Day #101 Writing Through COVID-19: Rule Bending

My dad has been asking if my sister and her daughter who live in Newton can come for a socially-distanced visit on the lawn.

When they first moved here, another sister asked to visit, and I simply said no. Hard and fast parameters make my job easier. I established our safety boundaries early on, ducked my head, and barrelled ahead.

Besides myself, the only person who has physically touched my parents in the past (who's counting) weeks is my daughter who masked up, sterilized down, and cut their hair.

They have chatted with my masked children from across the yard.

But I think my dad's recent request for a visit from my sister and niece is reasonable. I know they'd be respectful in masking and maintaining distance. Furthermore, when my parents return to Friendship Haven, their visiting restrictions might be tighter still.

But what happens if this sibling (who has been conscientious about isolating) wants to visit and I say yes, then another who has not been as careful in COVID-preventing behaviors asks to do the same?

I'll need to be ready for conversations of why what's good for the goose is not necessarily good for the gander.
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As I prepare to break my months-long rule, I think back to my parenting style, and also to my mother's.

I was an infinitely negotiable parent. If my kids could explain their position, reason, or (often cockamamie) idea, I would listen and reconsider. I tried to encourage them to think through and defend their proposals. Some might call this wishy-washy, or even indulgent, since my children seemed to talk me out of every rule I put in front of them.

My own mother drafted long lists of rules and then held them up as stone tablets: No dating until 16. No makeup until high school. Early curfews. No swearing. No sleeping in past 8 a.m. on Saturdays. The list goes on.
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While my mother's rules were likely founded in reason, during our arguments (and there were many), I grew disdainful of her unwillingness to bend, to reconsider, to make exceptions. When she refused to budge, I dismissed her guidance with the full force of a nasty teenager.

You can probably see why my mother and I fought from the day I entered seventh grade until I left home the day after high-school graduation. Our difficult relationship oozed into adulthood, and led to the quasi-estrangement we maintained until she moved into my basement in March. The fact that COVID-19 has given us a never-dreamed-of chance to repair our connection is a shining star in this dark time.

It's interesting to me now, as I listen to my dad explain how careful they'd be during a visit with my sister, that he is asking me to reconsider a rule established when they moved here.

And as 35 years of parenting my own children has taught me, I can--and should--bend this rule.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison