Showing Favoritism

“If anyone comes to Me, and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be My disciple” (Luke 14:26).

I can’t speak for all adoptive parents, however, I suspect I’m not the only one with biases. I love both of my adopted children tremendously, but I feel as though it seems like my biological child is my “favorite.”

Honestly, I think it’s more a case of Dorothy and the Scarecrow from “The Wizard of Oz.” At the end of the movie, Dorothy says she’ll miss the Scarecrow the most, because she knew him the longest and they had been through the most together.

I’ve known my biological child for over 10 years; my adopted children I’ve only known a little over year (though we had corresponded via phone and letters previous to that, but we only met them face-to-face last year).

Further, I know I tend to “ride” my daughter a little harder than the boys. Is it because I “like her less”? The verse above, quoted from the Gospel of Luke, is not saying we must hate others. Hate is a contrary emotion to the agape love Christ demands of us. The verse literally means, “to love less.” We must place Christ first and all other relationships (love less) fall in line afterward. So, do I “love [my daughter] less”?

Actually, I’m harder on her, because she reminds me so very much of myself at that age. I had rampant (undiagnosed) ADD, and was a social outcast with my “weird” behavior and poor social skills. Frankly, I don’t think my mom knew what to do with me, so it appeared to me as though she was in denial that anything was amiss. In order to be in denial, she had to pretend there wasn’t a problem, thus, I never felt as though I had an advocate for me, nor did I feel she took any measures to help me by either disciplining me or helping me develop better social and coping skills.

I don’t want that for my daughter. So, yes, I give her consequences for many things. Because I love her. Because I want her to know her mom cared enough to help her do better, rather than turning a blind eye to her foibles. Further, I want to give her the correct “script” for her behavioral issues, so that she can handle her issues in context. By the time I was diagnosed with ADD, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, much of my behavior was already firmly entrenched. My coping skills had developed, unchecked, around faulty thinking…and I didn’t want that for my daughter…and I still don’t.

But, does that communicate, “to love less”? I don’t know. I’ve often shared my stories of my difficult childhood with her as as a boding effort, and to let her know she isn’t alone…the “freaky kid.” She’s fascinated by these stories, and often asks me to tell her about me as a child again and again. And when I do, I always tell her that I discipline her because I don’t want her to suffer as I did – and that I want her to always know that Mama cared enough to correct her, even though it’s not a fun thing.

I know I need to work harder at showing my care and concern equally amongst my children, and in equally positive ways. I know that I can, and that it will take the investment of time that I am willing to make in each of my children, especially the ones whom I haven’t known as long. The first step is admitting that the perception exists.

I think I’m doing a decent job. I believe this because my children seek me out when they are in need, or wounded (whether a “boo-boo;” in the grip of some fear (like a nightmare or flashback), or some “injustice” at the hands of a sibling).

But, like anything, parenting is a work in progress, and often you don’t know the outcome until years later. Prayerfully, we’ve done a good job….and prayerfully, we’ll continue to take stock and adjust as need be.

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