growing up

PotD
Father, In Absentia
November 18, 2015
Father, In Absentia

My mother and father were both much more remarkable than any story of mine can make them. They seem to me just mythically wonderful.—Orson Welles

Father, In Absentia

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]This is going to hurt.

Even if I were perfect, there is no way I could ever live up to my impression of my own father. He wasn’t perfect himself, either, but even in his humanity and inevitable error, there was never a moment when I felt anything short of total, complete love from him. Were he still alive, Poppa would be 86 years old tomorrow and, regardless of what his physical condition might be. would still be trying to love everyone, including all the grandkids. That’s just who he was.

Unfortunately, he didn’t pass on much of that trait to me. Actually, I think my younger brother caught the gentle side of Poppa’s personality and he wears it extremely well. My brother makes a very good father to his little girl (even though she’s at an age where she may not appreciate that just yet). I picked up more of my grandfather Slover’s traits, the temper, the ability to keep people at a distance, being easily annoyed and slow to display any emotion. Does anyone want to trade?

I’ve been away from the boys now over ten years. I assure you, this wasn’t the plan. I was only going to Indianapolis for eight months, get my head on straight, then move back to Atlanta and start over. From Atlanta, I would have still been able to stay in the boys’ lives, attended concerts, show support, been something more like a dad. But that didn’t happen, did it? I was stuck up here and my boys were stuck with a dad they rarely get to see. Things have improved lately, we were able to spend some time together this summer, but still, the boys don’t have a dad, they have a father, in absentia.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Many years ago, I read an article I didn’t imagine could be true; that children of divorced parents were more likely to be strong leaders, to be tough and shrewd business people, and fare better than children who had both parents. Then, in 2013, Paul Tough’s book How Children Succeed (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt), made the argument that children of single parents have more grit and determination, pushing them ahead, giving them the drive to succeed. Both Presidents Clinton and Obama were raised by single parents. So, maybe I’m doing them a favor by not being there.

Does anyone else think that’s nothing more than a copout? Statistics can be twisted to say just about anything we want and these studies seem, in my mind, to be little more than an attempt to cover the guilt of having left. And even if my boys are better in some way for having been without me, I’m certainly not better; I’ve lost.

I’m getting a bit of a second chance now. I’ve been with Kat’s little ones longer than their bio-dad. They’ve even, just recently, started calling me Dad and that feels all warm and fuzzy. But the guilt still plagues me. Can I give to these little ones the father my own children never had?

The picture on my desk reminds me that my boys are not children, but young men, one’s even a Marine, about to deploy to Okinawa in a few weeks. There’s not a day that goes by, though, that I wish I could have been the father for them that mine was for me. The guilt won’t pass. They deserved better. [/one_half_last]

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PotD
Growing Up Too Fast
October 10, 2015
charles i. letbetter - growing up too fast

charles i. letbetter - growing up too fast

Uh-oh, Dirt; How Did That Get There?

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing up is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.—Phyllis Diller

[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]All too quickly, our week of baby pictures comes to an end. I could easily go another week or more, but I’ll save those for another time. We need to move on here, just as babies move on with their little lives, growing up right in front of our eyes. Growing up happens much too quickly from a parent’s perspective, and too slowly from the child’s. Growing up is why we take pictures, so we have a record, so we can look back and prove that we really were tiny, cute, and cuddly. While our personalities develop in ways that may make us grumpy and prickly, pictures show us that we were once small, and probably even lovable.

None of us actually remembers growing up. If your parents took a lot of pictures and tell a lot of stories, it can feel like you remember that period of your life, but fortunately, we forget the sensation of sitting in a wet, poopy diaper and being force-fed strained peas. We forget the frustration of being immobile, or the fear of thinking that anything, or anyone, not directly in our line of sight was gone forever. Be thankful we don’t remember trying to put everything we touch into our mouths, or that diaper rash that your mom could never quite get to go away.  Growing up definitely has its advantages.[/one_half]

[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]When it comes to our own children, though, growing up is something that happens much too quickly. We put  them to bed at night, and wake up the next morning to find they’ve grown two sizes. They go from nursing to demanding pizza in a heart beat. When someone says one of my sons’ names, my first thought is still of them being little and riding on my shoulders. Now, they’re all well over six feet tall and could more easily carry me than I them. Birthdays whiz by at alarming speed and our babies go from playing with cars to driving them.

Watching your kids growing up is challenging not merely because we lose the baby and trade them in for adults, but because all the while they’re growing up, we’re growing old. There’s no escaping either condition, no matter how much skin cream one uses or in how good of shape one stays. By the time our children are grown enough to be out of the house, we’re old enough to be ready to sell it and move to an apartment near a beach. Life is rather cruel that way, isn’t it?

Growing up is inevitable. Growing up happy is a gift. Having pictures to remember it all is a treasure. [/one_half_last]

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