I’ve seen the movie Forrest Gump probably 500 times. At LEAST 500. It’s one of my favorite movies, and my dad loved Tom Hanks movies, so we watched it a lot.
Watching it on Netflix with Spencer yesterday, I got kind of emotional. I don’t know if it’s because I have a child now, and I can’t imagine him being abused like Jenny, or because I was the weird kid with the health problems, like Forrest and his magic legs. It could be because I work closely with adults with developmental disabilities and I love seeing how Forrest lived such an inclusive life – he wasn’t hidden away in some facility, but was given the same opportunities as everyone else.
What really got to me was the end of the movie, when Forrest is sitting with his son and waiting to put him on the school bus. Little Forrest starts to climb the steps and Forrest says, “wait!” I’m sure in that moment, he’s remembering his own childhood and how difficult things were… how he was bullied and how mean people could be… I’m sure he wanted to say something to protect him, some advice to help keep him safe. I’m sure he was thinking of all the things that can go wrong. I’m sure it’s terrifying to be a parent and let your child go make his own decisions and live life outside of the protective bubble of home.
But after a pause, all he said was, “I just wanted to say that I love you.” And little Forrest says it back with a smile and hops on the bus.
I want to protect Spencer more than anything. I know how terrible people can be, I know about all the things that can go wrong in this life. I never want him to have to feel pain or struggle or heartbreak. I hate seeing him cry, and I feel physically ill when he’s running around a playground with bigger kids who wouldn’t think twice about knocking him over. The thought of him going to school terrifies me, and raising him in an era of social media obsession is a little overwhelming. I feel that urge to protect him, to keep him home where I know he’s safe, to isolate him from any questionable influences, to block him from the “world” and keep him in a bubble.
I could try to make all of his decisions for him and micromanage every detail of his life so that I still feel like I’m in control and therefore I’m keeping him safe. But is that really the lifestyle I want to model for him?
The fact is, real life is scary at times. And painful, and sad. I don’t think I’m doing him any favors by trying to hide him from experiencing those things. Some lessons are hard to learn but have to be learned the hard way. And as a parent, that scares me. I feel our efforts are better spent trying to instill good values in him, encouraging him to keep trying, and being that safe place for him to always come back to.
I’m sure Forrest’s mom was scared to let go of him, knowing how cruel people can be and being aware of Forrest’s disabilities. She didn’t hide him in a bubble… she let life happen. She always supported him and gave him advice to guide him along the way. She was his constant, his safe place, his place of comfort. But she pushed him out of the nest and trusted in his abilities to adapt to whatever life brought his way. She didn’t use his disabilities as an excuse to hold him back, and she didn’t let the fear of what could go wrong scare her into sheltering him from experiencing life.
In our home, there’s an element of faith added into the mix. We are both Christians and pray that Spencer will be too. But we can’t force him into it. He may be our child, but he is God’s creation. He ultimately belongs to God, just as we do. We can try to control his life, and keep him safe from experiencing sin, but is that really the right thing to do? Does that really demonstrate a lifestyle of faith and trusting in God’s will? I don’t feel like it does.
Pain and struggle are unfortunately part of life. There are also opportunities for growth that come out of each struggle. I want us to equip Spencer to be able to handle whatever life throws at him, instead of teaching him to avoid everything that scares him. I want us to teach him to take chances and go out of his comfort zone, instead of only doing what’s easy and safe. I want us to trust God with Spencer’s life instead of fearing the unknown.
I don’t want to be the mom who won’t let Spencer go to school or join a club or try new things. I don’t want to teach him to avoid people who look, act, or believe differently than we do. I don’t want to show him a faith that is safe and easy and merely habitual. I want him to experience life no matter how much it scares me, instead of limiting his opportunities.
I want to be the mom who says, “…just know that I love you,” and lets life happen. And that scares me.
Kristen Stewart, Writer 