The Great Gift of Upbringing

I was walking across the living room when the newspaper caught my eye. My Mother had drawn strokes around a section for emphasis. Curious, I leaned in, to read ‘Parents are the ultimate role models for children. Every word, movement and action has an effect. No other person or outside force has a greater influence on a child than the parent’.

I can easily imagine what must have been going through her mind.

I turned a year older. As my parents hugged and then prayed for and blessed me, I was reminded of the newspaper clipping and saw with clarity, that I grew into the woman I am today, because my parents took their roles seriously.

My Mom and Dad – Papa and Mummy, are two of the most God-fearing, hard-working, and compassionate human beings I have ever known. Through want or plenty, their girls were raised to believe that they had a purpose for their lives, were deeply loved, and had unique worth. We were trained to think clearly on morality, to give a reason for our hope, and constantly reminded that life did not lie in the abundance of possessions. 

My earliest lessons on Godliness came from my home. We were pointed toward the God who cared not only about how we worship Him, but also how we treat others as image-bearers of God. We were taught to reflect level-headedness and sobriety, in a world where success was equated with frenetic accumulation of wealth. I was exposed to the Biblical conception of sexual morality and why God’s sexual ethic was not a set of rigid codes, meant to bind our freedom, but entirely for our good, releasing us to enjoy genuine satisfaction and fulfilment.

My parents exemplified the values they taught and strove to be our role models. When they fell short, they were quick to rise again, conscious that their children were watching them closely. "Train your children in the way they should go, and when they are older, they will not depart from it". The impact of such training has become clearer, as I’ve grown older.

One of my earliest memories which left an impression on me, happened when I was probably 10-12 years old. We were one of 4 families on the third-floor of our aging building. Since both of my parents worked, my mother did not have many opportunities to mingle with the neighbors, except on the weekends or the occasional friendly greeting on working days. And this is what makes what I’m about to narrate even more remarkable.  We returned home one evening, picked up by our Mother, to a scene of crying and wailing on the floor we resided on. A kin of one of the neighbors had passed away and the body was placed in their living room with their relatives milling about. Mum rushed to open our door and attempted to find out what transpired, while offering to help. Streams of complete strangers were in our living room or in the vicinity of our flat and my mother was handing out water. 

Despite needing to set about her night with dinner and chores, and exhausted after a long working day, our flat was open until the crowd’s flow began to ebb. Startlingly, not one of the other neighbors opened their doors a crack – the families who chatted and socialized were full of excuses that night. Someone was pregnant and the death was inauspicious. People had their preferred superstition or reason. Yet, my Mother served rank strangers whom she would never see again and what was amazing was that she did it without the expectation of gratitude. In fact, it is quite likely that the neighbor who suffered the tragedy was oblivious to my Mother’s acts of kindness.

That night left an indelible mark. It was too early for me to begin thinking about my legacy, but I knew that was the life I wanted to live. It was the most natural thing then, for me to reach out to those less fortunate, while living my own life, with a loose hand on material possessions. I was able to help people financially, or meet their material lack in a way that would not have been core to me, if my parents did not bring home the value of generosity, kindness and compassion, making it real, alive and breathing, and not merely paying it lip-service.

The next incident is a recent one. I was witness to a road accident on my daily commute to work. A young girl lay writhing on the road in agony, after tumbling from her bike and subsequently being overrun by a car, on a chaotic highway.

While some turned away, I was able to help her into my ride and get her to an emergency room; waiting and holding her hand, as she was given emergency care, and wheeled into and out of several test rooms. I spoke to her Father, who was immobile with shock, keeping him apprised, until he was able to arrive with relatives. I will never forget the moment the elderly man grasped my hand with tears in his eyes, and thanked me. But strikingly enough, he saved his most effusive gratitude for the parents who raised me.

No matter one’s religious affiliation, human beings, intrinsically understand that children are the reflection of their parents. The best and most accurate evaluation of a man’s character will always be his children.

In the Old Testament, Eli, the priest was punished because he failed to rein in his children’s wickedness. Even David, who is known as a righteous king, bore the consequences of turning his face away instead of rebuking his children, and of course, lived to suffer the tragic pain of their failures.

It is then, a universal law, that children are the sum and substance of their upbringing. Whether Indian or American, wealthy or destitute, highly educated or illiterate.

It’s a lesson I can never forget, and I will forever be grateful to my loving parents, who walked down the narrow path themselves, before pointing it to their children, as worthy of following. It was a great gift indeed, my upbringing - the gift that keeps on giving.