Opinion: Why love wins over perfect parenting

As my son turns 21 I’ve come to appreciate what really matters and the wonderful journey it’s been, writes Kylie Lang.

On this day 21 years ago, a 3.5kg bundle of dependence was sleeping on my chest as I lay in a hospital bed, wondering how on earth I was going to master this parenting thing.

That tiny baby is now a strapping young man who stands tall, on feet the size of giant T-bone steaks.

I needn’t have worried so much, and as our family and friends prepare to celebrate his milestone birthday, there’s something to be said for being a “good enough” parent and enjoying the journey.

Kylie Lang and her son Samuel in May 2000

And almost 21 years on, in December 2020

Parenting can feel all-consuming but the intensive years – intensive because you never stop being a mum or a dad – are over in a blink.

One minute your kid is telling you, “I love you more than God loves his wife”, the next they’re grunting and ordering you out of their room.

They’re overjoyed at finding 20 cents under their pillow from the tooth fairy, then they’re wanting $20 for helping around the house … that they live in for free.

They swear they’ll never do “silly kisses that leave slime on your lips”, then they’ve got a girlfriend, and you can bet that’s not all they’re doing.

They take unbridled delight in the smallest of things, then they’re cautious about showing too much enthusiasm because it’s not cool, and besides, they already know everything.

When my son was five and we were in the kitchen peeling sugar snap peas, he said: “This might be a dream we’re living in, Mum.” When I asked why, he replied: “Because we’re so happy.”

I know this not because I have a brilliant memory, but because for a while I kept a diary – I only wish I’d maintained it because there are years that seem to have vanished, just like the photo albums I used to carefully compile until everything went digital.

Another thing that is clear when I look back on these last 21 years is many of the benchmarks we’re told we need to hit as “good” parents are irrelevant.

Kylie Lang with Samuel Lang in 2008

I can’t tell you how many times I fretted after parent-teacher interviews in which I was invariably told my son was very bright but lacked motivation. What the hell was I doing wrong?

By Year 12, I stopped going, and perhaps by coincidence or not, that’s when he hit his straps.

Later that year he received an early offer into his degree of choice (cue parental fist pumps), only to quit the course after six months (cue panic of raising a bum).

Now, he is well into an architecture degree and loving it, but the lesson here is that no amount of worry will change outcomes, and while our children belong to us for a time, they are their own people and ultimately belong to the world.

If you can raise individuals who contribute positively to society, take responsibility for their actions, and know how to give and receive love, then I reckon you’re doing OK.

Not boasting I’ve all done that, mind you, but the signs are encouraging he is not a dud.

Forgive the self-indulgence of this column, but nothing has meant more to me over the years than being this kid’s mum.

It’s always been just the two of us, and as he celebrates being 21, it seems like yesterday that he was four months’ old and I was returning to work when I wrote in my diary: “This will be the first of many gradual and painful separations in my son’s necessary journey towards independence.

“I want to hang on to him forever.

“My darling child – will you ever know how deeply and completely I love you?”