Hugo Schwyzer

In the comments after the reprint of my 2005 post (immediately below) on moving away from home, Metamanda asks if my views on the matter have changed in the past four years. Metamanda, like many of my commenters below this post and the original, called me out not merely on my privilege but on some of my misconceptions about why people might choose to do all that they can to stay near their families.

My views have changed on many things, but when it comes to the values I professed in ‘05, I’m still where I was when I wrote this:

I still see offering people “choices” as among the highest of moral imperatives in a good society… My brother and sisters and cousins have pursued their dreams unconstrained by geography or guilt — what could be more worthwhile than that? If we only see each other at weddings and funerals and other special occasions, it makes our reunions all the more sweet. Once we moved off to college, we all began to make the series of choices that would shape our lives and carry us to the various corners of the earth. We traded physical closeness for the privilege of pursuing our individual dreams, and on balance, I’d say, it was worth it…

Now, of course, I’m a father. Becoming a dad has made me rethink a lot of my views. I’m certainly not as ardent a pacifist as I once was; on the other hand, the importance of the feminist struggle for autonomy has been affirmed. My views on children pursuing their dreams with minimal parental interference have also been solidified rather than called into question since Heloise was born.

Heloise’s personality is starting to take shape. She’s a curious, adventurous girl. But both her mother and I are very clear on one thing: we have no idea what dreams our daughter will dream. She is not merely a blank slate upon which we can inscribe our biases and our beliefs. Though we will, of course, raise her with our particular values about the world, we are clearer than ever that our words will be tempered with the reminder that ours is only one of many paths. As much as her mother and father love her, Heloise will be told — at an age-appropriate time — that our certainties may not be hers. Our faith tells us that our daughter is not ours: she belongs to the light, to God, and to herself. We are the loving stewards into whose care she is committed during her vulnerable years, and we intend to do all that we can to pour our love and devotion into her.

As I’ve written before, I don’t want my daughter burdened by history and obligation. In April, I wrote:

I owe (my daughter) the stories I was bequeathed; I owe my ancestors the bequeathing of those stories. But beyond that, I owe very, very little, just as Heloise Cerys Raquel (whose names all come from no known forebears) will owe us little, even as she owes the world and its creatures so much.

I’d like to say more about that last line.

I want my daughter to learn that she has a purpose. Her mother and I have no idea what the specifics of that purpose will be, but we know this and we will remind Heloise of this often: she was created to know joy, and she was created to do justice. Her goal will be to find the place where the desires of her heart, her particular talents, and the needs of the world intersect; we intend to do all we can to help her discern what each of those are. Heloise was born with a certain set of privileges that will become evident to her as she ages. While we don’t intend to raise her with noblesse oblige, she will not grow up unaware that to those to whom much has been given, of whom much is expected. But what that second “much” will look like — that is largely going to be hers to decide.

My wife and I dress our daughter up in USC and Cal gear, each of us joking that she will choose our own alma mater to attend. But Heloise might not choose college at all. She might decide to go to the fire academy, or to be a dancer, or to be a mechanic. If she longs to go to school on the far side of the country, we’ll do all we can to encourage her with (heavens forfend) nary a word of selfish reproach on our part. If she decides to live at home and attend a local school, we won’t force her out the door, insisting that she “sink or swim” on her own.

We don’t know our daughter’s heart yet, and we don’t know her particular calling. What we do know is that she was made for joy, made for delight, made for happiness. What we do know is that she, like all of us, is called to serve. What we do know is that she has been given talents and gifts as yet unrevealed, talents that can help her find that delight — and be of service. It’s our job to remind her of these things; remind her, I say, because these are things that I suspect her soul already knows.