My mom used to take me to the farmers’ market after my piano lessons. We would carefully handpick vegetables, often butterbeans and Hanover[1] tomatoes, from the bins. She would never grab handfuls. Instead, she carefully examined each individual vegetable before placing it in her paper bag – checking for firmness and signs of damage and educating me on the process. We would go home, shell the butterbeans by hand together, and simmer them on the stove in a salty brine until they softened and soaked up their own juices, delivering a punch. The flavor of the tomatoes was also intense, so much so that they were stand-alone favorites, adorned only with a little seasoning.
One growing season during my teenaged years, I worked in a vegetable garden, planting seeds, watering, weeding, providing support structures, as necessary (e.g., for the tomatoes), and then harvesting. The process was immensely rewarding and required less effort than I had anticipated. Indeed, I had to be careful not to overhandle the produce for fear of bruising it. I was surprised at how prolific the garden was. Good seed, good soil, and watering was really all that was necessary, with a little weeding here and there. I learned to focus on leaf growth and not on the production of fruit itself.
Through the years, though, the flavors of these vegetables have faded. I cannot pretend to understand fully how seed hybridization, over-cultivated soil, and mass production have worked to diminish the flavors, but I know that I am not imagining the differences.
Growing vegetables is, of course, similar to raising kids. Overhandling our offspring and over-focusing on production spoil the fruit. Waiting to see new growth in a garden can be painful when checked every hour, yet oh so rewarding when we walk out one day to a surprise. Similarly, it’s what happens when we are not watching that can be the most rewarding to parents.
This past weekend, a friend shared a story about my son that I had never before heard. He had attended a full circuit of bar and bat mitzvah parties at the age of thirteen. The parent shared that she knew that we had raised him well because she had observed that he always asked the bat mitzvah girl to dance at her own party. As is my typical response, I admit, I wondered if my son just had “game” or simply enjoyed dancing, which he did, but then I paused with gratitude for the young adult he was then becoming. I do not recall telling him to ask these girls to dance; he had simply surmised that he should.
I think, as parents, we should focus more on the environment, the soil in which our children are growing. We should ensure that our homes are rich with patience and love and with experiences to learn about daily communal life. We should focus not on our children’s output but on instilling and modeling good values. Becoming distracted by pests, weeds, and competition can lead to our overinvolvement and to our bruising the fruit.
Intentional restraint may seem impossible at times, but often these choices are the easier and preferred routes. While our children require support structures to ensure that they grow at the right angle, leaning into the sun, and while we must occasionally eradicate an invasive weed that might suffocate their growth, children grown with appropriately measured involvement can yield surprising results. We just have to be patient to reap those rewards.
[1] An especially flavorful tomato grown in Hanover County, Virginia, just north of Richmond, my hometown. I have never tasted a better tomato anywhere.