The Greatest Love of All

The other night Larry, Cienna and I watched "Gameplan" together. It's a Disney movie, starring "The Rock" and seems to emulate the life of Tom Brady, though it claims not to. The plot is pretty simple and unoriginal, but I still got teary a few times. Because, well, it's me and a Disney movie that we're talking about, and I'm a kid at heart. Basically, an egotistical football player's life is changed when he learns he has an 8-year-old daughter. But he doesn't realize that she's so important to him until she's no longer living with him. Magically, she returns just in time for him to win the big championship (aka Super Bowl), and they live happily ever after. Sorry if I spoiled that for anyone. (Somehow I just know Joe is laughing at me right now.)

While the little girl and her father were separated, Cienna put her head down and started to cry. But she was wiping her tears away quickly and acted like she wasn't crying. She kept saying, "Is her Daddy sad, Mommy? When is the little girl coming back?" I assured her that, this being a G-rated Disney movie and all, the girl would definitely be back, and everything would be OK. And it was.

But in that moment of her sympathetic tears, which Larry and I both found precious and poignant, my heart paused. I realized that it wouldn't always be like that--the three of us tucked in together, with Larry and I on either side of her like book ends, protecting her from falling. There will (hopefully) be many other photos of us in the same order--her in a ballet recital costume between us, in a soccer uniform between us, a prom dress, a cap and gown, a wedding dress, holding a baby--but they are just reminders that my little girl is growing up. I know this is just one of many moments I'll have like this. I'll surely go through the same with Ty.

It's these experiences that make me feel the magnitude of parenting. One wrong piece of advice, and I may give my children a false sense of perspective on something.

I'm one of those people who believe family is everything. It's the most important foundation there is. You can give a child money, the best education, the best clothes, the best nutrition and the best shelter, but if they don't have a loving and stable family, the rest won't matter. Materialism will never replace the gift of someone's time. And if you don't get enough attention from your parents, you'll never feel like you're getting enough attention from anyone.

I don't subscribe to the theory that a perfect parent exists. I think we can offer perfect love--which can only be perfect if it's unconditional. We can offer perfect care--which is to say we are meeting the needs of our children. But I don't think it's ever possible to be a perfect example simply because we are all flawed. In that case, I just try to teach them to rebound from their mistakes with dignity, honesty, courage, forgiveness and the wisdom to avoid that mistake again. I work on these things daily.

Even though I'm painfully aware that my own weaknesses will cause me to fall short with them one day, my hope is the love I've given them and will continue to give them will be what matters most in the end. Regardless of how old they are, Larry and I will always have enough space between us for them whenever they need a hug. Whenever they need to know that it will be OK. We'll get through it together.

Because the greatest love of all is that of a family.