It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.
Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone,or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner,because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible. The invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30,
please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude
- but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.
It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this. ' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inion: 'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of
God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be
covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.'
And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake
you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over.
You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction . But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will
never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime, because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a
turkey for three hours and dresses all the linens for the table.'
That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
回复白云下的橄榄树的评论:
First, I think you are confused with two different concepts. "学会面对失败" is not the same as "狼性教育". The former focused on a better understanding of your capability, the later only encourages people to survive at all cost. If in order to survive, one needs to be greedy or ruthless or doing things behind other people's back, so be it. You think that is a good way to teach a 7 year old?
Second, when it comes to "辱骂和体罚", one can not only look at the positive effects while ignoring the potential damage that could be done. "这个千万别让孩子在身体上有个三长两短就好."--Nobody can guarantee that if beating becomes a routine.
Third, "蓝队员坚持到最后的都是了不起的"--That's what you think, but members of team blue may not get encouragement from their teachers. Those kids may feel resentful and bitter after they lost, and that's hardly a good attitude towards failure.
Fourth, "好像杰瑟琳.肯尼迪,就曾经把十几岁的小肯尼迪送去锻炼"--That camp do not assume all incoming kids are bad guys. Do you know if teachers can beat their students there? I highly doubt it.
To summarize, the "camps" you mentioned are very different from the "school" Mingliang is talking about here.
美国也有类似的program,比如专门给富人孩子的camp让他们接受严格锻炼,还有像Ascent Wilderness Program for Troubled Teens。很多孩子吸毒酗酒或者打游戏到了完全失控的程度,父母心操碎了却束手无策,因为舍不得用自己的双手惩罚孩子。于是送他们去那些地方进行比较极端的训练。记得看过一个报道,里边一个问题少年的父母说,他们送走孩子以后,还是第一次不必再担心孩子去了哪里,做些什么,能否活着回来。