Friday, June 29, 2007

The Most Important Job

Because Mother’s Day and Father’s Day closely follow my parents’ birthdays, springtime is a celebration of parenthood in my family. Each year I take greater pleasure in these occasions. My parents have certainly come a long way since my infancy. It’s gratifying to reach the stage in your relationship with your parents where you begin to feel that your job is done and you’ve been largely successful as a child. Naturally, parents complain about their children, seeking to shift blame as they struggle through the maturation process, and such criticism can be hurtful. But when you see your parents step out on their own, begin to take responsibility, and show real signs of understanding, don’t you feel it was all worth it? At such moments, doesn’t your sense of sacrifice melt away in the warm glow of filial pride?

It’s sweet the way my parents now say we don’t need to give them birthday presents, and the way they so freely offer us financial and other assistance, reflexively setting aside their own needs and pleasures at the slightest sign that I or one of my siblings may be struggling. It wasn’t always this way. Believe me, when I first arrived on the scene, my parents were utterly helpless.

Experts debate whether it’s better to emphasize discipline with your parents or unconditional love. I always erred on the side of discipline, sensing somehow that my parents were a bit more spirited than most. As an infant, I was never all patty cakes and giggles. Maybe I went overboard with the temperamental displays—spitting up food, throwing my rattles—and the feigned illnesses; but the situation called for extreme measures.

I realized right away that I needed to develop a soul-searing scream. I’m still convinced that had I not blasted my parents awake five times a night for six months, they would have forgotten I existed. But that’s normal. You take them as they are. What matters is how you reshape them over time. The work is grueling, but it really is possible to take a couple of spoiled layabouts and turn them into human beings in less than twenty years.

My father was, in many ways, harder to reach than my mother, who took to the training very quickly and before long learned to feed us without complaining and to express sympathy when we came home crying and wounded from the playground. By the time I was six, I really think she had grown to accept and love us.

My siblings and I were a team, but as the oldest son, I specialized in the teen years. That’s how we were able to turn my father around. His cluelessness was apparent when I was thirteen and he caught me smoking. He berated me with a cigarette dangling from his lips. In response, I casually mocked him—which helped my case not at all; but it did, I believe, have a salutary effect on him. Later, the three or four times I crashed his car taught him some much-needed lessons in patience. And I hesitate to mention the alcohol-related incidents. The thing is, you can’t just assume that your parents love you; you have to make them show it. Giving them a choice between saving you and killing you is one sure way to test their emotional maturity.

That’s all water under the bridge now. I may not have been the best child to my parents, but I think no one could say I didn’t work hard at it during the eighteen years I lived with them. Some children are tempted to stay longer. I knew a guy who lived in his parents’ basement well into his 40’s. That’s a dedicated son. I told my parents, “The day I turn eighteen, you’re on your own.” And they’ve done well on their own. They really have.

I suppose what I’m trying to say, especially to the young children out there who may feel that their efforts will never pay off, is that although your parents may not seem to appreciate all you’ve done for them, they really do love you. It takes a while sometimes, but when they get older they’ll understand what you were trying to do for them. Never give up. In the end, parents are worth all the hassles.

Broadcast by Joe Chaney on June 29, 2007
Education • Family & Friends • Permalink • Printer Friendly
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