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Broken Home? Not From My Vantage Point!
Jan. 10th, 2010 11:20 pmRecently, I read a story in a devotional written by someone who had worked at a summer camp for children of “broken homes and single mothers.” For a moment, I considered these poor children and their circumstance; coming, as they did, from some horrible environment where they didn’t have two loving parents, as I did. I say I considered them for a moment, for that’s all took for me to realize that I felt a certain revulsion at that phrase, “broken homes and single mothers.” It’s the same sense of sick that I feel when I sometimes find myself using phrases like “the homeless” or “the working poor,” as if I were discussing creatures of a different species.
We read statistics every day about children who are raised by one parent, usually due to reasons that are really none of our business. The numbers seem to indicate that these poor children are destined to become troublemakers, to fail in school and to fall into drugs and alcohol. Don’t get me wrong; I am certain that these statistics touch upon fact. I’m also fairly certain that children of two parent homes have also become addicts and alcoholics, troublemakers and school dropouts. I think what bothers me most about the ongoing discussions about “broken homes and single mothers” is that there is a sense that children have only been raised by one parent since perhaps the mid-twentieth century.
It is as if fathers in some anachronistic past never left to go to war or crusade or trade expeditions, leaving behind their families for years on end and sometimes never returning. It is as if mothers never died in childbirth or illness, leaving husbands to raise children with or without the help of extended families and hired help. It is as if generation upon generation of children grew up in some idyllic two-parent home where one parent stayed with them 24 hours a day catering to their every need. Parents didn’t die of plague and consumption; children were never abused; people never grew up to become addicts and alcoholics, and nobody ever suffered from mental illness. There were never homeless folk sitting by the side of the thoroughfare begging for a morsel.
The reality, of course, is that today has no special corner on children raised by one parent or parents with problems. Many of our most beloved artists, writers and thinkers came from homes just like the ones we tend to call “broken” today. Now, you may be thinking that I am one of those nay-sayers with no heart for kindness to those in need. However, just the opposite is true. The problem is not that there are camps for children who could not afford to go otherwise, nor that there are soup kitchens to feed those who, for whatever reason, do not have a kitchen of their own. My struggle is with the attitude that those who are in need are somehow other; separate and somehow less than those who are providing what they need. I am bothered by the expectation that a child who comes from a single parent home is destined to a life of hardship and failure.
You see, due to circumstances I don’t need to share right here, right now, I am the sole parent of my three children. My family is a close-knit, loving family, where we share tasks and tales, sorrows and silliness. We also tease, argue and sometimes even fight…but at the end of the day, we say “I love you” when it’s time to turn in. My oldest child is poised to graduate Summa Cum Laude from college, which she attends on merit scholarships, and to head straight into graduate work. My second child works hard at high school, asks for tutoring when needed, and plans to go into the medical field. My youngest is just about ready to hit the teen years, reads voraciously, excels on tests and is constantly coming up with creative ideas for stories and inventions.
Oh, sure, when my kids went to church camp they received scholarships, and for that I am grateful. We have even, in the past, been on public assistance. However, I never wanted them to feel that they were any less worthy than any other child at camp – or anywhere else for that matter. How must it feel for a child to know they are attending a camp or a class specifically designed for “underprivileged children” of “broken homes?”
I don’t know what my family looks like to others. From the inside, though, it just looks like a family. We live together in a humble older modular home on a small plot of land in an unincorporated pocket of Maricopa County. We have lived in single wide trailers, apartments and rented houses over the years, and I haven’t always been the best housekeeper. We ate best when we were on food stamps. All of our furniture is hand-me-down or thrift store chic and our clothing is pretty much the same. New stuff we purchase at big box stores that used to “buy American,” and our usual idea of “eating out” is a trip to a fast food place for a treat. Every computer we’ve ever had has been gifted to us when someone else upgrades to new because the one they gave us was too slow. We are thankful that there are people who care enough to offer us their leftovers. I know that my children and I have been blessed to have such people in our lives. I don’t know, however, if we would feel so blessed if we thought they were helping us because my children come from a “broken home.”
Because, you see, although I am a divorced mother raising my children alone; although they have not had a father in their lives through no fault of their own, my children do not come from a “broken home.” As I write this, I have just tucked my youngest into bed and am sharing a last cup of chamomile tea with the older two. I look around at my walls that need painting and floors that need cleaning and I hear the puppy whine for attention. Listening to the older children giggle in the other room, I breathe in the scent of my tea and take long, luxurious sip of the warm liquid. Surely, I think, this is a home…and there’s nothing broken about it.
