I know, I know...it's a newsflash. What's that, you say? Bloggers are people, too? No! But, but...they're behind the computer...we've put them on a pedestal...we depend on them for our information and research, so we don't have to gather our own!
Here's the problem with putting people on pedestals: there's nowhere for them to go but down. They can do nothing but fall. And that fall from grace is far more jarring for those who placed them up there in the first place than it is for the one who fell. Take me, for example: I know I'm imperfect. So, when I make a mistake, I apologize and move on. It's no real surprise to me. I do it all the time. For those who see me as some faceless blogger from whom perfection is expected, my mistakes are major falls from grace and can really shake their faith in me. I get it. I've been there. I've been disappointed in others for being what they are - human. It stunk. And it stunk way more for me than it did for those who already knew what I had yet to discover - they're people, too.
Often, the same thing can happen with parents and kids, if we're not careful. It's vital that we let our kids see our mistakes and how we rectify them, so that we're not seen as infallible gods, but as people - approachable, relatable, faulty people.
What's the point, you ask? You know, cut me, us, yourself, your kids, whoever some slack. Be wary of idolizing as opposed to respecting as people - people just like you.
Here's my favorite poem about just this thing:
Shakespeare's Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Just think about it.