on happiness

When you have kids, you really want them to be happy.  So much so that sometimes you slip them an extra chocolate, or buy them an overpriced super-cool pair of shoes, or cuddle them long past bedtime.  But here's the thing about happiness that I've slowly realized:  it's a homegrown product.  It's difficult to acquire from a source other than your own heart or head or wherever the hell you think it's located.  So when we had a quiet (dare I say, sullen?) moment in the car this week and I wanted so badly to tell a joke, or turn in to Baskin Robbins, or say to hell with all the homework, let's just kick off our shoes and watch a million hours of TV, I refused.  I didn't try to cajole a smile or turn on the radio or even rant and rave about positive attitudes.  Because that would only bring amusement or distraction.  Instead, I let the sullen mood ride.  It hung with us in the car all the way home.  As I caught glimpses of that little face in the rear view, I winced.  I come from a long line of enablers and I have to fight the impulse to make everything all better.  But I told myself that maybe this would be a moment that he will remember.  Maybe he's hating me, or hating life or hating the hating, but whatever he's doing and thinking is all his very own.  His life is already here.  And whatever daydream he creates or tirade he composes in that moment is his alone.  When he emerged from his room later that day, a smile on his face and a bounce in his step, it was clear that the happiness was all his, too.  Homegrown.