Laura Chapman Writes

I feel sorry for privileged parents. You know, the kind. The ones with perfect kids. Mostly because they have no idea they even have privilege, but also because they really think (if they are totally honest) their kid’s success is largely due to them.

Why do I know this?

Because I am one.

When my first child was born I took my job very seriously. I read everything and made my share of mistakes. But by my third child, I was pretty positive I had it down. I dutifully completed everything required to successfully pass Parenting 101, three times already and I was confident I would ultimately reap the rewards of my efforts with wonderful, well-adjusted, successful adult offspring.

For a while, as my parenting years passed uneventfully and I was certain this meant I was right. Then they would present me with beautiful grand-children to cuddle and spoil and be the shining light of my Golden Years. Wonderful, well-deserved privileges that were rightfully mine since I had diligently done the hard stuff and because that’s the way the world works.

After all, it was only fair.

But I was blissfully, ignorantly and sadly wrong. I had no idea how flawed my thinking was until the day one of my children made a choice that threatened her life and rocked my world right off it’s foundation. In an instant I was on the other side of that fence that lies between privileged parents and the rest of us.

I helplessly stood there — grieving the loss of a child I feared would never return. I was powerless and yet grasping at everything I could possibly do to save her as she spiraled away from me into a world of dark alleys and unthinkable horror. Knowing my actions likely hurt more than they helped; I carried self-imposed guilt as I beat myself up with questions of “What if?” “Why didn’t I?” and incriminating statements like “I seriously should have known.”

And I began to secretly covet the lives of the OTHERS. The ones with all their children squarely on the right path.

Happy. Successful. Thriving.

There was no way they could ever understand my challenges. 

Sometimes when we talked, they had the nerve to complain. They reached out to me and shared their perfectly normal concerns about what every parent fears while I listened. And as I pretended to be sympathetic; I secretly, brutally, judged them.

And my judgment went something like this.

“You don’t have to worry about where your child will sleep or get his next meal; so you have no right to complain.”  Or, “Really? You’re stressed because your child can’t decide what scholarship to accept?” Or even, “Give me a break–you can’t really think issues with your child’s teacher are a big deal. At least your kid is still IN school.” And then there was the day I thought to myself, “Seriously? It’s JUST pot?”

I resented my parent friends so much; I couldn’t even have a simple conversation without silently choking on my disdain. And when they shared good news about their families, I didn’t even want to hear it because it just made things worse. 

They had no idea how fortunate, how privileged they were. 

It just wasn’t fair. I knew my circumstances had made me bitter and judgmental, and I hated myself for it. But as the years passed, I began to learn how to let go and find joy in my life again.

And I began to understand what being privileged really meant.

My friends were in no way at fault for their circimstances, any more than I was. As parents, each of us does the best we can in an unfair world where so much is out of our control. And while maybe it really was true their parenting roads were easier, I began to wonder if the greater blessings might not have been theirs after all; but actually were mine.

And that’s when I realized I am the one who is truly privileged. But not in the way you would think.

I am privileged to understand the reality of how truly special the ordinary things in life really are. I know the special joy that comes from seeing a child I thought was lost returned to me again. I understand the only thing more valuable than time spent with my children is time spent praying for them. I am blessed to have a unique perspective of the true depth of God’s love and never, ever, have to wonder if there is something I could possibly do to make Him stop loving me because I know for a fact — the answer is “no.”

Most of all, I realize if things had been “fair” as I so fervently wished, I would not have ANY of the blessings I treasure today.

I read once the problem with life isn’t that it’s unfair, it’s our broken idea of fairness.

I completely agree.