When I was younger, i thought the people who raised me worried too much. When ever I was traveling, they would always say l should call when you reach, if I want to see a friend they will tell me not to stay out late. They will always make sure to know who I was with.Always asking if I have eaten. That time I would just roll my eyes and think, I am fine, why are they making noise?
I remember feeling embarrassed sometimes. Other people seemed to have more freedom, and I would complain that I was not trusted. In my head, their worry was a rule, and rules were meant to be fought against.
Now I understand. I understand it better because of my work.
As a primary school teacher, I spend most of my days with children. I watch them run, climb, fall, and laugh. Some days a child would cry because of a small scratch, and I always see that child's mother rush into the school the gate with fear all over her face. Before, I would have said, "It is just a scratch." But now I see that to her, it is never just a scratch. That is her child.
Some parents also ask me the smallest questions. "Did my child eat his food?" "Did she play with the other children today?" "Was he sad today?" Honestly at first I found it funny. But now I answer every one of them gently, because I know those questions are not small to them. They are the questions of someone who cannot be there and is trusting me to be their eyes for a few hours.
That is when it hit me that worry is not control. It is love that does not know where to put itself. The people who raised me were not trying to stop me from living, they were scared of a world they could not walk through for me.
I also understand now that they were not perfect. They were doing their best with what they knew, just like I am doing my best today. They made decisions I did not agree with, and some of them I still do not agree with. But I can see now that they made those decisions out of care, not out of a wish to hold me back.
Somewhere in my own life, I have caught myself saying the same things they said to me, word for word. "Reach home safe." "Don't forget your sweater." I laughed when it happened, because suddenly a lot of their old reminders made sense.
There is a quiet kind of humility that comes with growing older. You realize that the people you once thought were too strict, too careful, or too old-fashioned were simply a few steps ahead of you on the same road. They had already seen what you had not seen yet.
So this is my answer. With age, I understand that the people who worried about me loved me in the only way they knew how. I wish I understood sooner, but maybe some lessons only make sense when you have stood where they stood.
And appreciate everyone who ever worried about me, and to every child who is still rolling their eyes. One day, it will make sense to you too.
Image is mine.
