Read Online Switched at Birth: The True Story of a Mother's Journey by Kathryn Kennish, ABC Family - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Kennish, ABC Family
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find it sweet) I was elected prom queen in a landslide victory. Take that, Trevor Anderson!
The point is that my mother had very definite ideas about things, and they were rarely open to negotiation. I’m that way when it comes to things like running with scissors and ingesting poison (and, let us not forget, riding on motorcycles), but I am a firm believer in giving a child the freedom to express herself.
Maybe I wouldn’t be, if I hadn’t had one kid who was a musical prodigy and another who was a gifted artist. Maybe I came to believe in self-expression because I found myself raising children who needed me to believe in it. And because I loved them and wanted them to be happy and fulfilled, I found a way to become the mother that fit them best, the mother I am today.
So perhaps you don’t just learn how to parent from your parents. Perhaps, some of it you learn from your kids—but only if you’re paying attention, and only if you’re willing to be taught.
Maybe, all the time we think we are guiding and molding our children, the reality is that they are guiding and molding us.
That never occurred to me until this very moment.
And here I find myself once again reminded that motherhood, in the very best of ways, will always find a way to surprise me.
Here’s what happened with the motorcycle: Prior to Daphne, Regina, and Adrianna moving in, John and I had taken Daphne for a tour of the prep school Bay and Toby attend. Our hope was that she would decide to transfer from her high school, Carlton School for the Deaf, and allow us to pay her tuition at Buckner Hall.
I can say now that this was not our most shining moment. We hadn’t thought it through clearly enough, being as we were so anxious to make up for lost time with Daphne. We meant well, but you know where the road to good intentions can lead. Carlton was and remains the absolute, uncontested right place for Daphne to be. But we live and we learn. Of all the platitudes and axioms and old sayings that have been articulated throughout this experience, I can tell you that this one rings truest.
Nevertheless, we called the appropriate administrators and set up a tour of Buckner. On the way home a motorcycle pulled up beside us, and to my horror, Daphne was riding on the back of it.
My heart thudded in my chest out of pure fear for her safety, and I actually called out to her through the window. But of course she didn’t hear me. Neither did the driver, Emmett, who was also deaf. I immediately had a sense that this young man, wearing his leather jacket and gripping the handlebars with such intensity, was filled with a combination of teen angst and passion, like a deaf James Dean. And, of course, therein lay the root of my terror.
But Regina, we discovered, had signed off on Daphne riding with this kid. Frankly, I couldn’t believe it, and I told her so, and of course, she defended her decision.
She countered by questioning the wisdom of buying Toby a thirty-thousand-dollar sports car.
It was a standoff, a battle of wills.
Ultimately, Regina came around. She didn’t allow us to forbid Daphne from riding with her friend, but she did admit to John that she had adamantly resisted the motorcycle for months before she finally broke down and consented. She told him she trusted Emmett implicitly, and that he had a stellar driving record. Of course that hadn’t stopped her from following them at a distance the first few weeks after she gave Daphne permission to ride.
“You know what’s funny?” she said to John then. “For years, I’ve wished there was someone else around to bounce this stuff off of.”
I think I know what she was getting at it. Bouncing something off of someone is different than actually giving up your voice. It’s a good thing when someone says, “Keep it up, you’re doing great,” but quite another when the response is “Let’s try it my way.”
We both wanted a voice. And we would both have one. The difficult thing was going
The point is that my mother had very definite ideas about things, and they were rarely open to negotiation. I’m that way when it comes to things like running with scissors and ingesting poison (and, let us not forget, riding on motorcycles), but I am a firm believer in giving a child the freedom to express herself.
Maybe I wouldn’t be, if I hadn’t had one kid who was a musical prodigy and another who was a gifted artist. Maybe I came to believe in self-expression because I found myself raising children who needed me to believe in it. And because I loved them and wanted them to be happy and fulfilled, I found a way to become the mother that fit them best, the mother I am today.
So perhaps you don’t just learn how to parent from your parents. Perhaps, some of it you learn from your kids—but only if you’re paying attention, and only if you’re willing to be taught.
Maybe, all the time we think we are guiding and molding our children, the reality is that they are guiding and molding us.
That never occurred to me until this very moment.
And here I find myself once again reminded that motherhood, in the very best of ways, will always find a way to surprise me.
Here’s what happened with the motorcycle: Prior to Daphne, Regina, and Adrianna moving in, John and I had taken Daphne for a tour of the prep school Bay and Toby attend. Our hope was that she would decide to transfer from her high school, Carlton School for the Deaf, and allow us to pay her tuition at Buckner Hall.
I can say now that this was not our most shining moment. We hadn’t thought it through clearly enough, being as we were so anxious to make up for lost time with Daphne. We meant well, but you know where the road to good intentions can lead. Carlton was and remains the absolute, uncontested right place for Daphne to be. But we live and we learn. Of all the platitudes and axioms and old sayings that have been articulated throughout this experience, I can tell you that this one rings truest.
Nevertheless, we called the appropriate administrators and set up a tour of Buckner. On the way home a motorcycle pulled up beside us, and to my horror, Daphne was riding on the back of it.
My heart thudded in my chest out of pure fear for her safety, and I actually called out to her through the window. But of course she didn’t hear me. Neither did the driver, Emmett, who was also deaf. I immediately had a sense that this young man, wearing his leather jacket and gripping the handlebars with such intensity, was filled with a combination of teen angst and passion, like a deaf James Dean. And, of course, therein lay the root of my terror.
But Regina, we discovered, had signed off on Daphne riding with this kid. Frankly, I couldn’t believe it, and I told her so, and of course, she defended her decision.
She countered by questioning the wisdom of buying Toby a thirty-thousand-dollar sports car.
It was a standoff, a battle of wills.
Ultimately, Regina came around. She didn’t allow us to forbid Daphne from riding with her friend, but she did admit to John that she had adamantly resisted the motorcycle for months before she finally broke down and consented. She told him she trusted Emmett implicitly, and that he had a stellar driving record. Of course that hadn’t stopped her from following them at a distance the first few weeks after she gave Daphne permission to ride.
“You know what’s funny?” she said to John then. “For years, I’ve wished there was someone else around to bounce this stuff off of.”
I think I know what she was getting at it. Bouncing something off of someone is different than actually giving up your voice. It’s a good thing when someone says, “Keep it up, you’re doing great,” but quite another when the response is “Let’s try it my way.”
We both wanted a voice. And we would both have one. The difficult thing was going
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