Parenting is the most important and most challenging thing I've done in my life. I'm not done. It never ends. My children are grown, over 21, out of their parents' house ... and it's like a huge chunk of my heart is out there in the world, with each of them -- a piece of my heart that is vulnerable and out of my control.
Shannon's best friend, Misia, got married last Monday. It was the most amazing celebration I've been to, perhaps in my life. There was so much meaning behind every phase of this traditional Jewish wedding and reception ... I was grateful for the explanations Shannon was able to provide as we moved through the evening's festivities. And I was (no surprise) also overwhelmed by emotion at the open-hearted love and acceptance of my little girl (who is really a remarkable young woman, and not a little girl, at all) in this circle of people who knew she is not Jewish -- but also know that she has learned as much as she possibly can about the laws and traditions her childhood friend has embraced in her adult life.
A long time ago, struggling with things like sibling rivalry, discipline, and helping my daughters develop into people who had integrity, a sense of their own power and worthiness, and a sense of respect for others ... in one of the many books I poured over, I stumbled across a word that summarized all I hoped to accomplish as a parent: I wanted to raise a mensch.
I can't tell you how proud I was on Monday, when Shannon, recounting that someone in Misia's large gathering of family and friends for the wedding celebration -- many of whom thought she, too, was Jewish, because she knew so much and showed so much respect for the traditions and laws -- had told her she was ... she struggled to remember the word. It started with an "m," she said.... "A mensch?" I asked, tentatively. Her face lit up in recognition. "Yes! That was it! It means ... " It means you are a GOOD PERSON.
My daughters are GOOD PEOPLE. Mission accomplished.
