Unconditional Love

I read a post on another blog that seemed to say that unconditional love, especially when our kids act out badly was not desirable. I don't think I understand the premise. I don't think I can stop loving my kids when they act badly. I can't seem to stop loving my kids even when they are not able to read body language, show appropriate affection spontaneously or hurt me. For me, love can't be shut off. I am not a Biblical person but there is a Biblical phrase about faith hope and love, but the greatest of these is Love. I believe that, deeply and truly.

My eldest son will never be able to love me in the way that love is typically shown and expressed. I remember that it took years--we are talking in the vicinity of 8 or 9 years -- of saying "may I have a hug" for him to remember to do this nightly. Part of me will always wonder if he hugs me nightly because it is his habit now after so many years. Part of me doesn't care, because it is also a time when he gives me permission to hug him back.

The first 12 years of parenting Chet were the hardest in my opinion. His aspergers had not been diagnosed. When he was angry he would growl, sometimes he bit even when he was looooong past the age when anyone would expect that response. When he was angry his behavior was almost feral. It was freaky, scary and when we were in public, down right humiliating. More so for my wife than for me I think. I have a bit thicker skin in that regard. He would hit and kick and fight like a wild thing when he was upset. As he got older the restraint holds we had been taught were less and less effective and also holds seemed to be accelerating the issues instead of de-escalating. I remember one day Chet's puberty hormones raging and having him try to punch me. I had been studying karate for a while at that point (and my love of martial arts pre-dated any children in my life) and I blocked and used a joint lock to immobilize him momentarily.

I said that this wasn't a way I wanted us to be and that I would never let him hurt me or hurt my wife. Then I let him go. He has hurt us since, but not intentionally. Only in ways caused by his impulsive behavior and lack of understanding of space and depth.

Now I'll give you that if I hadn't felt physically confident in the situation, things might have been different. If I had a personality like my wife, who tends to be the sort to get up in someone's face when her Viking goddess temper is flaring, it could have all ended badly for us.

And we were lucky too that though Chet is hampered by the differences in his perceptions as related to his disability, he was not to my knowledge ever abused. Nor is he cognitively delayed. Had those been factors, the end for us would I think have been much sadder.

But would I have been unable to love him? Would I have stopped loving him? I can't envision doing so. Or having him think that I didn't love him. And maybe a big part of that, is because in my life, I think my father did stop loving me. If he ever truly loved me. He divorced my mother when I was 19. He moved out of the house on my birthday that year. But when I look back at the pictures that parents take at those moments of a kids life that they want to remember, I remember a lot of tears. Sometimes, the remnants of the tears are there in the picture. I have red eyes in a lot of dance recital pics because he would make really caustic comments when he was supposed to take my picture. I was crying in my graduation picture and it wasn't happy tears, there was another family argument going on right before we went down for the ceremony.

I remember trying to do things growing up to make him proud, to make him show he loved me. And usually, the results were less than I hoped for. And yet, like most kids, I would keep trying. Even after the divorce, when I had a child of my own, I tried to have a relationship with him. I thought the chance for him to be a granddad to my son would somehow make things right. But after a few somewhat stilted visits, he stopped returning the calls, wasn't home when we stopped by. Then one year he moved across the country with his new wife. He visited my sister who lived 30 minutes from me. He never let me know till he sent me a Christmas card 6 months later.

And that was pretty much when I stopped trying. I wrote back a card. But it only had our names, not a newsy note and pictures. And he never wrote again. I hear he has married his third wife and lives in another different state, but I don't know details. And I have pretty much decided it isn't worth my time to care. His love was conditional and some one of the conditions must have been something I wasn't. Or couldn't be. I will never really know what it was.

I never want my kids to feel that they don't measure up. I will never support violence. I will never support illegal activities. I will always love them. And I will do my best to be sure they know that. That doesn't always mean a kid can live at home, I am not saying that either. Just that love remains and is of paramount importance.