I know pride is a sin, but that’s not something I worry about very much.

I am very proud of my three daughters, but not for the reasons most parents brag about.

My daughters were raised very traditionally.  In spite of that, that all grew up to be amazing women, and not in the way I might have imagined when they were babies  — which means that my life is not now what I would have imagined either.  It is better.

Seems like old women often ask others how many grand children they have. Nevermind that they don’t know whether the others even had children. Recently, a very annoyingly glad-handing woman at church asked me and a childless friend how many grands we have. When we said none, she looked amazed and made a “zero” gesture with her hand. That seemed to be the only topic she new how to engage in.

Others are on their children’s case to “give them grandchildren.” You know, traditional as I was in the old days, I did not have children so they would grow up and have babies “for me.”  None did.  That is not the direction their amazing lives took.

Other old parents go on about how proud they are, not only because they have lots of grandchildren, but because of the professions their children went into.  I just listen.

Here’s what I am proud of about my children:  Every one of them is kind and open-minded.  Not a bigot  in the bunch. No narrow-mindedness.  Critical thinkers. Living meaningful lives. Not at all what I might have imagined  Better.  And I know it’s not about me.