There is a running joke in my household. My husband is the blamer, I am the judger. An unusual number of mosquitoes at the front door? Clearly my fault for leaving water in forgotten buckets outside, while the kids were playing. Teenager spent a small fortune on those ready-worn-out jeans? Hey kid, if you wanted those, really, I could’ve just got you a pair from the thrift store and gave ‘em the old slice- ‘n-dice.
The other night, my sister in-love and nephew joined us for the Super Bowl, which I only watch for the commercials and the Halftime show…well, that and the chips and beer. Many less than stellar commercials later (see the judgments, again? Geez, can’t even write a post without it), the Halftime show began.
Ladies and gents, I’ve never been a fan of Justin Timberlake. He’s ok, I just don’t get the draw. So, my sister and I joked and made fun of him through the first half. “What sexy is he bringing back exactly? I don’t think he ever really had it.”
Through the first half, I was less than impressed and trashing him gave me some twisted sense of satisfaction. Until. My five-year-old daughter looked at me and put out her hand in the universal stop gesture. “Mom, it doesn’t matter what a person looks like. What matters is what’s in their hearts.” She put her hand on her heart to emphasize.
I shut my mouth and looked at my beautiful little girl in awe. Shame filled me. I’d forgotten that she watches me, even when I don’t think she is. She listens, too. She sees me give to those in need, to friends, family. But toward this stranger who I felt safe to make fun of because he’s got money and a gazillion adoring fans, and couldn’t hear me, she saw the worst of me.
She then proceeded. “Just pretend I’m ugly, mom. Now, watch my moves. It doesn’t matter what I look like, if I’ve got talent.”
She shook her hips and did her best dance moves. She was adorable, I couldn’t even pretend she was ugly. But I got the message. I don’t know if it was because I was looking at him with new eyes, or because his routine genuinely improved, but for the second half of Justin’s act, I felt a kin-ship with him, and I ended the Halftime show feeling that he had given an awesome performance—And maybe even succeeded in bringing a little sexy back.
This super bowl was a reminder that I’ve still got a long way to go. In our family, each time we hear someone blaming or judging another, we point it out. “There’s the blame!” or, “There’s the judgments!” After which, the blamer or the judger will usually drop it, and laugh. This has helped to ease tensions and bring awareness to deep-set patterns of how we interact with one another. The change is slow, but by pointing it out in a gentle or fun way, we are gradually becoming better human beings, and raising our children to be better than us.
