Not long ago, my friend “Susan” dropped her two teenagers off at her sister’s house and made the mistake, or so it seemed, of pausing at the door to eavesdrop on the first moments of their conversation. “Hi Auntie X!” the youths cried. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much!” Their voices crisscrossed as they began making plans for a fun afternoon together — without my friend.
Skulking in the doorway, Susan felt a stab of envy. Her children sounded so warm, so happy! Their enthusiasm with their aunt threw into painful relief the degree to which they had withdrawn from her. There was no big drama, but as the teenagers moved through high school Susan could feel herself being shunted into the backdrop of their lives. Her daughter could not stop extolling the wonderfulness of her history teacher, whose every utterance was apparently priceless. Her son spent hours talking with his friends; with her, he’d become New Englandy and taciturn.
The jealous pang hit her again, right under the ribs. It’s not fair, she thought. They’re going to go have a great time, and my sister will get all the credit, when I’m the one who deserves —
It was the word “deserves” that brought her up short.
Wait a minute, she thought. What’s the matter with me? Why am I begrudging my kids’ relationship with their aunt? Would it be better if they didn’t enjoy her company? What bearing does that have on me, anyway?
“I’m glad no one was watching,” she told me later, “because I must have looked ridiculous. I actually shook my head, like a dog, to shake off the self-pity.”
Of all the many fraught areas of human relations, the temptation to make jealous comparisons between one’s own and other people’s relationships is one of the trickiest. Self-pity is just a side effect of this fool’s game which most of us, at some point, are foolish enough to play.
“But you went to their house last Christmas,” complains a mother with In-Law Envy, to her daughter.
“You never call me,” whines a divorced father to his married son. “But you seem to stay in touch with your mother.”
“You go away with them all the time, why don’t you go on trips with us?”
“Mother always liked you best.”
“I deserve — !”
Genuine as our unhappiness may be, it’s almost always a bad idea to reproach the person who seems to be shortchanging us emotionally. We may be able to compel certain behaviors — a weekly phone call, alternating Christmases — but guilt doesn’t necessarily change hearts. And isn’t that where the real jealousy resides? It’s not the visits, or the trips or the phone calls; it’s the warmth, the eagerness to get together, and the easy camaraderie that the other guys enjoy — that’s what makes us jealous.
And that’s what Susan realized, as she stood there shaking her head like a wet dog: If she wanted a closer relationship with her kids, there was no point griping about it. It was up to her to do something.
She decided she’d start by making cookies to welcome them home later that afternoon. Of the many mercenary ways into a teenager’s heart, after all, baked goods are one of the most reliable.
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at [email protected].
