Whenever a documentary delivers a wallop, I normally allow time before writing a post about it. But even though I'm still processing "The Wolf Pack", my initial reaction to this extraordinary and disturbing film is strongly linked to a few other recent reflections about parenting.
A week before seeing "The Wolf Pack", my most recent Mt. Rushmore post prompted one reader to comment on "The Glass Castle", a harrowing memoir of off-the-rails parenting by Jeannette Walls. The comment sent me back to my copy of that book and the note I made on its final page upon finishing it in 2006: "Compelling and well written; mostly made me feel very grateful for the stability and normalcy of my childhood, thanks to my parents."
Then a few days later, a brief conversation about how difficult it can be to avoid parental landmines brought me back - again - to how few of those I've had to step over in my lifetime. Neither of my folks had any education beyond high school but their intuitive sense of parenting was rock solid.
Mom's been gone for over thirty eight years, Dad for eighteen. But Christmas gifts they've given me keep appearing beneath my tree year after year.