Susanne Maynes

It felt risky. I wasn’t sure how things would play out. Would my 18-year-old forgive me?

I knew I had offended Danny by raising my voice and being harsh many times over. Yet I had always said I wasn’t a fan of generalized apologies.
 
You know, the insincere quickie, I’m sorry for everything I ever did wrong, so now we’re good, right?
 
Still, it was time to swallow my pride, confess my wrong, and ask for my son’s forgiveness.
 
Even if it was a blanket appeal, it was better than pretending nothing was wrong.
 
So we’re sitting in the cafe where all of Danny’s work buddies from the truss-building company are gathered for lunch. We order burgers and chit-chat about things.
 
After awhile I clear my throat for the big moment.
 
I start by explaining that I believe most apologies should be specific and timely. I go on to say that I have some catching up to do, that I had realize there is a pattern of offenses that I need to make right with him.
 
Danny listens.
 
I tell him I’ve been wrong to yell at him, especially the times I’ve kept going even when I saw that he felt trapped, face flushed with anger.
 
I tell him I was wrong to use my parental authority to vent my spleen instead of cooling off and dealing with him rationally and fairly.
 
I reiterate that I should have asked his forgiveness each time this happened, and that I’m sorry I waited so long.
 
And then I ask him the big question. The one where I turn the power over to him, and it’s not about my control anymore.
 
Will you please forgive me?
 
What happens next is the stuff of dreams. It’s the kind of tender moment a mother writes about in her journal.
 
Danny looks at me, eyes light and clear, voice tender.
 
I forgive you.
 
And then he gets up in the middle of this crowded cafe full of macho guys, wraps me in a bear hug, and kisses me on the cheek.
 
There are no words.
 
I did not deserve that hug. It was a precious gift. Had I insisted on my personal principle that “general apologies don’t count”  — well, it would have been both our loss.
 
May I encourage you? Even if your child has done things that have greatly frustrated you, would you be willing to own your part in the problem?
 
Would you be willing to say, I was wrong?
 
The harsh words, the angry countenance, the shrill voice, the unfair punishments … would you willing to lay your pride down and ask your child to forgive you for your sinful responses?
 
It’s worth it to taste the sweetness of mercy extended. It’s worth modelling humility to your son or daughter, and seeing them catch the lesson.
 
It’s worth every bit of discomfort just to know he or she can trust you wholeheartedly.
 
Kids don’t want perfect parents; they want parents who make things right when they’ve blown it. They want parents who not only keep them accountable, but stay accountable to God themselves.
 
It’s not like they ever get too old for a better relationship with us.
 
Do you have an apology to make?
 
It’s not too late.