s alright.

I made my apologies to whomever I needed to apologize to. I broke a generational cycle. It is a wobbly wheeled cart, but it works and we rode it out of the chaos. Life still gets in the way and we are far from perfect, but I am friends with my adult children. I respect myself. I know who and what I am. It took a long time.

Some of the best counseling was free to me, just like it is free to men in foxholes, or struggling moms over coffee and cigarettes. It took place in dark patrol cars in the middle of the night as the miles clicked by. A trusted partner, male or female, whom you might die with or for at any moment, becomes a true friend. You bare your souls to one another in between calls. You bond for life. You are closer to a good partner, a battle buddy, or that tortured other struggling mom than to your spouse. And what a rare thing that is. It is unknown to most of the lone wolves who cry for help. That is a sad thing. I fear for us.

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