When it comes to my kids’ athletic events, it’s me, I’m the problem, I am that guy. A noted therapist said recently that parents should not give their adult children advice unless asked. I vowed to follow this … and failed miserably in Lindsay’s last match this weekend when I gave a lot of loud mat-side advice that allegedly wasn’t helpful.
I won’t get into the details. Rather, I am trying to unpack the why.—why can I not stop myself? I don’t feel this way about anyone else’s kids on the mat or on a football field. It feels metaphorical, and I often think of God and our ancestors looking down on us and wanting to shout, “No! Do it THIS way not THAT way,” but I never hear that and I just don’t comprehend the restraint. I lack it clearly. At times, I would prefer God use a bullhorn and let me know. Often, the heavens feel awfully silent and I would rather be yelled at than ignored.
Latter-Day Saint scripture extols the importance of people learning from their own experience. So I guess there’s that.
Being all-knowing and omnipotent and omniscient and all that, God has it all figured out, I suppose. Me? I need to sit higher up in the stands where I can’t be heard. Of course, maybe that’s why God made heavens and put Earth far, far beneath them?
His Smile Lit Up a Room and Other Things to Say at My Funeral 