Have you ever felt like Super Mom or Dad? You’re the go-to person.
You have all the answers, the magic cure. Your loved ones not only seek your advice, but eagerly apply it to the situation. You stop dilemmas in their tracks with your uncanny skills. Problems bow humbly as you sweep them out of the way. Donning your bright red super hero cape, you stand on the mountain top. You’re a force to be reckoned with—powerfully steadfast and brilliantly perceptive.
But then, the unthinkable happens. In one quick moment, you’re un-caped. Your super-human powers seem to dissolve like cotton-candy on the back seat of the car.
You’ve made a mistake. Not just any mistake—a noticeable mistake.
Nothing de-thrones Super Mom or Dad like a terrible slip, blunder, or faux pas in front of others. Does the family now see me as human? Do they know I’m not perfect? Suddenly, the rush of embarrassment pushes me off my prideful mountain.
For me, my mistake was huge and embarrassingly destructive to my ego. After frustratingly teaching my son to parallel park, I placed gasoline in my diesel engine car. (I have a diesel car and gasoline car if you’re wondering how).
The expert driving teacher, who at times lost patience with the inexperienced driver, now appeared unschooled in the basics of fueling a vehicle. Pride quickly turned to fear, embarrassment, and regret.
With enough diesel left to drive home safely, shame heated my face as I explained the error of my ways to my husband. Not knowing how he would react, I braced myself.
“Oh, why did this have to happen in front of the kids? Of all the stupid things I’ve done, this is the worst!” my accusatory mind rambled.
However my mind acted, my husband did the opposite. Calmly without accusation, he responded, “We’ll fix it. Don’t worry.”
“What? How? Are you sure?”
He lovely assured, “Everything will be okay.”
And thanks to YouTube, my husband’s amazing fix-it skills, my children’s apprenticing, and $50 in auto parts, the car drives like the day we got it!
Flushing 17 gallons of gasoline from the car was no easy task. It took a couple of days of repair. However, my enormous ego drained instantaneously. I no longer claimed Queen of the Hill anymore. I fell hard and fast, tearing off my red super hero cape.
It’s easy to get puffed up from all your successes—to see how important you are or how much others need you. It’s easy to lose sight of your faults and failures. To see the speck in your brother’s eye and not the plank in your own. What I learned is that I make mistakes and I need help just as much as anyone else.
Mistakes don’t have to knock you or me off the mountain and we don’t have to give up our super hero cape. We just need to leave room for others on the mountain as well as allow others the opportunity to wear their red cape too.
Real super heroes model humility. They admit their mistakes and receive help as well as give help. Now go head put your cape on and join me on the mountain. We have a lot of super hero work to do!