A Legacy of Knowledge and Creativity: Parenting Reflections
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Chapter 1: The Influence of Parents on Personal Growth
I have inherited a diverse range of interests and a thirst for knowledge from my parents. The most effective parenting is demonstrated through one’s actions. My thoughts are like a continuous stream, where one idea quickly gives way to another, often rejected by the next in line. In my mind, conclusions are elusive; every notion is in a constant state of transformation, always ready to evolve. However, this relentless change can sometimes lead to chaos within my thoughts.
For instance, I often express my discontent with my engineering career, a path I took to please my parents. Yet, I also recognize that this profession provides my livelihood, and my degree is one of the few that holds value in America.
During my childhood, journaling became my refuge and a way to express my feelings. I documented every experience and emotion, transforming writing into a ritualistic escape where my innermost thoughts found expression.
In the 1960s and 70s, life was devoid of the digital distractions that dominate today. Without smartphones or computers to divert our focus, I spent my free time in the sunlit comfort of our backyard, where joy mingled with the scent of grass, and creativity flourished. We played and crafted elaborate stories, allowing our imaginations to soar in an unbounded space of creativity.
In our modest apartment, my father’s love for books turned our home into a sanctuary of knowledge. Each payday, he returned with a fresh stack of books, each one a portal to new worlds. Our living area became a tribute to his passion for literature, filled with shelves and wall-mounted cases brimming with books. Despite the cramped conditions, his enthusiasm for reading never waned, even as my mother playfully chided, “There’s hardly room for a toothpick in this apartment, and yet, another book?” His fervor for storytelling lit up our home with a magical glow.
I grew up surrounded by art and knowledge, leafing through beautiful art books and encyclopedias. My upbringing coincided with the Soviet Union's golden age, with both parents being university-educated and gainfully employed. My mother, a physics teacher, had an exceptional talent for simplifying complex scientific concepts. As her student, I was fortunate to benefit from her clear and quick explanations, making even the toughest topics accessible.
My writing skills are largely attributed to my mother. Whenever I faced a blank page for school assignments, she was there to guide me, making the writing process seem effortless. As a physics expert, she was remarkably adaptable, mastering new things quickly. While today’s computers are filled with countless educational videos, I often marveled at how my mother possessed such diverse knowledge back then. I was genuinely impressed by her many talents, from sewing my clothes to cutting my hair.
Section 1.1: Cherished Childhood Memories
Though I didn’t have many toys, I cherished the few I owned. I had a toy furniture set that I arranged in the dining room cabinet, creating a cozy little room, which I would frequently rearrange. I even sewed clothes for my dolls using a toy sewing machine, collecting a large bag of garments. By observing my mother, I learned numerous skills that have stayed with me.
In ninth grade, my first poem found its way into the pages of an Armenian youth newspaper. I was astonished when a schoolgirl from Meghri City, a beautiful place in southern Armenia, responded to my poem with a letter sent to my school. When my mother handed me the letter from this stranger, I felt both surprised and a bit overwhelmed.
Our correspondence blossomed into a genuine friendship. My brother and I visited her family in Meghri, and she became a beloved guest in our Yerevan home. This friendship marked the beginning of my literary journey, enriching my writing in unexpected ways. The memories of those visits are vivid, filled with warmth and kindness from her family, leaving a lasting impression on my heart.
Section 1.2: Growing Up in the Soviet Era
I grew up during the Soviet era, a time when worries seemed far away. My parents worked diligently to ensure our well-being, contributing to our rich experiences and personal growth. My father, a talented structural engineer, excelled in his field, yet he was also a passionate lover of the arts and literature. After retirement, he dreamed of dedicating himself to art, particularly painting. He was a gifted painter, poet, and songwriter, his enchanting voice a highlight at every gathering. The melody of “Kilikia” always brings back memories of him, resonating in my mind. It was only after his passing at the age of 56 that we fully appreciated his creative legacy, which he left us too soon.
Now, I find myself older than he would have been, and I miss him dearly, longing for his wisdom. I consider myself fortunate to take pride in my parents. While they were not perfect, they gave their all to raise us as best as they could. My mother prioritized my education over household chores, and I never objected, filled with love and respect for her. Nowadays, I would choose to follow my passions more freely; in my youth, I often did what was expected of me, lacking the opportunity to make my own choices. Eventually, I pursued journalism as a secondary career.
Chapter 2: The Complexity of Parenting
It's common for people to attribute their failures to their parents. Psychologists often explore their clients' pasts to pinpoint these sources of struggle, frequently landing on parents as the culprits. When they identify parents as the reason for mental distress, it can bring a sense of relief. “Yes, it’s my parents who caused this,” they may think.
However, it's essential to remember that not all parents are trained psychologists. They act out of instinct to protect their children and ensure their well-being, although these instincts can sometimes lead to mistakes. My parents made their share of errors; no one is perfect. Yet, I understand their intentions and have learned to forgive them.
As a parent myself, I recognize that I have made numerous mistakes. I’m not referring to catastrophic errors that could profoundly impact a child's life, but rather the everyday missteps that come with parenting. No one should claim to have had a flawless childhood. If we reflect, we can all find instances where our parents faltered in their parenting.
Let’s shift our focus from conflicts and grievances to the love and care our parents provided. Holding onto these positive memories can lead to a more fulfilling life and foster forgiveness in our own children. Among humanity’s greatest failings is ingratitude; we must strive to rise above it.
Section 2.1: A Love for Books
My children have developed a deep love for bookstores, inheriting their grandfather’s passion for reading. Our home resembles a library, and I couldn’t be happier. They have become well-rounded individuals, enriched by wisdom and diverse experiences. I take pride in their choices; they wisely invest their money, valuing knowledge over material possessions.
Whenever I hear friends lament about the younger generation’s disinterest in reading, asserting that they are glued to screens, I counter with pride. My three daughters are passionate readers. From my own experiences, I’ve learned that parental example plays a significant role in shaping children’s interests.
I remember the Saturday mornings when I dressed my kids and took them to the library after moving to California from Armenia. The Glendale Central Library, though not as grand as it is today, held a special significance for us. My children would excitedly gather as many books as they could, their faces glowing with joy on our bus ride home. One of my daughters once remarked that I had instilled a love for reading in them, and those words filled my heart with immense joy.
I, too, mirrored my parents’ passions, inheriting their diverse interests and love for knowledge.
Section 2.2: The Enduring Legacy of Art
Listening to Mozart often leads me to ponder how humanity has attempted to create music since his time; he truly represents the pinnacle of musical achievement. Gazing upon Michelangelo’s sculptures, I wonder who would dare to approach marble with such boldness. The same awe fills me when I view Aivazovsky’s paintings. Yet, I find comfort in the beauty that follows these great masters. Some brave souls have continued their legacy, crafting remarkable works of art that reflect humanity's limitless potential. Their creations have become treasured legacies, captivating us now and for generations to come.
Stepping into a bookstore, I lose myself in the endless shelves, contemplating whether anyone would even notice if I added a modest book to their vast collection. What drives writers to persevere, continually pouring their thoughts onto paper and seeking publication? In this age of rapidity and opportunity, the pressure to excel is immense. Our ideas can soar to unprecedented heights, reaching ancient realms lost in the vast expanse of the cosmos.
Yet, within each of us lies a secret place, akin to a child at the edge of a stream, playfully stirring its stones with a stick. We stand before the golden door of life, eagerly awaiting its opening, fully aware that it may lead to an abyss.