In Defense of Holiday Newsletters

A childless, single woman writes:

Why do people only write stuff about their kids? I actually don't give a rip how their kids are doing. Are their lives THAT humdrum? "Hi, Happy Holidays, I live only for my children's' education/pleasure/support/ fun/transportation to their events/puberty problems and have no real life of my own anymore. That's my year in a nutshell...." Guess being single all my life, I just can't relate to that kind of existence. Don't they take pride in their own accomplishments?

A mother responds:

Of course they (we) do. It's just that more stuff is happening to the kids and it happens so darn fast as they grow up. If parents don't keep you updated on their kids' lives, one day you're shocked to find that the baby for whom you gave the shower is now your dentist, attorney or even your boss.

I don't do Christmas progress reports, but I do send a newsletter. I'd feel silly bragging about my own accomplishments and activities, but it seems pretty natural for people to be proud of their masterpieces. The holiday letters are the parents' way of saying "I gave them wings. Look how well they fly."

When it comes to parents, our kids are our best, dearest and most meaningful contribution to the world. We don't put a bushel basket over their lights, we lift them up to shine. If we have done a good job, which does involve giving up some things for ourselves, we can justifiably be proud of their light.

It takes a lot of sleepless nights, scraping up of loose change for lunches and frightening emergency room visits. It involves hundreds of hours of watching their sports and/or recitals, driving thousands of miles and weeping millions of tears to raise a child. Village, my foot.   It takes loving, dedicated parents and we are proud of the fruits of our labor of love.  It is the hardest job I've ever loved.  If it means that I look less important or don't seem to have a life, that's okay.

An artist pours his soul into his creative process.  A farmer battles the elements to feed the world.  Automakers employ millions of people to design and build cars.

At the gallery showing, no one suggests that the artist needs to get a life rather than showcase his talent. Nobody wants to hear about the farmer's life when they are hungry. When the car breaks down, the driver doesn't care who Henry Ford was.

Guess you weren't expecting an essay, but I am proud of the work I do. If I would rather have the world look with favor on the results of my work than on me, it's not so strange.  Sometimes you're the light and sometimes you're the lighthouse keeper or even just the match.  When you're the driving force behind success, it's human nature to want to take a bow.   I make no apologies.