"I wept for the unfinishedness, what had been left undone."

On parenting and forgiveness in this week's episode with Camara Aaron

Griotte’s Beat is closing its first season with Episode #9. And I’m thrilled that it’s a conversation with Camara Ife Aaron, Griotte’s Beat producer. As some of you know, Camara is my daughter. We explored the arc of our relationship through the lens of justice. It was an uncomfortable conversation to have. The things that our children know and remember about us. 

When she reflected back to me parts of me that I prefer kept hidden, I cringed. I cringed when she reminded me of the story of her name. I insisted, twenty-four years ago, that her name be easily pronounced. I wanted an English sounding and spelling name. This was code of course. Code for a western sounding name. I wanted an African name but I wanted it to sound western. I wanted it both ways. I didn't want to do the work of learning new sounds. My line in the sand was names that began with two or more consonants. But I was also concerned that such a name would mark her as other. Today I see it as the fruits of a colonized mindset. I saw it as commonsense then.

I also cringed when she reminded me of her anger and frustration towards me when my response to her complaints of the psychological and emotional violence that she witnessed and experienced in her magnet class, was “why are you letting those white people in your head, Camara?” We explored how that response was both anemic and robust. Anemic in its understanding of how pernicious racial oppression is and in my own ability to advocate for her. And yet, it was also robust in its stance to remind her of her brilliance, kindness, and creativity — in short her agency. 

There were also sweet and tender moments.  One such moment was when Camara expressed her admiration for my confidence. It felt good to be seen by her in that way. And I am grateful that she respects and even admires me. But, I am a 57 year old Black historically colonized woman. And I did not start off being confident. How could I? In addition to my colonized background, I was born into a grief-stricken family, as a rainbow baby. Instead, I started as fragile and vulnerable.

My journey did not begin with confidence, however; it began with courage. It was my courage that kept me putting myself in uncomfortable circumstances so that I could develop experience and faith in myself and move towards more justice.

It was my courage that allowed me when I was fifteen years old to accept a nomination to run for student council. As part of that process, I stood in front of an assembly of more than five hundred high school girls to ask them for their vote. I never completed my five minute speech. I was immobilized by an anxiety-induced stuttering. I got 3 votes. 

It was also courage that allowed me to sit across from my daughter on the podcast and countless times before then to first see and then appreciate how she experienced my parenting. And, it was courage that allowed me to come to terms with the fact that while I had succeeded as a parent in many respects, I had also failed in some important ways. 

One winter night in 2017, Camara received her first college acceptance letter. She and I had celebrated, and she then retired to her room, leaving me sitting at the dining table, alone. In the quiet of that late night, I understood that my only child was leaving for college. As this sank in, the weight of my messy and unfinished parenting boomeranged.

I had wanted so much for my daughter. Sadness filled the space between my parenting’s intentions and impact.

I wept for its messiness. And I wept for the unfinishedness, what had been left undone. I had wanted to remarry while she was home, determined to show her what a healthy marriage looked like. That had not happened. 

That night my courage showed up, helping me accept it all. I had a practice of asking for my daughter’s forgiveness when I was unjust to her or hurt her. But on that fateful night, I also summoned the courage to forgive myself for all that I had done and not done as a parent. My daughter was on the threshold of adulthood and would need a different kind of parenting. It was this act of courage and forgiveness that opened the door to even more justice in our relationship.