It shouldn't matter, but it does

I've chosen the name Lessons Learned because,  holy cow, have I learned a lot in my 50 years. 

Most of the big lessons have been during the last 20 years or so. Of course,  some of these lessons wouldn't have been learned without mistakes or just plain old living that I did in the first 30 years. 

This brings me to today... my biggest lesson I have learned as a parent - no matter how hard you try to be the perfect parent,  you will never come close. 

I think for the longest time I really tried to do everything I could to ensure my kids had the best childhood. The issue, as it turns out, was that I was doing what I would've wanted and not necessarily what my kids wanted. 

I suppose that's what we do as parents.. we reflect on the life we lived and try to give our children better. So, I quit my great job when I was 25 and decided to stay home with the kids full time. 

Those early years are definitely a blur at this point but I certainly remember that every second of my day was "being a mom".

I was a young mom,  becoming a foster parent when I was 21, so all I knew about parenting came from my parents.  They had set such a great example of selflessness and unconditional love growing up that by age seven I knew I wanted to be just like them and open my home to fostering.

I remember as a kid that my parents never treated our foster children any different than their biological children.  I can remember the excitement of knowing a new baby or toddler would be coming to our home and crying when they left. 

We loved them. 

We were raised to love them as part of our family. 

I remember our first foster child arriving when I was five-years-old. I can still see her standing by the kitchen door waiting for me to come home from school - her beautiful brown eyes smiling and her hands pressed on the window. She was adorable.

I remember the first time I really realized that she was different from my biological siblings.. my sister Missy and I decided to take her to a local playground (crazy to think that back then a 7-year-old and 5-year-old went by themselves!) We were pushing her in a stroller and some boys starting throwing rocks at us and calling us, "N lovers." We ran all the way home, scared to death, that those boys would hurt us or our baby sister.

I'm not sure if my sister Missy knew what the "N word" meant,  but I didn't,  and when we told our mom what had happened, she told us,"It's a horrible word that cruel people use to talk about black people.  Never say it again. "

I didn't. 

I'm horrified when people say it. It makes my heart hurt. 

I just don't understand hating someone because they look different.  And maybe it's because I was never taught to care,  but I decided to raise my kids the same way. 

To not care about differences.

Twenty years later I've learned that was a mistake. 

Some of my children are upset that I didn't talk more about those differences, 

That I didn't focus more on what it means to be black, or white , or brown,

That I should've prepared them more for people who don't see the world like we do.

And I suppose they're right.  

In all that time making sure to have all of my children feel included, and loved,  and safe,  I didn't really celebrate what made them different.

Unique.

And I feel bad,  like I failed,  by not preparing them for the harshness of the real world. I suppose I thought,  or hoped,  that the world they lived in would continue to evolve and that skin color or disabilities wouldn't matter. 

I was wrong. 

It feels like we've taken a step back and hatred is more in our faces than ever before. And I feel terrible that my kids weren't prepared.