In retrospect, I fell short when it came to parenting

Two summers ago, at Bohemian Beach, a few miles from our place in Northern Michigan, I witnessed the moment that brought me to this newsletter. The scene I witnessed is one I’ve probably seen too many times to count, but this time I was shook. Maybe it was because of the number of years that had passed since I’d been a dad to toddlers, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.   I saw myself.   This pang of regret hit deep, and I soon I was combing through the cobwebs of my personal history as a parent.

Bohemian Beach is never crowded, not even in the middle of summer. Don’t tell anyone.  There with my wife Rudy, I noticed only two other couples and a small child, all sharing a large blanket, had set up camp near the beach inlet.

Being who I am, I decided to plop down a respectable distance from them, but one that still allowed me to observe their activities.  People watching, after all, is sport for me.  The child, a boy, was maybe only 3-4 years old, and clearly the delight of his mother.  The couples were engaged in their segregated activities; the two women were enjoying their conversation, and the two men were enjoying a few beers.   As soon as my wife and I had settled into our own chairs, the young boy began tugging on his mother’s arm, wanting to go into the water.

The mom wasn’t quite ready, but the boy didn’t want to wait, and after a little back and forth negotiation, his mother got up and walked him to the water.  The temperature of Lake Michigan up north was still cold, and suddenly the child wasn’t as eager to get in the water, and he raced back to the blanket with his mother.  

Within seconds, and before this mother had the chance to sit down, he was off the blanket and running around collecting rocks at the shoreline.  The mother, apologizing to her friends, popped right up and followed her son around until he had his hands full of rocks.  They both soon returned to the blanket and the child dumped all his rocks out to review his treasures. With the mother settled back onto her chair and re-engaged in conversation with her friend, I hear the child tell her that he’s hungry.

She riffled through their cooler and came up with a sandwich for him.  He devoured this and once again tugged on his mom’s arm asking for something to drink.  Up off the blanket, his mother went back to the cooler for his drink.   Five minutes later, forgetting how cold the lake was, he insisted on going back to the water.  The mom looked over at the dad, who was talking to his friend with his beer in hand. He must have gotten the message because he got up and went to meet his son at the water’s edge.  Again, the child stood there for a minute before turning around and heading back to the blanket.

A few minutes after that, the boy said he needed to pee; a request that mom fulfilled, and a few minutes after that he was tired and wanted to go home….you get the picture. Meanwhile, I hadn’t budged from my chair since arriving, and watching all this made me exhausted! I wanted a drink and not a juice box… What I saw was maybe 45 minutes out of an entire 24-hour day with one child.  This mom was doing 98% of everything.  It got me thinking about which parent did I most closely resemble here, and it was clearly the beer drinking father. Not even close.  

In reflecting upon my parenting years, I told myself my role was to be the breadwinner. Long hours, evenings, and nearly every weekend were spent working to pay for private school, international travel, summer camp and eventually college.  I arrived home late most evenings, and headed straight to my church, which was some form of exercise. My daily workouts were non-negotiable, and my wife accepted it. Never saying a word.  When I discussed the topic of this newsletter with Rudy, she asked what company or business can be more important to build than a well-adjusted, happy child that you chose to bring into the world.  Ok, Thats some Dali Lama level stuff right there.

Even now, Rudy lives with my crazy schedule, but also has one of her own. When the kids were still at home, she kept up with everyone’s schedules, which at one point had five children in four different schools.  She did all the meal planning, grocery shopping, and made dinner every night. She cleaned the house, did the laundry, delivered kids to school and picked them up too.

All while being another breadwinner, in the same industry as me, which meant long hours, evenings and nearly every weekend for her as well.  If truth be told, I would have to consider whether my long work hours were intended to avoid these very difficult tasks that she bore.  I didn’t take a lot of pleasure, if that’s even possible, in these mundane although very necessary routines which included a lot of parenting duties. I believe my children understood the sacrifices made to send them to private schools, and they delivered with good grades. If you asked my youngest daughter, Bella, she would likely tell you that she would’ve happily gone to public school if it meant more time with me.

Just when I think I can try to move to parity in the parent lane, Rudy has surpassed me yet again in spades, this time with the older relatives that she cares for.  When her stepfather needed a medical procedure, she insisted that he and her mother stay with us while she helped arrange a doctor at Northwestern. I caught her making snacks to drop off to her mother at the hospital while she waited for the procedure to be done.

This care and attention are not limited to just biological relatives.   Rudy helps care for an elderly man who worked with us for years that has no immediate family.  We had to sell his house and Rudy found a rental for him, furnished it, and secured in home care for him 7 days a week so that we didn’t have to put him in a nursing home.

She does all his grocery shopping online each week and has it delivered.  Her grandmother Lee is 95 and lives in an assisted living facility in Michigan City.  This past January, when Lee fell and injured herself badly, Rudy had just left for a 3-day getaway, but turned around the next day and went to the hospital.

Similarly to our other elderly friend, Rudy developed a plan that would keep her out of a nursing home. An intricate all hands-on deck schedule that includes assistance from available relatives and some paid help to be with her grandmother at some point each day 7 days a week.  While visiting Lee recently, I glimpsed the calendar with its rotating names of helpers written on each day.  Despite having 3 sons, 10 grandsons and 18 great-grandsons, none of those men’s names appear on this calendar.

Which takes me back to the woman on the beach.  I’m not the only one that’s come up short regarding family responsibilities. That does not give me any comfort.  If given the choice between the duties of any mother on any given day, and a job as a corrections officer at a super max prison, well, sign me up for the riot gear.  As far as I can tell, being a working mom is the hardest job on the planet. I’m late in recognizing this, but not too late. If any of you out there are leaning too hard on your partner, there is still time to pick up some of the slack. If for nothing else, I am sure more gratitude, respect, and love will come your way.