The Unspoken Reward of Parenting
I’m not a parent yet, and I’ve considered never becoming one, but I recently got a whiff of what might be one of the greatest pleasures of parenting.
I had heard of Fikayo’s matriculation almost a month earlier, and even then, the intense pride that washed over me was deeply satisfying. But that feeling paled in comparison to what I felt when I spotted my little cousin moving through the crowd, robe and cap in hand, eyes roving in search of us as we waited to take pictures with him after the ceremony.
I’m usually an introverted, self-conscious chap who’s always looking to avoid anything that might embarrass him in public. But none of those traits could stop me from racing through the crowd of giddy first-years and proud parents and locking Fikayo in a bear hug as he approached. My heart was full, and it was difficult to hide it.
As I reflected on the day’s proceedings and how I felt, I realised that I was on to one of the most fulfilling things parents could ever experience: watching their children blossom. Seeing another living being whose life you’ve been a part of thriving is so heartwarming.
While I haven’t done anything remotely close to what my aunt and her husband have done for Fikayo, I did spend an awful lot of time with him during his childhood. My family and my aunt’s had the privilege of living very close to each other. Our houses stood side by side for almost a decade. Being the oldest of three children from my mom and two from my aunt meant that I got to play babysitter several times. Plus, we had the habit of shuttling between both homes to play games watch cable TV and football matches.
Although I had a decent relationship with all the other kids, I was particularly close to Fikayo, partly because he was just an adorable kid that was eight years my junior, and because he took a liking to me too. We forged a special bond that involved lots of attention and meaningless pet names that resulted in his mom labelling me his “little daddy.”
I was a kid/teenager myself for most of those years, but the eight-year age gap meant that I got to practice little acts of nurturing that made me feel responsible for and connected to Fikayo.
I believe being a part of his life in that way amplified the emotions I felt on his official enrollment as an undergraduate. And I also imagine that those emotions would have been exponentially multiplied in his actual parents — those who handled most and the more tasking parts of his nurturing.
The attachment we feel to people and things we are responsible for reveals our nature as nurturers and creators. Apart from the monetary benefits, there’s a reason founders are often passionate about seeing their startups succeed or why innovators keep toiling away to perfect their inventions, or why teachers go the extra mile to tutor their students. At our core, we yearn to build things apart from ourselves, to leave a mark in the form of a successful project, a best-selling book, highflying students or thriving children.
While so many activities can scratch that nurturing itch, I believe none does it better than “building” people, especially children. I have a theory that parents know this intuitively, and it’s why it’s often common to see them go to great lengths to ensure their children thrive. They are convinced that the intrinsic benefit of succeeding at the incredibly strenuous task of nurturing another human being from infancy to adulthood is well worth the effort, and going by the warmth that enveloped me during Fikayo’s matriculation ceremony, I’m inclined to agree.
This is the second time in three days that my little cousin’s matriculation will feature in my writing. It also made a cameo in my last article.
Day 11 of the Not Enough Writers 30-Day Writing Challenge
