PART TWO OF THREE
Don’t “feel sorry” for them.
I grew up in a house of music, especially popular music from the first half of the twentieth century. My brother and I can still sing the verses to some of the great popular songs of the 20th century. My mother was a particular fan of Judy Garland, and I was familiar with her life and music, as well as revisiting her performance as Dorothy once a year at the annual television showing of The Wizard of Oz. I remember when Judy died at age 47 in 1969 (I was 16), there were articles galore extolling her talent, but also bemoaning her many mishaps and misfortunes. Judy-as-victim had been a part of her life and persona for many years, so it wasn’t unusual to see that same drum being played so loudly now at her untimely death. And even a cursory overview of her life showed hardships and struggles from an early age.
So full of understanding about this poor creature, I shared with Mom how sad her life was. Calmly but with great understanding of the challenges of life, Mom said, “It’s not what happens to you that counts—it’s how you respond to it.” I remember even now how taken aback I was upon hearing that! Where was the sympathy and hand wringing that I was seeing in print all around me? Mom had had a tough life, too—losing her father at an early age, losing the family “fortune” during the Depression and having to be raised with great struggle by a single mother, a marriage that should never have been, a separation that ended in divorce, finding herself undereducated yet having to hold our family together. How could she not understand?
Of course, she did understand—all too well. I remember particularly the apparent discrepancy between the directness and clarity of her comment, and the complete lack of resentment in her voice. She didn’t resent Judy’s personal failings; she wasn’t being judgmental. She just knew there were other choices to be made than some of the ones that Judy had made. She knew that because she had made many of those choices herself, and in some ways, chosen more wisely. Because she did, my brother and sister and I grew up with a level of security that kids from other broken homes didn’t have. She encouraged our dreams, championed our talents, and provided emotional stability to us when she had precious little of it to enjoy for herself. (Side note: That is why single moms are my heroes to this day.)
There was one area, however, where Mom’s big heart got the best of her, and we kids had to overcome it as adults. She felt bad for us because we were from a broken home, and since she worked so hard to fill in every gap, she was acutely aware of the gaps that were there. I don’t even know if she ever said it out loud, but I was somehow aware that she felt bad for us. Maybe it was a snippet of an overheard conversation with Aunt Kay or Aunt Margaret. Or maybe it was a look or tone of voice. But I remember growing up with the impression that we needed to be felt bad for. And since the separation and the financial and emotional challenges that go with that were real—well, then, the pity for us should probably be real, too.
Our situation wasn’t pleasant, and I’m grateful for those that extended love and compassion when it was needed. (Check out my brother Chris’s book The Wild Love of God for more details….) But the problem was that this kind of pity can so easily be received as self-pity, and that is nothing but an unkindness to impart to a child.
Now don’t get me wrong here. Pity is a Biblical word, but I think our culture has twisted its original meaning. Having understanding is commendable. Showing compassion on folks—bravo. Having genuine empathy—a true and rare virtue. I especially love one of the lesser definitions of the word: “A willingness to help or to forgive somebody who is in pain or who has done wrong.”
Genuine pity will always be in short supply. We will never outgrow the need for those whose hearts are full of compassion and understanding. Children with disabilities need understanding; even those whose unfortunate state is entirely their fault still deserve our compassion.
But pity and “feel sorry for” have almost become synonymous. Pity can encourage an attitude of entitlement, a feeling that someone, somehow, owes me something. It assumes that people and systems are going to make room for our weaknesses and lacks, which should in truth be a kindness granted by us at the same time that we resist presuming it for ourselves.
To make genuine allowances for another’s deficiencies is a social grace, a business imperative, and something all parents must do with little children. But feeling sorry for a child who is too short, or too tall, or not as pretty as Sally, or who is even handicapped, is not going to help as time goes on. In fact, it breeds in them an expectation that they don’t have to overcome, but that they can sit back and expect others to cater to their “situation.” Then when others don’t—inevitably the case—this kind of pity from without becomes self-pity from within, a defense mechanism that starts by pulling a person inside himself, and can end with a deadly victim mentality that can cripple a personality.
We know that we’ve fallen into this trap with our children when instead of working with them in their weak areas, we instead find ourselves consistently giving excuses to ourselves or others as to why they cannot do something we would expect most children to be able to do. Our responsibility as parents is to come alongside our children and help them discover and access the way out of their areas of insecurity, not confirm them in those areas. We need to be sensitive to where and how they hurt, of course. But when the right thing to do clashes with an initial inability to do it because there is a resistance, fear or hesitance—for whatever reason—we need to work to equip our children with the perspectives and strategies they need to work from weakness to strength. With areas that might draw the wrong kind of pity from us, it may take awhile for us to settle our own internal issues first. (Why do I feel the need to defend wrong behavior? Or why do I take even the mildest of criticism as a lack of love?) Then we can discover the best ways of training and encouraging our children to not let even their real weaknesses or limitations prevent them from being the people they should be.
Part Three is my next post.
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