Tag: Parenting

  • The Selfish Act of Parenting

    I’ve had a rough couple of years. From my mother’s death, moves, career changes, and a pandemic, it’s been a lot. On the whole, I’m good, but like everyone of late, I do have rough days, where I do despair and wonder, what am I doing with my life?

    One of the things I tell myself, or remind myself is more accurate, is a question I was asked a while ago from a good friend; Why can’t your purpose be to become the best father that you can be? Let that guide you, and everything else will fall in line to that.

    Like I said, I have to remind myself of that. And I can fully admit that a mess up often as a father. I do my best, I’m not perfect, but I hope that raising a daughter who knows she loved and supported in what she does will go a long way in helping her become a strong and independent woman.

    I thought about that this morning as I was making breakfast for the kid, and we talked about what we would do on this first day of Summer vacation. And then I thought about the selfless act of being a parent… But is it selfless?

    Follow me on this; if by choosing to be the best father I can be is to give myself a purpose, then isn’t the quality parenting that my daughter receives just a positive side effect of a selfish act? I’m not choosing to be a good parent strictly to be a good parent, but if by choosing to be a good father to my kid makes me feel like a good person, than aren’t I putting myself first?

    I can admit that these thoughts are a “Chicken or the Egg” quandary. Does it really matter who gets put first if the end result is that the child receives quality parenting?

    Do I have too much time on my hands, and thus think about details that have no effect on the whole?

    That’s all possible.

    (Oh, and if you like what you read, please take a second to like, share, or leave a comment.)

  • My Daughter Called Me Out

    On Saturday night, the kid came out of her room, and told me that she wanted to make a movie. RIGHT NOW! I thought about it for a second, and said yes. Over the course of an hour, she explained to me the story she wanted to tell, I came up with the shot, and we filmed it. The story was of a detective who is hired to find out what happened to the mummy in the museum. The mummy comes to life and the detective sets a trap which captures the monster.

    It was fun, and we are still editing the thing together. Hopefully we will get it completed for festival season.

    I was older than my kid when I started trying to make home movies. I think I was fourteen, and my dad was willing to help out. Though he didn’t want to be on camera unless he really had to, but he was willing to do all the other work. When the kid came out and told me that we had to make a movie, my first thought was of my dad, and how this was my moment to step up, just like he did.

    When I was tucking the kid in that night, I told her how much fun I had with her, and also let her know that her grandfather helped me make movies when I was a kid, too.

    Then the kid said to me, “I didn’t think you would say yes. You say no to things like this.”

    And my heart broke.

    I thought I was the dad who said yes to creative things the kid wants to do. But clearly, I’m the dad that says no. I guess I should feel honored that I was even asked. Either way, it was a huge gut punch. And it happened the day before Father’s Day.

    Unggg…

    By the way, I totally believe her, because when she said it, in my head, I was like yup, I do say no too often. And for the life of me, I’m not sure how I got here.

    (Say! If you enjoyed this post, please take a moment to like, share, or comment on it. These interactions determines my worth as a human.)

  • Learning the Subway

    The kid is off from school today. A teacher in-service or something. She’s getting old enough now that I don’t have to keep an eye on her all the time, nor do I need to keep her entertained endlessly. But I don’t want her sitting around the apartment all day either.

    So, I made her run errands with me. Errands that took us out of the neighborhood. Errands that meant we were going to ride the subway together.

    New York City is not the best place for kids, I admit it. Kids see and hear things maybe they shouldn’t, and it can cause them to grow up a little too soon. But, when that happens, me and the kid have a conversation about what she saw and heard. I mean, that’s the job of being a parent sometimes; talking about uncomfortable stuff. And yes, the subway has lead to a great many conversations.

    And the subway is how the kid will primarily get around in this town. I feel it is my duty as a parent and a transplanted New Yorker, the teacher my child who is a natural born New Yorker, how to use this world famous example of mass transit.

    We started with learning the difference between local and express, followed by what uptown and downtown means. Then we talked about the difference between letter and number local and express trains. Now, we are trying to memorize the stops; 125, 116, 110, 103, 96, 86, 81, 72 and 59. Sure, that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the MTA, but from the kid’s perspective, that’s her world when running around New York.

    I know for her, the City is vast, and these stops really don’t register as distances in relation to being away from home. It’s a little like magic for her. You go underground, get in a train, and come up in a different world, with different places and people. in that sense, NYC can be a pretty wonderful experience for a kid as well.

    (Say! If you like what you have read, please like, share, and leave a comment. It would help justify my existence.)

  • Money

    I was trying this morning to write a blog, and I just couldn’t get anything to stick. The reason for that is that I had to sort out what was going on with our bank, car insurance and the shop working on our car. And the faster that I tried to get it all sorted out, the longer it took. Finally, at 11am, I gave up on the idea of getting a blog done out my self-appointed deadline, and just gave in to doing on the family budget for the month.

    Now that I’m at the local library to write, I’m trying again to blog. I sat here at the main table for a minute or two trying to focus on some literary or political point that I wanted to make, or maybe crafting a 300 word joke. But, what is on my mind is money. Well, rather the lack of it, and the attempt to get on top of it.

    Yes, yes, we all know the cultural norm of not talking about money, as it is embarrassing for someone, or at least, we are told someone will get embarrassed if the conversation happens. I don’t think I have ever hidden the fact that my family has a large amount of credit card debt, student loans, and we have a car. It’s a chunk of money, but not insurmountable to take care of. We are fine; no one in our house goes hungry or lacking what they need. Out level of indebtedness is best described as having to plan in advance and save. If we want to do something big, we just have to plan for it, and save.

    But it does ware me down. The last time that I had no debt around my neck was when I was twenty-two. (Oh, what carefree days those were. I used to pay cash for things.) At forty-five, I would like to own a home, pay for the kid’s college, and maybe retire. The normal American Dream shit. BUT, I’m forty-five and I have none of those things. Sure, we are getting closer each day, but we still haven’t arrived.

    And this is what keeps me up at night, if I let myself think about it; I don’t want my daughter to have it worse than I did as a kid. There are days, like today, where that thought is hard to shake, and I feel like I’m not getting it done.

    At fort-five, I do know somethings about myself. Like, I’ll go to bed worrying about this stuff, and then in the morning, I’ll get up and try again to make it better.

  • Gumming Up the Works

    You know what happens in our home when it’s twenty degrees outside? No one wants to get up, myself included. Even the dog didn’t want to get out of my bed. The poor kid-o refused to get out from under her covers, so I had to pick her up outta bed and take her to the couch. Long story short, the kid was late to school. I’m talking maybe ten minutes late. Instead of going in the side door with her class and teacher, we had to go through the main front door, and by the school security guard. I watched the kid hang her head low as she slow walked down to her classroom, and had to open the door, in effect announcing her lateness to the class.

    In the realm of the Universe we live in, this was not a big deal, but to her, I could just feel the defeat and how this twenty-four-hour period will be described as the worst day ever. I might even hear it multiple times today.

    And still, I felt my little heart break for her. Such an innocent state of grace that she lives in where just being late is all the cause one would need for the day to be the worst. This caused me to remember the large and small tragedies that would befall me in elementary school. Missing the bus, or forgetting my lunch, or getting a stain on my shirt when it was picture day. Getting the question wrong, or being accused of liking a girl, when I did actually really like that girl.

    Watching my kid go through these things, does not make me feel good, but somehow confirms that life is really just on repeat. When it comes to how we deal with things, nothing changes from one generation to the next. I try to nurture a different result, but nature keeps gumming up the works.